Hello–this is my first post on my new blog. I am another of those senior citizens dipping a toe into the digital age. Many thanks to my daughter and son-in law, Jennifer and Patrick, professional web designers, for setting this up for me. To start with, I’m sharing a Christmas piece I re-wrote last year from an older piece. With it, my warm wishes to you and yours for a Merry Christmas and much happier New Year.
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CHRISTMAS CHILDREN
by
Edward Frost
I suspect that the Christmas Spirit is Memory
–personal yet universal,
Collections of shards of other days
Pieced together in this season by common consent,
Making an otherwise commercial venture,
Religious. Communal,
Making it Holy as, by Memory we are recreated:
Born again.
So the bittersweet of this time,
Since recollections are at best mixed blessings.
I sit before my Christmas tree
Gathered with years of former selves
Chattering of how it was in “their” time,
Shouting “I Remember When…”
All my years of former selves come home,
All those who sang carols, opened presents,
Gave gifts of perfume and after-shave,
Lay still, listening through sleepless Holy Nights.
All my children crowd and dance about
As I hurry from place to place,
Clutching, tugging, plucking, holding, noisy
Calling Wait! Wait! Look! Look!
Remember when we…?
My children. My spirits of Christmas past
Who make of all my seasons one.
I tell them stories. They tell me truths
In sweet innocence of truth’s pain.
My family of self reunited,
Come bringing gifts of Memory,
Too young to know the sadness
Of too much recollection unwrapped.
We sing together at Christmas,
Now cracking bass with sweet tenor choir.
I and all my children.
Voices urging above distant murmurings
from other rooms in other times.
A silent night, then.
And another child is born.
There Are 6 Comments
‘Bittersweet’ — just the right word. I like your meditation here. Here’s a memory, stirred by seeing that such a thing still exists, where we do our banking: the Christmas Club. The two repositories for any loose change or the odd dollar my parents could put aside: the envelope for the insurance premium, and the Christmas Club at the bank. When I had left home and then reflected on how little my parents had always had in money and goods, I couldn’t understand how they managed to give us such wonderful presents (so they seemed to me then). And then I remembered the Christmas Club, which I seem to recall paid no interest on deposits. It was simply a discipline, that methodical, weekly stop my mother would make in order to have some cash for Christmas. Bless her heart! It could never EVER have been easy for her. I hope I told her, later, that I appreciated it. Hope so.
Ah, my first “Comment.” Thanks for the memories. I, too, remember the
Christmas Club. As I recall, I was given six pence a week to put in it. I used
it to buy presents for my parents. I suppose it was the thought that counted.
Soap on a rope for him. Hanky for her.
Thanks Edward.
Nice photo of you and the critter, whatever it is.
You were missed at brekkers this morning. Boyd, Frank and myself were there; Mann forgot about it, Richard was unwell. Have a happy holiday with your family in “Joysey”. See you soon. Cheers mate.
It’s what was left of a pinata during the party after my grandson’s “Dedication” a couple of summers ago. Happy Christmas my friend.
Be patient, friends. I’m still trying to figure this thing out. Right now, nothing I post “sticks.” However, I was give a copy of “Blogging Ford Dummies,” which I will get into when I get home from New Jersey.
Meantime, Happy New Year