Pants in the Pond

There was a discussion on Twitter today centred around how one mum would sort out her children's accumulated clutter. The consensus was that the best way to sort it was to put it all in black bags (adult clutter included) and charge a 1p tithe to release it to its owner. A very good idea, and one that we could do with using in this house from time to time (I would owe a lot of money)!

This discussion amused me, particularly as from the ages of 5 - 21 I was possibly the least tidy person that God lovingly created! I have gradually improved but that is mainly thanks to the influence of a certain Curate of my acquaintance whose own tidiness borders on excessive (in my humble opinion). However during the years above I lived with my parents and then in various student digs where my untidiness knew no bounds!

One particular incident from adolescence is worth sharing (although those of you with teenagers should look away now in case you are moved to follow my Mum's example).

I had gone for tea at a friend's house a couple of streets away, and I received a phone call. It went like this:

Me: "Hello Mum, what's up?"
Mum: "Oh nothing, I am fine now, but you need to come home immediately!" Said in an calm and slightly scary voice.
Me: "What have I done?"
Mum: "Come home now!"

I raced all the way home, my heart beating ninety to the dozen to discover my fate. I had no idea what i could possibly have done to be in trouble but I still felt guilty. When I arrived home, Mum was still calm and she said "I was appalled by the state of your room today and so in a fit of anger I have thrown all the things that shouldn't be on the floor out of your bedroom window and you need to go into the garden and collect them. Now!"

I scuttled off into the garden to retrieve random items of makeup, magazines, soft toys, and most embarrassingly discarded items of dirty laundry. Most of the laundry (mainly pants to my shame and disgust) had already had a pre-wash cycle as my window was directly above the garden pond!

When I came back in and apologised for my room and the mess and assured Mum I would try harder in future, she accepted my apology and we continued our evening in peace. However when I went to bed that night I discovered that she hadn't finished my 'unusual' punishment. As I got into bed I squealed at a strange noise - Mum had filled my duvet cover with my discarded sweet wrappers! Needless to say they went in the bin (where they should have been in the first place) immediately.

So teenagers, if you are being berated for the state of your room, or not taking your washing to the laundry bin, just remember it could be far far worse

Ghosts of Christmas Past

At this time of year it seems natural to be in a reflective and contemplative frame of mind. To count one's blessings and give thanks for this Christmas and for all the Christmases we have once enjoyed.

I am reflecting today, this Christmas Eve, on a particular Christmas past. Not a childhood memory of Santa sacks, and Christmas jumpers and trips to my god mother an her mother's house on Boxing Day.

The memory that touches me most is Christmas 2006. We were living in the Midlands, and travelled after work on Christmas Eve, to my parent's house in Portsmouth. Following our marriage we had spent Christmas with our respective families on alternate years and 2006 was my parent's turn.

My Dad had been retired and in and out of hospital for over 2 years, and I was happy to get the chance to spend another Christmas with him, and with Mum and my brother and of course my darling husband.
 
We arrived in the early evening, my brother who was working/ living in London at the time arrived after us minus his bag (which he had left on the train). The presents were great but unimportant the food was fabulous as usual. Darling husband and I went out to Midnight Mass at the nearest church (which just happened to be the church where Dad had been priest-in-charge until illness retired him and we wished we hadn't really. You see the most important part of this Christmas celebration was to come.

In their tiny sitting room my Dad celebrated Communion on Christmas morning wearing the Gold stole which we had bought him for Christmas a few years before, and then we took Dad out in his wheelchair wrapped up against the biting winter sea breeze and walked along the seafront. Dad was desperate to get out in the fresh air, Mum took loads of persuasion, and it certainly was no mean feat pushing Dad in his manual wheelchair whilst pipe smoke billowed up from under his broad brimmed hat!

This evening at Midnight Mass, my husband will wear the gold stole, and I will thank God for that Christmas and all Christmas's past, for my Dad's life and the memory of his last Christmas with us, and for the coming of the Messiah that first Christmas and I may shed a little tear.