When its frenetic there comes a lull when suddenly everything is peaceful . Usually thats the time you fantasise about snow and looking out on a transformed world . Most of us will have a childhood memory of being shown out the back door , in my case into a garden, where snow was falling , on Christmas Eve . I'm told in England it happened very rarely , even in the north east where we had frequent snow , just rarely on Christmas Eve . But I know it happened once at least .
I've been trying to work out why it is that particular memories stand out and not others . I have a clear picture of us all at the farm , one Christmas night , before it was time to go home , the heavy red curtains pulled , the fire crackling , Laura and me reading a book called ( how can I remember this after all these years?) " The Boy Jesus " and drawn in muted shades, Greek style pictures , nativity scenes in turqouises and germolene pinks ( if you get my drift ) , with the occasional navy sky and silver stars . It was exquisite . We sat bunched on the sofa reading this book which was the present given to us three kids by our great aunt Gertie ( kids in families then got one shared presents from distant relatives , not one each . Our brother was no doubt playing on the floor with a toy tractor . We would have been surrounded by cats and collie dogs . The adults would have been talking , feeding the fire , passing sweets , dates and nuts , breaking open the latter with old fashioned crackers . Why this night and not a different one ? Nothing traumatic , nothing specially exciting .
Who knows ?
I'm amazed already at the things Nat doesn't remember that I thought she would .
I try not to think too hard of the things she will remember ........!!!