An actor's dreams and doubts Advent Calendar proudly presents - December 18 - Debby Mulholland from New Zealand. I am very happy that my teacher and friend Debby wanted to take part in this project. Without her I am not sure what would have happened to my acting. She has provided us with the best teachers and she has been teaching me for the last five year. I cannot say thank you enough. The word is hers.
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| Debby |
I love my Mum’s stories, she’s full of
them, and I can hear them over and over.
I love the one’s that begin… ‘When you were
little’.
‘Oh, one Christmas morning when you were
really little… we had only just finished
wrapping your presents, and within five minutes of putting them under the tree
you were awake, we hadn’t even put the glass of milk out for Father Christmas… you
were up at 1am opening them’!
Or… ‘One year, we didn’t have a lot of
money…. we bought a few small things for under the tree, and we decided to get
some balloons to make it a bit more Christmassy, and we let them go in your
bedroom. You woke us up with squeals of delight; there were coloured balloons
everywhere around you and on the ceiling… Your brother was laughing and crying
at the same time. I’ll never forget it.
And… ‘Your father and I had been out late
one Christmas Eve… And had come home
with fish and chips, we’d finished eating them while wrapping your presents, and
had put the left overs on the kitchen counter, it was well after three by the
time we went to bed. In the morning we came downstairs to find that you had all
been up, opened your presents, and fed the fish with the left over fish and
chips! .... And you’d added tomato sauce!
the Fish tank was swimming in it! I couldn’t believe my eyes… There you were
sat on a stool in the middle of the lounge buttering crackers, and adding
cheese… to feed the damned gold fish! Your father went nuts; all the pots and
pans were out of the cupboards lined up on the bench while he tried to save his
fish. Honestly what a palaver. Okay well, your sister was the instigator there,
you were too young.
One year, your great auntie Eddie sent us
the most exquisite box of Christmas decorations… Oh when I think back, they
were beautiful. The tree looked gorgeous with the lights reflecting off them.
In the morning I came down and there were bits of screwed up tinsel all over
the floor… your sister had figured out
they were chocolates… every single one… gone.
‘Oh and… I’ll never forget the year we
decided to put your presents in pillowcases at the end of your bed. We had only
just moved into the house after living in that small apartment. And you were
all, three of you, sleeping together in a double bed… and somehow during the
night you had moved places. Very early
that morning we heard screams coming from your room… we rushed in to see you had opened your
pillowcase and pulled out a bow and arrow! You cried your heart out… your brother had pulled out a doll, and the
earth opened up and he fell into it… honest, I’ve never seen such a face… such a sensitive boy your brother’.
‘So we decided the next year to wait till
after breakfast. Robert was just a wee baby then. Your Grandmother liked to have a cup of tea in
bed, then an English breakfast. It was sooo painful watching you kids sit under
the Christmas tree, you’d been up since 5 am waiting, and waiting, having felt
every single present over and over trying to guess what was inside, until the
paper had almost disintegrated’. One thing she did do, she did teach you how to
open your presents without tearing the paper, and how to save it no matter how
crinkled it was.
And it always puzzled me how the Christmas
cards had scenes of snow covered villages with steeples, and people wore fur hats
and ear-warmers, and gloves, mittens or muffs… when our Christmas was sun, sea,
and sunscreen. It seemed the real Christmas belonged somewhere else.
And then I grew up.
And had Christmas’s away from the family…
at the beach with bonfires, and BBQ’s, and camping, and dancing with friends
And then I went and saw the real Christmas,
and it was a bonus, cause I had gone to study to become an actress, and to at
last spend time with my Uncle and Aunt and cousins.
And I had Christmas’s with snow, and mulled
wine. And massive awe-inspiring neon Christmas lights smiled across triple lane
highways in the middle of cities. And the shop window displays were Christmas heaven.
And I hunted out perfect Christmas cards in ancient churches, with the buzz and
traffic all around, and stamped my feet against the cold while waiting for late
night buses. And had champagne breakfasts on rooftops with flatmates, and
friends.
And being a student was all, bits of paper
with messages like… ‘This Christmas
certificate gives the bearer a free movie pass, paid by…(fill in the name) or… ‘This is a Christmas reminder that … (fill in
the name) will have a new second hand something… as soon as I have money for it’.
I was a student of the theatre, and life
was like living in my own movie, and every-day I became more me. And it was a
dream so real I loved it all the more. With games and laughter and food and
love. And of course with some knocks
along the way.
My enthusiasm was unchartered, my energy
was good, and I know, sometimes annoying. And it attracted a gorgeous blue
bearded prince charming. He became my life. I wanted our happiness to grow. I knew
it could. He was so sad. I would look at
him and feel his sadness so deeply. His stories were horror stories. Then the
slow realization hit one stone at a time. I had married someone who didn’t
believe in Christmas, or children, or people, or love, at all. I couldn’t breathe. I had arrived at the rest
of my life… at forever… at ‘to death do us part’. And I was living in the stingiest
place on earth.
It was the hardest lesson.
Life with someone who doesn’t share in your
joy, but looks at it with derision and scorn is an enemy at the gate. A newspaper
up in your face at Christmas without a word is a crime against the heart. And
you send back the gift given you. Till scorn and derision become the hammer
that drive the nails deeper… sealing the coffin that holds your love. Forever. And like a cub being pulled away from a dying
friend, it was hard to go.
I let go.
Silence.
And was a foreigner.
Lost.
For along time.
Silence.
So distant.
Everything… so distant.
He was not your family.
‘Go to your Uncle’, your Dad tells you.’ Look
after her for us’, he told him.
You got out of bed.
And slowly, very slowly, the fear, distrust,
and alienation pealed away… and past
love fused with present, uncovered, shows you your protected soul.
My family know the games, and food and
laughter and children, and being together. And they have that spirit every day
of the year, and this is where I want to live, in this feeling everyday, forever.
And we had beautiful Christmas’s, with
snow, and walk’s over peaks and through valleys, and snow balls, and games of
soccer with the little ones on a white field in the middle of a Christmas card
village with steeples, and snowmen, and pantomimes in Victorian theatres, and holding
on to each other on slippery ice.
Oh and seeing my uncle carolling… playing
the cornet in the brass band with sheets of music… and we the choristers’ singing
along… the joy! We went from one old English pub to the next with huffed breath
and snow covered boots… their fireplaces blazing, Christmas trees splendidly adorned
and fern covered heaths and mulled wine and cheer.
They repaired my heart and my faith. Thank
God for them.
And then I began to have my own Christmas’s
with friends whose families lived somewhere else. We came together in the
spirit of Christmas… at my house… at their house, bringing potluck’s, and
presents. We met in bars… in café’s…. in restaurants…. all woolly hats, and scarfs and mittens. In a white
cottage on top of a cliff over-looking a wild Welsh sea. Dancing in the square of a communist country
whose government had given Christmas back to its people. And In Paris, opening
presents on Christmas Eve, then heading out wrapped up against the cold, down
ancient stairs from one arrondissement to another…. walking and laughing. This
time up, climbing grooved stone stairs inside an ancient cathedral, higher and
steeper, winding up, stopping for moments to peer through tiny medieval windows,
to glimpse a diamond lit city below. And further we go, up, and into the bowels
of a giant musical instrument… We spread out, feeling the space, and lay down
giving ourselves to the centuries old wooden floor a mile above the congregation,
and watched as the organ player danced on the keys and pedals like an acrobatic
Mozart, every breath placed, poised, executed… and delivered…. the perfect olympic
movement in harmony…. all of us spellbound by the magic, in tune with the
vibration, of every beat… till, we, he,
the music, and the voices of the congregation below, lifted, mingled, and found
each other…. to become one. And we
looked over the edge of the pipes knowing no one could see us watching, and we
watched the Parisian’s who had come to midnight mass to sing like angels.
And more.
And we lost loved ones along the way. All
of us here have lost loved ones along the way.
And we couldn’t save them… but in our hearts.
And now.
Today.
It is time.
I’m packed.
And am boarding a plane.
On my way… home … to have Christmas with my
family. With my mum and brothers and sister and nephews… For the first time in
forever, and it will be the best Christmas… cause I don’t know how many more we
will have.
And it’s scary… cause I’m afraid to leave
here… and then I will be afraid to leave there.
I’ll take a deep breath and drop into the
sky and hope like hell.
And we’ll wait till after breakfast to open
our presents, even though the littlest have opened theirs. And we’ll make snowmen out of sand on the
beach. The pohutukawa will be our
Christmas tree, and the pukako will be on the Christmas cards, and we’ll have
ham on the bone, and tomatoes fresh from the garden with our turkey sandwiches,
and pavlova decorated with cream, strawberries, kiwi fruit and hokey-pokey ice
cream for dessert.
And we’ll wash the dishes and dry them and
put them away, all of us talking at once over top of each other.
And we’ll think of those who aren’t with us
and we’ll send them love.
And we’ll go fishing.
I raise my glass with you all…
A toast to the spirit of Christmas…
May it live everyday in all of us
Kirihimete.
Xxxxx Deb
Susan, Doug and Debby
December 18
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