For Boxing Day - A Day Around

I am a Christmas Pie convert.

For Christmas -- An Unknown Box

For Christmas this year, Alex and I are with her parents and brother. The day is filled with food, tea and the opening of the presents. Many presents filled in the space below, around, and extending beyond the gorgeously decorated Christmas tree! This year, I didn't ask for much, and what I did was useful or random or just plain fun: new clothes, make-up, books. From my own parents, I wanted them to focus on saving up money to come to our wedding in England in April. From Alex, anything she fancied. From her family, anything that made them think of me really. So, I was expecting eccentric, electic gifts--which is what I got, and then there was an unknown box.

There was a box without a tag. It was large, heavy, very box shaped. When I unwrapped it, I let out a cry of joy and lept up to hug Alex's parents: they had gotten me a sewing machine.

Since I moved to England in January, I have wanted a sewing machine. I probably would have purchased one before I left and brought it with me, but the power conversion is different. I said I would save up my wages from my first bar job here, and there were bills to pay instead. Before I left, I learned to quilt, started to make more things of my own. All year I've been dreaming of things to make, finding the perfect fabrics. And now I can put all the dreams into action.

For Wednesday - Mistletoe

At the Christmas Fair, Margaret and Harriet walk along the stalls, eyeing food and trinkets for sale. A girl selling mistletoe tied with red ribbons speaks to them.

Girl: 'Need some mistletoe?'
Margaret: 'We have some already. Thank you.'

Harriet and Margaret walk on to another stall. Margaret begins to ponder.

Margaret: 'Can I have your change?'
Harriet: 'What for?'
Margaret: 'A suprise.'
Harriet: 'I'm paying for a suprise.'
Margaret: 'You'll see.'
Harriet: 'Ok.'
Margaret: 'Now don't turn around.'

Margaret scurries back to the girl, who has a lovely smile and dark hair.

Margaret: 'Excuse. How much is the mistletoe?'
Girl: '1 pound.'
Margaret: 'I'd like one please. I said we have some, but it's at home and we're not there for Christmas.'
Girl: 'Here you go.'

Girl hands mistletoe to Margaret. Margaret pays and smiles.

Margaret: 'Thank you... Happy Christmas!'

Margaret wiggles the mistletoe into her pocket so that her hands cover any trace of it. She spots Harriet on her own walking up ahead on the cobbled streets with her back turned. Margaret scurries up silently and taps Harriet on the shoulder. As Harriet turns around, Margaret pulls the mistletoe out of her pocket and holds it up just above their heads, off kilter a little.

Margaret: 'Happy Christmas.'

Harriet smiles, softly giggling once or twice. She looks up at Margaret and gives her little quick kisses in the cool December air.

The Story of Love

So, I have a friend. A friend I think a lot about, and I worry for. I have a friend I think about a lot and worry for a lot. I also have a lot of love for this friend that I think about and worry for. I like to believe that when I'm thinking about my friend, they know I'm thinking about them, and they can feel my love. You might think that sounds a bit silly, a bit like a song on the radio, that they can feel my love, but I really believe it. I believe that we can send and receive love, especially miles and miles and miles apart kind of love, without even trying to send it or knowing in our logical minds that we are receiving it. Believing that I can send such love, especially miles and miles and miles apart kind of love, comforts me and so I worry a little bit less, silently loving a little bit more. I have no idea if it is working--OK, maybe the 'odd' instance now and again when simultaneous 'thinking of you' happens--and I wonder what would happen if the whole world believed that you could go on sending love to someone, without being with them or near them or spending any money or communicating directly via all our technologies. What if the whole population of the world sat down or carried on working or went for a walk, thinking of people they knew, believing the other people could feel their love? What if you did, too?

For Monday - A Holiday Town

When we roll our suitcases down the high street in London, we hear them, but we don't really hear them. The decible level on the street is to the point where having a conversation requires 'loud voices:' buses, cars, motorbikes, shopping bags on wheels, school kids laughing/fighting, mobile phone and mobile phone conversations, people handing out papers and advertizements.

When we arrived in Fowey tonight, we stepped of the garage to utter silence of the night. Then we rolled our suitcase down the road. The noise was almost deafening in comparison. I felt like we were disturbing the night, the peace. It was a coming home. And then we went in the house.

Yo Birthday

Birthdays are a funny thing. There's all the anticipation of it arriving, and then the pressure to the day. Given that Christmas celebrations tend to overshadow any glimpse of birthdays in December (gifts arriving on time, availability to attend parties, etc) I've taken to just celebrating the whole month. Whenever a package arrives, I'll open it.

This year we celebrated the day before my birthday this year, December 19th. We went out into central London for the day--brunch at Rick's, Clapham Common, Somerset House Super Christmas Market, lunch at Wahaca (oh, Wahaca, I love thee), Where the Wild Things Are at the Cinema, ending with the Brighton Gay Men's Chorus (with sister-in-law, Erica, performing too!) at the Barbican theatre. A fantastically long day.

Then I woke up Sunday to get ready for work and Alex ill over the toilet. For as much as I wanted to feel differently, for a slight moment, it was an anticlimax. And the day was still beautiful. After work, we went for drinks with two of my closest friends in London. Twenty-Five, 25. A quarter of a century.

It's My Birthday Weekend...

Feeling so loved.