Once, I had family who came, and it was good. Roast ham with pineapple and cloves and brown sugar. The turkey. Cranberry sauce and brandy butter. Bon bons. Roast vegetables. Glass baubles and lights on the tree. Carols. Chocolates. Eyes lighting up, It all went well.
Until it didn't.
Later, reduced, older children travelling home, listening to ABC radio who gave regular updates on the Christmas road toll as if it were some kind of record they were eager to breech. Fear - imagination? - did not eclipse relief, but certainly reduced pleasure.
None of that fits where I am now.
Now I ignore the crassness, shrug off the rancid commercialisim, and am aware that what the celebration is about, fundamentally, down to the nitty gritty., is the birth of a baby. Some people think that this particular baby was divine. Other don't. I don't think that it matters.
Like sunsets or stars, tides, rainbows, babies - humans through to mice, cockroaches or other- are an extraodinary phenomena: always miraculous.
I like to think that at Christmas we are celebrating the importance of the most vulnerable in our world. The least influential. And, arguably, our sttrongest hint that life continues to have confidence in us. I am happy. at Christmas, to celebrate babies.
4 comments:
What a wonderful and, to me, different perspective. You are right about the magic of babies, so I will go awar from here thinking. Always a good thing. Thank you.
I'm pushing a pretty unpopular barrow here, EC, so thanks for your support...or thoughts, anyway.
What a beautiful post, Frances. I am with you all the way.
Thankyou for your comment, Relatively Retiring. It got caught up by "moderation" and I have just found it.
Post a Comment