Christmas is very different to this nowadays in our house. Daughter has a family of her own, parents have died. relatives think Yorkshire is the back of beyond and so never come. Mike and I have a leisurely day doing exactly what we like to do: Meeting friends at church and our service is like a family party full of children and people of all ages. You can even stay for a turkey dinner if you want to, or to help. If not, and the weather is great, we drive over the moors with Christmas music on the radio, and walk along the Wharfe at Bolton Abbey, with hundreds of others. It's like Picadilly Circus there with so many people doing the same. We can eat whenever we wish to and watch our favourite programmes undisturbed. We see our family on Boxing Day and are prepared to have grandchildren climbing on us etc. It's lovely to have a peaceful day not dictated by every one else. A bit selfish? I suppose so, but nice. I've done all that's in my poem and think I deserve a rest now.
There’s another Christmas on its way – I’m losing count of which.
By then my money will all be spent and I never will be rich.
Till then I'll bustle on my way - I've pies and cakes to bake,
I'll send the cards and wrap the gifts and decorate the cake.
I'll clean the house and buy the food, I'll push and shove in shops,
The tree is bought, the lights come out, the work - it never stops.
Candles are lit and carols sung and Christmas music played,
The children get excited and my nerves are quickly frayed.
Queues in shops just grow and grow. There's nowhere left to park,
The cold wind blows, rain comes down, the days are short and dark.
Let's go to church and celebrate, the coming of our King -
Let's sing and pray and stop to think of the many wondrous things.
Then: Stuff the bird and peel the sprouts and make the brandy sauce
Hand out presents, wash the plates, with not much time to pause.
The tele's going loud and clear, and drinks are passed around,
Games come out, chocolate's scoffed, snoring starts to sound.
"Sit you down, and raise your glass - let's drink a toast to Mum.
You do deserve a well-earned rest, come join us in the fun."
But when the day is over and the family’s been well-fed,
The tele's off, the lights go out, I'll wend my way to bed,
I'll sink into my bed, so tired - another Christmas gone,
There's only 12 months left to go before another one.
Copyright 2007
www.whiteheadm.co.uk
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