Wednesday, 26 December 2012
And it came to pass . . .
Christmas Day is short . . . and over all too soon. We spend weeks preparing and then in a few hours it is past . . . thankfully the memories live long. The gifts, the food . . . the candles and the tree . . . they are not all by any means. As I turn off the tree before bedding down at the end of day . . . I hear a glass ball fall to the floor . . . plop, it explodes softly. The day has gone like the glass ball . . . the smiles and excitement over for this year . . . but as I sweep it up into my dustpan I catch a glimpse of myself in the shards and I am touched by the shining moment that this Christmas was for me, despite my horrible cold and stuffed up nose . . .
The brilliant sight of two grandsons, a son and a daughter in law . . . in the matching jim jams opening up their presents together via the i pad, a fabulous piece of technology which allows me to watch my two angels Gabriel and Luke come down the stairs together . . . catching perfectly the excitement in their faces and voices as they glimpse the tree for the first time. Santa has been and I am watching it with wonder and joy and a teensie little tug on my heart strings because I cannot be there . . . but it is short lived, because I am filled at the same time with gratitude that I am able to be there even in this smallest of ways. And we can see them and they can see us and the love . . . it's there too. And I am grateful for a son who is sentimental and loving and . . . so very kind and thoughtful.
A Christmas Dinner that I couldn't really taste . . . it was a bit cardboardy because of my cold, but Todd said it was delicious and he enjoyed it very much . . . the usual turkey, sprouts, stuffing, potatoes, parsnips, carrots, bacon wrapped chipolatas, gravy and cranberry sauce. It did look pretty on the plate. We sent plates over to our guests in their home because I daren't risk infecting them with my germs . . . they appreciated. I did the cooking. Todd did the clean up, and Mitzie enjoyed a little plate of her own, minus any potatoes, onions and the like . . . traditions.
The Queen's Christmas message at 3 pm and knowing that halfway around the world my son was listening to it via the radio. Traditions kept, even if you are thousands of miles apart. Makes my heart smile. This was the first year it had been shown in 3D. Amazing stuff. We don't have a 3D telly, and I'm not sure what difference that would make . . . but it was nice all the same.
Family voices on the telephone from afar . . . mom, dad . . . Eileen and Tim. Remembering a phone call on Christmas Eve from my dear Lura and her grandchildren singing "We wish you a Merry Christmas" to us . . . they all delight my heart and make it smile.
Family, friends . . . love. That is Christmas.
Christmas pudding later in the day because we are neither one of us very hungry or have enough room for it right after dinner . . . Todd does love his Christmas Pudding. He looks forward to it every year, doused with custard of course. He thinks he looks grumpy in this photo . . . but I think I just caught him by surprise and he's enjoying his pudding. Nothing else matters . . .
Watching Mama Mia on the telly together . . . adoring the music and the fun. Julie Walters, what a joy she is in this. We've watched it a million times . . . and the message of promiscuity is not the best message in the world . . . but we do so love the music and the bounciness of it all. We sing along, and it's good. I croaked. Todd sung . . .
A sweet pup who doesn't quite get it . . . but she loves the turkey and she loves us . . . and we are happy, so she is happy.
Such is joy.
And so as I sweep up the shards of glass my heart is full of the joy that was my Christmas 2012, and I send up a special prayer for those I love and know so well, and those I love and know not so well. I hope their day was also blessed in small and special ways just like mine.
God bless us . . . everyone.
Cooking in The English Kitchen today . . . Curried Cranberry and Pistachio Rice.
“He who has not Christmas in his heart will never find it under a tree. ”
― Roy L. Smith