The single mother and the Christmas cockerel?
Hallelujah.
Oh Christmas.
O Christmas tree.
And tell me, what is your Christmas cockerel up to?
Every year, we know it for sure.
It’s Christmas.
The lights are shining, nerves are frayed, and somewhere between mulled wine, wrapping paper and obligatory smiles, we pull ourselves together – for our loved ones.
In this case: for mothers in need of care. And fathers.
For people who love Christmas but can no longer keep up with it.
That’s how it is with my mother:
She looks forward to Christmas like a little child. She is excited, full of ideas, full of plans. She wants everything. And actually, she can’t do everything anymore.
‘We could go into town,’ she says.
To Seville.
To the lights.
To the concerts.
A wonderful, sweet idea.
In reality: crowded streets, crowds, cold air, long distances – and in the end, an exhausted mother who bravely smiles while her body has long since given up.
And then it came, the absolute Christmas flu.
Almost the whole of December: coughs, colds, that indefinable feeling of being ill that doesn’t care whether it’s Advent or not. A gentle reminder from the body: take it easy.
Well, yes.
My mother was able to rest.
Not me.
There were two dogs.
A Christmas tree that was suddenly delivered and needed to be assembled.
And, of course, the Christmas duck. Or whatever you call it when it suddenly means responsibility.
Actually, I had firmly resolved:
No duck this year.
But then – as every year – this thought came to mind:
Oh, come on. It’s Christmas.
So I made a duck.
It started right from the filling stage.
Oh dear – she needs to be stuffed.
No thread.
No toothpicks.
Nothing. The fact that I didn’t have any toothpicks in the house was indescribable and incomprehensible to me, but that’s how it was.
The supermarkets were packed on the 24th, with screaming children and shopping trolleys that looked as if they were rolling the Leaning Tower of Pisa through Spain. The shelves were full of turron, but there was no sign of dental floss anywhere. We had turron last year and then had to go to the dentist on 24 December. But my mother had already forgotten that. Oh, turron would be great! Oh yes, nougat… No, for heaven’s sake, that’s all I need right now.
My mother wouldn’t let up: Then a turron ice cream. Pleeeeease…
So I came back without a toothpick but with a giant turron ice cream. Her look: Only one? Don’t you want one?
Mummy, that’s a family pack. But my mummy likes ice cream just as much as I do.
But now to the duck – on the 24th, not the 23rd as planned – I simply popped an orange in the back or front, because we are in Seville after all. Olė
Zack.
Orange in = duck out.
I usually cook the duck using a gentle low-temperature method.
Usually.
This year, that wasn’t possible.
Because my mother’s voice came from the living room at regular intervals:
What’s up with your cockerel now?
‘Where is your cockerel now?’
When are we finally going to eat?
‘Oh my goodness… when are we finally going to eat?’
We ate.
The duck tasted delicious. Actually…
And then – very quietly, very secretly – my mother crept into the bathroom, crawled into her bed and said only:
‘I’m tired.’
There I sat.
Christmas Eve.
With a huge pile of washing up.
And one with an orange-stuffed Christmas duck and no presents. But that was made up for on the morning of the 25th.
My mother later commented gently:
‘In the past… well… I used to prepare duck quite differently.’
And it wasn’t a reproach.
It was melancholy.
The desire to be once again the person she always was.
She really wanted to do the duck again.
And she couldn’t do it anymore.
My duck was different.
But she was good.
And she was full of love.
So I went to my mother’s bed, stroked her face, kissed her on the forehead – while she was already slumbering quietly, grunting softly.
Just like I used to on the sofa.
Yes.
The roles are being redistributed.
Very quietly.
Very gently.
And sometimes in the middle of oranges, duck and washing up.
She used to do the duck.
Now I’m doing it – my way.
And perhaps that is precisely what Christmas is all about.
With this in mind:
Hallelujah to the Christmas duck and my sweet mummy!
