A CS Christmas Thought.

I stood in a memory today. The old family home seemed big enough as a child,
and the Journey from my bed to the well Imagined jumble of Christmas presents under the tree, always seemed an adventure. Perhaps I was cramped by the size of Adulthood, and needed some means of escape.
But that is just perhaps of course, and some might simply say I was daydreaming.
As for me. Well ! I stood there once more, Mature and trying to see the world unquestionably through the eyes of childhood. Gnarled knuckled fingers rummaging carelessly about a box.
Obviously full of memories, to unimportant to commit to memory. I say obviously.
But you might argue saying "no Childhood memory is unimportant"!
To which I would have to ask Do you recall all yours Completely ?
Every glistening bauble that you hung on the tree after the strange fascination with your own protuberant reflection had stretched from thoughts priority, every wrap of tinsel lightly tickling your palm as you gently danced around from base to bearable stretch of pine branches before bigger hands continued to the topmost hooking pine needle. Can you picture every mischievous silent sliding of lid, off the cookie jar or candy tin, or the smiling taste of sweet victory as you ate your prize.
Or every closing eyelid fought at the idea of being the last of the eve. In the hope of strained ear hearing a drawing near of sleigh bells or movement on the rooftops.
All important memories, but somehow forgot Among the trivialities of Keys and Credit.
These are the memories that now live in those long empty sweet tins. Existing only as happy accidents in the search of more convoluted matters. And on convoluted matters it was indeed when I was stopped and greeted by an old black and white photo.
A smiling child looked with wonderment as they sat with Santa. Surrounded by tacky
bric a brac and sided by what I can only Imagine to have been a glorious
shimmering of colour radiating from an eight foot Christmas tree.
All were distractingly offset by a large badly hung Banner reading "Santa's Grotto"
My eyes where drawn to what seemed to be cracks in the photo but where actually missing paint flakes that had broken with the constant clamour of children upon Santa's bubble wrap boots, and I presume a stain of muddy little fingers smudged his cotton beard. So cheap looking all over but I never noticed until looking back at the old picture. As a child we thought it all so real and pristine
I laughed and concluded How blind, children can be !. Or perhaps age has dwindled my vision obscuring beauty into stark reality.
I have the photograph on my fridge now and look at it every day. Searching for that long lost feeling of Something.That something I know is missing from my life.
Perhaps when I am old and the memories of adulthood are failing me, drifting into convexed shadows like reflections on Christmas Baubles, That something will meet me in the glorious shimmering of colour radiating from the dusty corners of my biscuit-tin Brain, And I will feel complete.
Until that day, should it come. As we try to peep behind the commercial values and pressures of want rather than need. I will see the magic of Christmas only in the kind acts of forgiveness, charity and true empathy. Three gifts worthy of giving to any newborn baby on Christmas, and which seem abundant in the hearts and minds of children.
And if you never had a Christmas like this, Then for you I wish all three, and light a candle.
In hope it helps you find your way.

Have a blessed Christmas, Members of CS and a bright new year.


“He was conscious of a thousand odours floating in the air, each one connected with a thousand thoughts, and hopes, and joys, and cares, long, long, forgotten.”

- Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol -