Christmas Ideas and Dreams

I would like to propose a new idea for Christmas. Instead of all the normal Christmas food let’s do everyone’s favourite food for Christmas. Just an idea that I feel warrants a thought or two. If everyone brings their favourite Christmas dish to the table on Christmas Day, who cares if there are two roast turkeys, the time between Christmas and New Year is a quiet time of reflection and leftovers are a reminder of the day we celebrated Christmas together. 

Mine would be a charcuterie board, which must include coppa, prosciutto, pigs in blankets, warm baguette, oven-baked camembert, chips and roasted Halloumi. Ripe avocado, thin slices of tomato and olives. Wine in abundance. 

As winter continues to gather momentum Christmas fills my thoughts with its own magic. I find I get more reflective. I move through the day as one would walk on a deserted winter beach, denude of life and colour. A journey of solitude, I allow it to pass and avoid the feeling between the light and dark. Like the passing of summer, only sunburn captures the passage of time. 

Susan has a cold; how do they suddenly appear? That tender moment, that time of least resistance, a general lack of energy and stiffness sets like the cold wind. Reminding you of its intent as you turn a corner, and open a window. Cold air and dull, ache in the head, to be handled gently. 

It is at moments like this that I long for my family. A touch by my grandchild. Different things make companionship become great love. I talk about literature, songs and current events because they again matter. Having someone around who understands me, has gone through the events of life I have and came out of the other end, that much wiser for it. 

As momentum gathers to the last few days to Christmas, it is at this time of the year when my life tends to be an ebb and flow of creation and then ineffectualness. Creation is strong, the need to accomplish, the desire to complete before a period of reflection overtakes and I move slowly to writing. The overwhelming urge for that perfect sentence, lines filled with imagination, thoughts unravelled into meaningful paragraphs, polished descriptions and simply told tales. 

Sometimes I feel the same as an exotic gardener, tending plants of fragile beauty, their mere existence a delicate balance. They require care and tending, gentle voices and soft handling to solicit their favours. Beautiful and fantastic but enervating. In comparison, the flowers of the meadow have a subtle beauty. Individually simple and negligible unless inspected closely, but scattered in their thousands, adrift on the sea of grass, then they attain greatness. It is a sustaining beauty, feeding the soul, the comforting hand of a friend who makes no demand and expects no response. Only to cease living a memory of unexplored words which never quite recede, always leaving an impression, a sense.

My coffee has a slight bitterness to it, leaving a caramelised bouquet on the top of my palette. Not quite right, not entirely wrong, just not there. Coffee, as Robert will tell you if you give him a minute or ten, is a personal preference. I enjoy ‘ILLY’ started in 1933 by Francesco Illy in Trieste and also Lavazza Espresso, both coffees with Italian DNA in their profile.

One thing I do find strange is being the same age as old people. My daily swim brings some comments. Wrapped up in their coats and scarves, they huddle against the cold wind and ask, ‘Is the water cold, I would love to swim.’ Bless them. Makes me think of the saying. 

We were born in 1 day, we can will fall in love in 1 day and we can change in 1 day, we will die in 1 day. The time we have in the middle of all that, we must cherish.