Not a competition

 

Not a competition

We had our first Christmas card on November 29^th, a record for the sender. His is usually the first to arrive, but it has always at least been December before his card drops through the letter box. He is now a widower, in his second Christmas as such, but always wrote the cards every year, much as my brother-in-law did.

I haven’t even written our cards, though I have bought the Christmas stamps. I suppose there are several approaches to card posting. Some send early, to ensure they have completed the task, and maybe to try and guarantee a card in return. Some send as and when they think about it, perhaps adding recipients as they go. Some wait to see who will send them cards and respond accordingly. Some choose never to send cards.

Increasingly, with the cost of postage rising, some opt to publish a general Christmas greeting on social media. They usually claim to be spending the cost of cards and postage on charity donations instead, which is entirely commendable.

I love receiving cards, and know from the envelopes who has sent them. Handwriting is so distinctive, but even with those bearing efficiently printed address labels, it’s possible to discern from post marks where they’ve come from.

However, it is with some trepidation that we open the cards. Some enclose those oft-mocked ‘round robins.’ It’s true that they can be missives of self-congratulation on personal achievements or offsprings’ accomplishments, but mostly they’re amusing, chatty summaries of life. They do relieve the task of writing the same things over and over again to different people.

Other cards bring news of death or disability, which cause a pause for reflection and memory.

 Our list has dwindled a little across the years.

 It’s inevitable. It’s sad. It’s life.

But life goes on (never start a sentence with ‘but!’) and I will have to set aside some time soon to write Christmas greetings. December gathers speed hour by hour and I already have a sense of time running out when there’s still so much to do and learn.

Running to catch up, as usual.

                                      

A typical scene?

 

A typical scene?

Christmas cards come in many designs, but frequently snow is featured on them in UK. We used to have snowy winters, though I cannot remember ever having a white Christmas in the south of England. I have lived in many other regions, but a white Christmas has always been most elusive.

 Nonetheless, many cards depict pretty scenes of snow-covered roofs, or churches nestled in the hearts of picture postcard villages. Not many people live in such locations.

This mug shows a snowy house on a fine, bright day, with a cheerful robin in the foreground. It looks idyllic. Imagine the roaring fire in the drawing room and the kitchen bursting with tempting smells. In the dining room the table is laid with the best china and silver and glassware in expectation of a fine feast, impeccably cooked and served. Everyone’s plate, warmed beforehand, of course, is laden with delicious fare and no-one’s food is cold.

If you can manage that, I applaud you. Etiquette dictates that no-one may start to eat until everyone has been served. That is possible if there is a party of four or five, but with a family of fifteen or more, which happens as people add to the company with spouses and offspring, it is well-nigh impossible.

The reality is rather different. The house, old, draughty, with uncertain air currents and ill-fitting windows and doors, gives its inhabitants cold noses and toes. The fire gutters and goes out, the roof leaks, and everything feels damp. Lunch was planned for one o’clock, but the oven is unpredictable and those in charge of the cooking had forgotten about the gravy or the sprouts. The huge turkey, which barely fits in the oven, should have been started on its culinary journey at least three hours earlier. Eventually, everything is ready and the meal commences hours later. Despite the delays, everyone enjoys their meal, but most of all, it’s being together that can be pleasing.

The other side of the mug shows a little more of the village in which the big house stands. Splendid trees, crowned with snow, provide a background to the gabled roofs of houses. The stream that runs under the bridge is frozen. It is a peaceful, bucolic scene.

Again, the truth may be more prosaic. Heavy rains fall and melt the snow, the water level in the stream rises, and the inhabitants find their homes flooded. Services are cut off and those who had the foresight to stock up with candles try to enjoy the strangeness of a home without any noise from appliances, hoping that the novelty will not last long.

However, it’s fun to dream.

The bands at the top and bottom of the mug show oak leaves and acorns, national symbols of the UK. They represent strength and fortitude, good fortune and health.

Actually, I must have liked this mug enough to buy it ten years ago, but I really don’t care much for it now. What was I thinking?