christmas greetings

 

Suddenly it seems that December is upon us and therefore towards the end of it lies Christmas. To say that I'm not really prepared for it would be an understatement but below is Nancy getting in there first with Christmas greetings  Meowstle-toe (thank you Chloe for the picture and title)

So I thought a series of warming festive pictures perhaps - chestnuts roasting by an open fire ........

Pocket who normally hogs the fire is waiting for us to put up a tree so he can climb on it and play with the silver balls. This usually leads to the tree being at a jaunty angle and having to be tied to a door handle to stop it crashing down. We deliberately do not put a fairy on the top as this seems to encourage even more adventurous scaling of the branches.

and Billie - who has never had a christmas is holding onto what she considers to be the best cushion and asks when she can open it. Normally she doesn't ask of course and most of our cushions have already been opened, their fluffy white contents scattered across the floor like snow. Rocket was temporarily excited as he said he would make snow angels and did indeed roll around in it though nothing looked very angelic.

Rocket who is not in a festive mood here has found an airline flight cushion and is hoping he can fly away perhaps to Lapland where he might offer to pull a sledge(much to Pocket's disapproval. see earlier remark on you wouldn't get eight cats pulling a sledge. etc etc .)

The paperwhites opened early this year as I obviously planted them too early so won't be around at Christmas (much to Pocket's disapproval) (see pic of him scowling below)

But here a gentle reminder of a Christmas greeting from dear Mrs Magpie (now Mr.Magpie) who liked to pick everything up and fly away with it. I think the nest he might have made with his consort is probably lined with my pens and other useful accoutrements.

Happy Christmas dear Readers and thank you E.E.Cummings for his poem below.

Pocket wants to change his name to E.E.Pocket as he says he has scribed some rather catchy haikus. 

little tree

BY E. E. CUMMINGS

little tree

little silent Christmas tree

you are so little

you are more like a flower

who found you in the green forest

and were you very sorry to come away?

see          i will comfort you

because you smell so sweetly

i will kiss your cool bark

and hug you safe and tight

just as your mother would,

only don't be afraid

look          the spangles

that sleep all the year in a dark box

dreaming of being taken out and allowed to shine,

the balls the chains red and gold the fluffy threads,

put up your little arms

and i'll give them all to you to hold

every finger shall have its ring

and there won't be a single place dark or unhappy

then when you're quite dressed

you'll stand in the window for everyone to see

and how they'll stare!

oh but you'll be very proud

and my little sister and i will take hands

and looking up at our beautiful tree

we'll dance and sing

"Noel Noel"

Billie's food diary

 

A sweet picture of Billie admiring the nasturtiums. Left to her own devices she would have eaten them.

A while ago I was given a food diary and told to write down everything I ate and drank in a day. I was tempted to fill it with haute cuisine but thought that cheating would be silly so it ended up an uninteresting read - toast - cereal - cheese - tomatoes- red wine ......

Instead I persuaded Billie to keep a food diary. 

Monday - ate dog bed, pair of socks, more poetry, letter from the DVLA.

Tuesday - large cushion with tiny feathers in. Two tea towels. Mum's phone.

Wednesday - another dog bed, three pens and all the newly planted violas in pot by door.

Thursday - Mum's breakfast carelessly left at head height. an odd sock

Friday- one boot. Half of Mum's diary.

Saturday - the review section of the saturday paper

Pocket said Billie had eaten all of his food as well and therefore he was starving and it was at least two months since he'd had a proper meal not counting the mouse last week. He told me he was so hungry he'd taken himself off to the seaside in case he could catch a fish but instead found a message in a bottle. What did it say? I asked. He told me it said I'm alive! They were two bullets short for me and one of the sledge dogs. Am making my way across the ice. signed Mrs Chippy.(polar explorer)

Mrs Chippy! I exclaimed - why he was the cat on the Endeavour. Shackleton had to shoot all the sledge dogs and the cat when they left the ship frozen in the ice.

Pocket said he'd try and find him then and was not put off by the fact it was way over a hundred years ago in 1914 in fact.You wouldn't get eight cats pulling a sledge through snow he muttered. Even though it was so long ago and even a cat with nine lives would not be alive today I was pleased to hear this level-headed quick thinking carpenter's cat might have survived after all. Pocket asked if I could leave the freezer door open so he could experience what Mrs Chippy had gone through.(also there might be some of his food in there which I'd forgotten to give him.)

Rocket thought it was a load of nonsense but hoped I didn't expect him to pull a sledge when the snow came.

A while ago I had a dream whereby I turned one of the stables into a pottery. When I awoke I thought I must learn how to throw a pot.  A dear friend gave me her wheel and someone insulated the stable so it's warmer than our house and I go for lessons. Below are three of my creations. I don't smoke but I now have a load of ashtrays. I'd like to make something more useful - like a bowl to eat out of but I have little success with larger lumps of clay. I still wish when I opened the stable door I'd find a horse in there rather than a lot of very small bowls.

Last dahlia standing.

Snow

BY LOUIS MACNEICE

The room was suddenly rich and the great bay-window was

Spawning snow and pink roses against it

Soundlessly collateral and incompatible:

World is suddener than we fancy it.

World is crazier and more of it than we think,

Incorrigibly plural. I peel and portion

A tangerine and spit the pips and feel

The drunkenness of things being various.

And the fire flames with a bubbling sound for world

Is more spiteful and gay than one supposes— 

On the tongue on the eyes on the ears in the palms of one's hands—

There is more than glass between the snow and the huge roses.