I am supposed to be working, dear reader, but I am totally away with the tweeties (or the angels). For this entire week I have written, oh, about twelve words, and all of them have been in Christmas cards. As part of my procrastination here are some shots from around the Baxter Street manger. (What is a manger, anyway? Is it a shed, a stable or a cheap, pet-friendly hotel? Like many archaic words acquired during childhood I have never actually looked into the real meaning. You know, you stand there in the Sunday School choir and mouth these carols, but you have no idea what they mean. Ditto, the cattle are lowing. Seriously?)
To the books. Himself and I are entering the 21st century and, wait for it, we are getting one of those hideous big tellies for Christmas. Well, Himself, is getting the telly. I am getting an antique Chinese cabinet on which to rest Satan's toy. Come Christmas day I will happily sit and 'watch' the cabinet, dear reader, it's ever so divine AND it has drawers! I am so excited. I LOVE placing things in new drawers. LOVE.
So, meantime, as part of my procrastination busy-work, the bookcase in the Good Room had to be moved to make way for the future. Hard yakka, dear reader. Hard, dusty yakka. And yet it was a lovely opportunity to look at some of my old books, to flick through soft, yellowing pages and do some serious...stroking. Books hold so many memories for me. Not just their narratives but where I was when I read them, how I was feeling when I discovered a certain author, the impact the book had on my days while I was reading it—living it. The impact it had on my later life. Ecetera...
I wish I could run red velvet curtains in front of the new, unspeakably gauche TV but such fancy stagecraft is beyond my capabilities. At any rate, the bookcase is not going far. Just across the other side of the room, in fact. So, even while we are viewing the Flat Screen and marvelling at this Christmas Miracle and being Joyful and Triumphant, we will still be surrounded by BOOKS. We will still be somehow...grounded. All I can say is, thank heavens for that.
Bless you for reading my ramblings, dear reader. Bless you.
Now, back to the writing. I'm sure there are more cards to fill in. xx
PS Just as an aside, dear reader. When I was, oh, about eight, I thought that the cattle are lowing meant that the cattle were down on their knees. Kind of like us when we were in church. Failing that I thought perhaps it meant the cattle were 'lo and beholding'. In other words, they were looking at one another and saying, 'Lo and behold, it's the baby Jesus'. I still believed in talking animals and Narnia and all that jazz, and this Baby Jesus story was a fine story indeed and there were bound to be talking animals somewhere in Bethlehem... Surely?