You may be as delighted as I am to know that Boxing Day was our last full day in Fiji. I’m a little weary writing about Fiji, so I can understand if you are getting a little weary reading about it.
Boxing Day was also Lucy’s birthday. People with birthdays around Christmas are generally assumed to bear a grudge about it, having endured a lifetime of being gypped with combined presents and multi-purpose parties. Certainly that was assumed about my mother, who was born on Christmas Eve. Looking back, I cannot recall her complaining about it, and she was never the sort of person who kept complaints to herself. Even so, no one who knew her would dream of describing a gift to her as a Birthday/Christmas present for fear of the reaction that might ensue.
I may never know whether or not Ma would have blown a gasket over it. She turns ninety this coming Christmas Eve, so I suppose I could try to find out, but in her current happily demented state, the results are likely to be inconclusive, and moreover it seems kind of cruel. I could give her the same gift ten days in a row, telling her each day was her birthday, and she would accept it gleefully each time. I envy her in this regard. Continue reading 17. Enough is Enough