How do you answer the question, "What would you like for Christmas?"
Do you carry a mental list around in your head? Or do you have a special little piece of paper tucked into a pocket in anticipation of bumping into a generously inclined relative? Worse still, do you email your list to friends and family? Or do you still write to Father Christmas?
Littlest writes several lists, starting in August, and deposits them in books, pencil cases and boxes in her bedroom, lest she forgets something important. These are either lost forever, or are later amalgamated into a letter that sits on the hearth day after regularly-checked-day until the 'elves' remember to post it to the big man in red. These elves clearly work in the same disorganised department as the tooth fairy. Littlest then adds things to her list. And changes her mind. Of course, Father Christmas knows that she has changed her mind 'because he's magic.' She has been known to change her mind on Christmas Eve. Luckily, what she receives seldom matches what is on her list anyway, so tears and recriminations are generally avoided.
A better system (so long as parents are allowed to read the letter first) might be to post direct to 'Santa, The North Pole.' You have to admire the dedication of the postal operative who replies to them all, shivering in his ice-hut, contemplating popping out for a while if another letter arrives demanding a Furby.
Son posts a list on the internet - the cheapest item costs £2,500. Huh!
When caught off guard by the question (as I don't adequately manage a list, it's always off guard - on the phone; in the car; with fork-full of food midway to mouth, or hit with an email), I dither, and mouth nothings, guppy-like. I say, "Oh, nothing really." Or "No! Don't worry about me!" And "I don't know." But I try hard to avoid "Surprise me" - don't we all? It's not the surprise bit that I'm worried about - it's a surprise - it's how to respond to the surprise. "That's interesting" or "different" simply won't do - try it the next time you receive a surprise and lean forward to fully appreciate the slight intake of breath between tautly pursed lips: you know then what your surprise next year will be - no present!
I do write a list inside my head, promptly forget it, think of more things to add, and forget them too. Then I think of all the things I really want - yes, 'want' - I know to want is not politically correct, but sometimes (and you have to admit you want things too), there are things that we want. Aside from peace and global happiness ... and permission to weep in private at a screening of Les Miserables in January, what is on my list? I don't want to have to wait years for another Coldplay album. I do want to see the Northern lights properly, not just the mono-chromic Scottish ones. I want to attend the Lichstenstein exhibition at the Tate next spring; to eat, drink and be merry with friends over Christmas; to win an argument - convincingly - once; and I want to find some comfortable shoes (Muck Boot wellies are better-than-brilliant, but dangle them below the LBD and I look like I'm not only several months late and but also misread the invitation - festival of carols in a church, not rock festival in a tent). Okay, so some of these are impossible, others improbable, but what I want above all is time. And there is no point asking anyone for that. The only person who can give me time is myself. Time to write. Time to breathe. Time to be a good mother, wife, sister. And time to be me.
To give the gift of time, you have first to find it.
To find time, you have to make it.
To make time, you have to believe in your dreams and follow them.
Some people are better at doing this than others. Procrastinators are worse than most, lying as they do, ears firmly plugged, in the ditch beneath the heap of optimistic souls who are all whispering the mantra of self-belief.
I can feel a New Year Resolution coming on. Something to do with stopping procrastinating, perhaps ... I'll think about it, maybe write about it, sleep on it, add it to my list ... hmm? - even procrastinate over it :-)
As for Four-legged-friend and his smaller-but-rapidly-growing, assertive (guess who regularly assumes the bigger crate and cushion) blonde-friend and their Christmas lists -
Yule log?
Personal pond? The 'pond' that was dug, pre-deluge, ready for the fruit tree that is currently growing unhappily in the garage. Can't plant into a pond - but can drink it; splash about in it; and push muddy little blonde friend into it.
Or curl up somewhere warm together
Actually, curling up warm ... that's not a bad idea: where's that list - socks (long and thick), jumper (woolly), scarf (ditto) and someone to hug (preferably not woolly!)
Do you carry a mental list around in your head? Or do you have a special little piece of paper tucked into a pocket in anticipation of bumping into a generously inclined relative? Worse still, do you email your list to friends and family? Or do you still write to Father Christmas?
Littlest writes several lists, starting in August, and deposits them in books, pencil cases and boxes in her bedroom, lest she forgets something important. These are either lost forever, or are later amalgamated into a letter that sits on the hearth day after regularly-checked-day until the 'elves' remember to post it to the big man in red. These elves clearly work in the same disorganised department as the tooth fairy. Littlest then adds things to her list. And changes her mind. Of course, Father Christmas knows that she has changed her mind 'because he's magic.' She has been known to change her mind on Christmas Eve. Luckily, what she receives seldom matches what is on her list anyway, so tears and recriminations are generally avoided.
A better system (so long as parents are allowed to read the letter first) might be to post direct to 'Santa, The North Pole.' You have to admire the dedication of the postal operative who replies to them all, shivering in his ice-hut, contemplating popping out for a while if another letter arrives demanding a Furby.
Son posts a list on the internet - the cheapest item costs £2,500. Huh!
When caught off guard by the question (as I don't adequately manage a list, it's always off guard - on the phone; in the car; with fork-full of food midway to mouth, or hit with an email), I dither, and mouth nothings, guppy-like. I say, "Oh, nothing really." Or "No! Don't worry about me!" And "I don't know." But I try hard to avoid "Surprise me" - don't we all? It's not the surprise bit that I'm worried about - it's a surprise - it's how to respond to the surprise. "That's interesting" or "different" simply won't do - try it the next time you receive a surprise and lean forward to fully appreciate the slight intake of breath between tautly pursed lips: you know then what your surprise next year will be - no present!
I do write a list inside my head, promptly forget it, think of more things to add, and forget them too. Then I think of all the things I really want - yes, 'want' - I know to want is not politically correct, but sometimes (and you have to admit you want things too), there are things that we want. Aside from peace and global happiness ... and permission to weep in private at a screening of Les Miserables in January, what is on my list? I don't want to have to wait years for another Coldplay album. I do want to see the Northern lights properly, not just the mono-chromic Scottish ones. I want to attend the Lichstenstein exhibition at the Tate next spring; to eat, drink and be merry with friends over Christmas; to win an argument - convincingly - once; and I want to find some comfortable shoes (Muck Boot wellies are better-than-brilliant, but dangle them below the LBD and I look like I'm not only several months late and but also misread the invitation - festival of carols in a church, not rock festival in a tent). Okay, so some of these are impossible, others improbable, but what I want above all is time. And there is no point asking anyone for that. The only person who can give me time is myself. Time to write. Time to breathe. Time to be a good mother, wife, sister. And time to be me.
To give the gift of time, you have first to find it.
To find time, you have to make it.
To make time, you have to believe in your dreams and follow them.
Some people are better at doing this than others. Procrastinators are worse than most, lying as they do, ears firmly plugged, in the ditch beneath the heap of optimistic souls who are all whispering the mantra of self-belief.
I can feel a New Year Resolution coming on. Something to do with stopping procrastinating, perhaps ... I'll think about it, maybe write about it, sleep on it, add it to my list ... hmm? - even procrastinate over it :-)
As for Four-legged-friend and his smaller-but-rapidly-growing, assertive (guess who regularly assumes the bigger crate and cushion) blonde-friend and their Christmas lists -
Yule log?
Personal pond? The 'pond' that was dug, pre-deluge, ready for the fruit tree that is currently growing unhappily in the garage. Can't plant into a pond - but can drink it; splash about in it; and push muddy little blonde friend into it.
Or curl up somewhere warm together
Actually, curling up warm ... that's not a bad idea: where's that list - socks (long and thick), jumper (woolly), scarf (ditto) and someone to hug (preferably not woolly!)
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