Open Writing

Each year, around mid December, a word disappears from our vocabulary. For a week or ten days this small but significant word is unheard. Never uttered. Not once. And should the printed form of this particular word be discovered, it is hastily covered up, the offending journal or pamphlet slid neatly into the magazine rack or tucked out of sight behind a cushion.

I know. I have done it myself. People often turn on this poor little word pushing it aside and ignoring its existence. This year I was determined use the word loudly and often.

So when I met friends for lunch and we pondered the menu, discussing the exotic names and flavours of the many delicious desserts on display, I attempted to bring the vanishing word to their attention. They reacted with shock and horror.

‘Please,’ they begged. ‘Don’t say that word. Not here. Not now.’

The following day I shopped at the supermarket and finally joined a long queue of customers at the checkout. There, patient people stood holding their laden trolleys, their lips moving as they checked their chosen items making sure nothing was forgotten. Nothing except that small meaningful word I thought. It had no place here.

I watched as treat after scrumptious treat beeped its way across the scanner to be packed in plastic bags then trundled out to the car park. There, in the sweltering heat of a December afternoon, people struggled to lift the heavy shopping bags and pack them in the back of the car.

Even then, as they eased aching backs and mopped the dripping perspiration, the word that could replace effort with ease was refused recognition in the pre-holiday season shopping spree.

Back home I unpacked my own groceries and tried to find space in the already overloaded refrigerator. As I stacked items on the shelves I searched for anything that might give definition to a word that was fading away, sliding from the grasp of my mind and taking my determination with it. I found a scrap of fetta cheese and a bottle of low fat milk. Neither could possibly sustain even such a small word over the holiday weekend. In a moment of inspiration I pulled out the biscuit tins. Alas. The crackers were far outnumbered by the Tim Tams and the shortbread.

I brewed a pot of tea and as I sipped the hot refreshing liquid, I searched for a means to keep the word in focus. I dared not let it go. Once gone it would take weeks to recover. Perhaps months.

Ratt-tatt-tatt. I looked up as my neighbour tapped on the window. He called excitedly, ‘Look. I have something for you. I won this ham in a raffle and we’ve already bought one. This one is for you.’ He beamed down at me, pleased to be offering such a generous gift. And as I reached out to take the ham I knew I had lost.

I stumbled over my words of thanks. But his happiness was contagious. Well, I thought, if I cannot beat them, I might as well join them and I turned my back on that skinny little four letter word.
It happens every Christmas. The Diet is forgotten.