To blog on christmas day morning is a little sad, it declares my solitude, it shouts out "unloved". Who is alone on christmas morning, who is not embraced in tender arms; the arms of children, the house full of sound and sweetness, laughter, chatter, squeaks of delight, paper being torn, chocolate-y smells and excitement about the day ahead, thrill and happiness on a comfortable bed of love pushed beyond exhaustion but ready to pull out a little bit more to make the day still better, more wonderful, or wrapped in the arms of a lover, face to face, eyes meeting, a kiss, a smile, a gentle "happy christmas love", maybe christmas loving, maybe a spliff, maybe a cup of tea or coffee or a glass of champagne, soft socks and nice clothes, pretty new underwear, a relaxed meal-making, a walk together, and warm snuggles on the sofa in front of the tv, and so on and so on, we know the ideals and sometimes we have those christmas days, and sometimes we don't.
Obviously this year is a bit of a funny one. I've had rough christmases before. There was the year the builders left me without a kitchen, the whole back end of my house a destroyed mess, oh yes that was one of the years Jon had dumped me for a while too. It was the last year of my degree with a dissertation hand in hanging over me. My ex-husband rescued me and took me to his to celebrate with him and my youngest son. God bless Archie, he is a christmas king. Last year my mother and I were barely speaking, that was horrible, I didn't know what to do,she was sending me aggressive letters asking if I'd cancelled christmas and calling me bad. I remember Jon was sweet and sympathetic from a distance. And once again Archie rescued me.  And then there was the first christmas after I'd broken up with my older two children's dad, aged 23, broken, lonely, no money, Jessamy said she wanted pizza and McCain alphabites for christmas dinner, and we went to the local playground - alone, christmas was over by about 2 in the afternoon. My poor little girl, I'm so sorry. The following few were not much better. They started to improve around about 1995. 
Enough gloom. 
But, see, christmas is a funny time of year. It amplifies whatever is going on, if it's good, yippee, it's not so good, woah, it's not so good and then some. .And there is a lot invested in it "what are you doing for christmas ?" your christmas represents the who you are in the world, are you loved ? are you a giver ? a taker ? a nobody ? it's really unconscious, but having had some real loser christmases I feel able to say that christmas is a place where your status becomes glaringly obvious.  
And then all of the memories flood back; that song playing in the supermarket - Fairy Tale of New York, or whatever your song is, and that film - The Muppet Christmas Carol, that detail, the same old christmas decorations - tinsel getting more shabby every year but kind of lovelier for it's shabbiness, it holds the spirit of christmases past, the Carols at Kings (in Cambridge) which takes me back to my childhood and my mum tuning into a scratchy old wireless, and my grandaddy, and Jon, sitting in my living room watching it on tv, and him being so fragile and vulnerable, talking about his boarding school and childhood, and loving him so much. 
This year, it might seem like I'm lonely, waking and blogging, heavens sakes, but actually i'm fine and anticipating a sweet, soul-nourishing day with my sons and ex-husband. They will, i am pretty sure, get fairly drunk and be funny and loud. And Rich has been away, across the other side of the world, for two years so this is  a much longed for re-gathering. And the celebrations are set to continue throughout the week, Boxing day with all the people I love the most overlapping if not for all day, at least for a while, in my home. And meet-ups with my mum, and then my dad and stepmother, and a theatre trip. If all goes close to plan this year may be very lovely. 
So what is my point, I have no point, my blog is my journal, it's the place I make notes, mark out my journey. If I had a house teaming with children, and the responsibility of a massive dinner to cook i'd not be blogging, if I'd woken beside Jon, i'd not be blogging, but as it goes I have only a small warm cat for company this morning and not so very much to do until Richard and Archie and Amis turn up so i do have the time to blog. And if blogging on Christmas Day marks me as out of the loop, which it kind of does, so be it, that's my life. It's not obviously glistening. 
But .. in a bit I will put out food for the birds and I have a feeling that the robin that owns my garden will sing in thanks. And I'll begin to prep the vegetables for later. And switch on all the lights. And put on the radio. Light the fire. I guess shine is a state of mind as well as body. 
And to finish this blog, I am going to share something that came up on facebook a day or so back on the John O'Donahue page. It was an image of a doorway, and the two or three paragraphs came from his unpublished writings. The gist of the words as I understood them was that christmas is an opening, a timeless space, where all the christmases meet. So this morning is this morning but it is also all the christmas mornings, all my christmas mornings, all the worlds christmas mornings, a shared space that tracks back through to time before before christmas was christmas and maybe forward too. At a time when I have to be straight and admit to feeling sad about Jon I find that thought comforting and kind.