But that’s democracy, you get what the majority vote for — there’s nothing any of us can do about it, apart from welcome the influx of brokenhearted applying for residency, and concentrate on holding our own government to account — giving that threesome’s divisive policies a hard ‘‘no’’.
It’s easy to get into a bit of a spiral, and I actually gave myself a guts-ache constantly refreshing the election results and then spending far too much time thinking about the bad in the world, how hateful and petty the current powers that be are. If you think about it too much it can really squash you.
Good things are always happening, though. Look at Richard Knights and his Facebook page ‘‘What’s News Dunedin’’ — a ray of internet sunshine; look at Liam and Jackie of the Bowling Club — feeding
so much more than hungry tummies at their community eatery; look at my stepfather Alan, given the all-clear after bowel cancer; look at me, finding true love when I least expected it — right when I would have been OK being single for the rest of my life.
‘‘If you’re happy, I’m happy darling,’’ I said, honoured to be the first person she told.
It was sad she’d always felt there was something missing in her relationships with men, that she felt she’d wasted a lot of years not being her true self. But I’m so happy she’s found herself, feels comfortable in her own skin, is radiant, spilling over with being loved and loving.
She was worried about telling her father, who is religious, and her grandma, who is advanced in planetary rotations.
‘‘I don’t want to come home for Christmas and for people to be disappointed,’’ she said. ‘‘Is there anyone else like me in the family?’’
It seemed highly likely, as our family is numerous — I’ve just never gone around asking.
One by one she rang grandmother, father, auntie who all said the same thing: ‘‘We love you and that will never change, we’re just so happy for you.’’
It’s wonderful, isn’t it, that descendants of it’s-not-a meal-without-potatoes Irish Catholics who only two generations ago couldn’t abide a divorcee, would so readily accept and embrace the news. While the world seems to be getting increasingly intolerant, or increasingly tolerating the unthinkable, we only wish to take care of the love that our blood runs through.
My new Mr met some of my huge extended family last weekend at a wake for my uncle Rob held at the Lyttelton Yacht Club. Rob was by far my most glamorous uncle. Sporting a sleek Tom Selleck moustache and raven hair straight from a Mills and Boon cover, he was a glider pilot, yachtsman; he loved duck-shooting, fishing and a good pinot. He defied doctors’ expectations and lived another 20 years beyond his lupus diagnosis.
Generous, a gentleman, with a long-legged loping walk, Uncle Rob and Aunty Lynn were a great example of what good love looks like. They each did their own thing, didn’t necessarily agree with each other all the time, but made their union work so that they were both content, never one thriving at the expense of the other.
Christmas is coming early this year, in our family at least, and while your tree might still be in the garage, I’ve already put mine up and have begun tinselling Buttercup Cottage for an early Christmas
dinner timed to fit in with my daughter’s leave. When she heads back to Perth, I’ll be travelling from the cold coast to the Gold Coast, to spend time with Mr’s towering sons and be a part of their Christmas.
All we want, all anyone wants, is to feel compassion and kindness after pain and hurt, the rainbow after rain, to live a life that nourishes your heart and soul, where you feel understood and seen, at home wherever your family may be, and that this year will find us sitting down to a banquet of love, health and happiness — the most important things in life.
