I am sitting snug and cosy in my armchair looking forward to the coming days listening to Christmas songs that are stirring memories of past times.
I am remembering the dear faces of departed loved ones, hearing again their laughter and the dear sound of their voices.
Seeing once again Granddad looping lights around the wall, placing the tree just so, and the final flourish, placing his row of silver bells to hang above the TV; remembering those bells tearfully hung in pride of place in his memory above the mirror in our sitting room, where for many, many years they were hung, until they gave way to the ravages of time, we couldn't throw them away but whatever happened to them?
Whispered conversations as presents are hidden. Mum and Dad coming home with the Turkey, we gather around the bird, wondering at its size. Sweeties in bowls, always Quality Street; when did the tin get so small, when did the sweets get smaller? Fruit winking at us from the bowl, how did they look better at Christmas? Baskets of nuts and the pack of Eat Me Dates, that no one ever did.
Dad making a cuppa in the kitchen crooning ‘White Christmas’ believing he is Bing Crosby, Mum locked in her bedroom pretending she isn’t doing anything, despite the scrunch of wrapping paper.
Catching Grandma unawares with icing sugar down her front, pretending that she hadn’t found the Turkish Delight and Granddad smoking his Christmas cigar right down to its stub that is stuffed in his faithful old pipe.
Hearing the sound of the key in the lock, each person's sound as individual as they, so that you knew who was coming in, finally the last person home on Christmas Eve, bringing contentment that all are here, all are safe, as I look into each of those dear faces, love shining from them, hugging their secrets of anticipation of tomorrow's presents to be opened.
The fire lights glow, fairy lights mirrored in shining baubles and tinsel, the smell of pine and mince pies, curled up on the sofa with the cat, watching Judy Garland singing 'Have yourself a Merry Little Christmas' quietly wiping away a tear; a tear of remembrance, a tear of joy, a tear of love for those wonderful, funny, eccentric people who are my family.
On Christmas day I shall raise a glass to their memory, they made me who I am, their love carries me, even though they are passed to the Summerlands I hear their voices still, I hear their laughter. They are in my memory, in my heart. Every day I thank the Goddess for them.
From my home to yours, I pray that all of you in our East Anglia Goddess Community find peace and contentment at this glorious time of the year, may the Goddess bring you a Blessed Yule and a very Happy Christmas.
Copyright © Christine Watts 2022