It's that time at last. The cycle is always the same. At the beginning of advent, Christmas is still weeks away. Then there's the nearly-nearly time when Christmas is coming, but not quite here, and then it whirls in, swirls about, changes pace, and proceeds firmly and irrevocably to Twelfth Night. The decorations must be wrapped up. No more carols. Never mind, we still have the gifts. And the memories. Here are some of mine, the gifts given to me this year.
The delightful crib service. I came home feeling some sort of excitement about Christmas that I can't explain and haven't felt for years. I started on a casserole with dumplings, because LYS loves them. Then he arrived, then the Sunshines, and we were all together for Midnight Mass.
The tree with its lovely soft lights, even though it's the kind that keeps its needles for a long time and so doesn't smell quite right. The ongoing jigsaw. Re-reading The Dean's Watch. Daughter playing her flute. Tea with Silke, who had made the bread buns specially. Last night's concert, with Messiaen's music lifting us up and carrying us away. And today smelled nice. Three Kings Day, so we had frankincense in church and I took a few good deep lungfuls of that. And I inhaled the church Christmas tree, too. There are needles all over the floor, but it smelt perfect. What the rector thought of the woman sniffing the tree, I have no idea.
Back to work tomorrow. I'm looking forward to it. A new book to start.
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