O Christmas Tree!

Having spent the last week being trained for my new job – and loving it – I walked into town to pay my weekly visit to the greengrocer.  Basket in hand, I set forth in hot pursuit of coriander leaves, butternut squashes and boiled sweets.  En-route, I was leafleted by an acquaintance distributing invitations to the official “switching on” of the Christmas tree lights.  An event to be followed by a live nativity complete with animals, a four day old baby, mince pies and hot drinks!

Thus propelled into the festive spirit, we went in search of the unillumined topiary.  Oh dear, oh dear!  If there is a sadder tree propped crookedly for all to witness its pathetic inadequacy, I would hate to see it.  Our poor tree is – well, average.  Its height, shape and colour are all average (at best) and its only remarkable feature is its wonkiness and accompanying crib scene “kindly donated by the Knights of St. Columba”.  (If you’ve never heard of them, join the club; we hadn’t either.  But, like everything else, they can be googled.)

This evening, festive spirit firmly in place, we shall watch the miracle of fairy lights transforming our mediocre specimen into a tree “fit for purpose”, before dashing to mince pies, live animals and a newborn baby.  Happy days!

 

Welcome to the Journey

Central to the heart of every home and every age is the mothering spirit. It is gentle, yet firm; nurturing, yet challenging; loving, wise and simple. Many birth mothers do not possess it; folk of either gender may display it. Life is lost without it.







Central to the heart of every home and every age is the mothering spirit.  It is gentle, yet firm; nurturing, yet challenging; loving, wise and simple.  Many birth mothers do not possess it; folk of either gender may display it.  Life is lost without it.

The mothering spirit, in each of us, seeks to protect the innocent and vulnerable whilst precisely identifying and punishing the guilty.  It seeks the good in each person and even lovingly tolerates the dull, the daft and the great unwashed!

The mothering spirit is simultaneously ethereal and easily recognisable – even by the youngest child.

Called the “mothering” spirit, it derives its name from mothers who have – since the beginning of time – held an opinion about every topic under the sun!  Their quasi-omnipotence and success has hinged on the pin-point accuracy of their decisions whether, where and when to share knowledge.

Welcome – a true welcome – to all those who have or seek the mothering spirit in our time.  Let us journey together.

True to the mothering spirit of standard bearing, I begin by mentioning the current number 1 on my list of things “people simply should not do”: spitting in public.  Revolting and unhygienic beyond belief, in some quarters it appears to have become a national past-time.  Interestingly, the same individuals merrily manage to desist from expectorating on the train, tram or tube.  They don’t spit arbitrarily, so why do it at all?  Inexplicable!

I’m off to resurrect the wreath for the front door.

Happy Christmas!  Peace, joy and hope to you.