Christmas is not my favourite time of the year. Needless to say, I didn't always feel this way.
As a child, I could hardly bear the excitement leading up to Christmas day. The wondering about what would be waiting for me at the end of the bed when I woke up, the fear that it might really be a bag of coal, the wishing for time to fly so that Christmas morning could be NOW. I can't ever remember being disappointed. But, I can only remember two of the presents that I received as a believer in the Fat Man in the Red Suit. One was a doll, with blue eyes and long blonde hair and the other was a xylophone. The doll became part of me. I washed her, dressed her, fed her, took her for walks, slept with her, talked to her, wished I was her. I thought she was SO beautiful. And she thought I was wonderful too. A mutual admiration society. The friendship lasted for years.
The xylophone became part of me as well but in a different way. It didn't need to be washed, dressed, fed or taken for walks. It used to sit there, waiting patiently for me to play with it. Which I did, incessantly. I loved all the different sounds it made. I loved the colours and the shiny feel of it. I loved the shape of it. It was just the right size for hauling around under my arm or pushing down the back of the cart that I used to drag around after me everywhere I went. For what seemed like years. I learned to play London Bridge is Falling Down, Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, Ding Dong Dell and invented my own barrel load of masterpieces that remain undiscovered to this day. I probably drove everbody within a 10 mile radius to the brink of insanity with the, less than melodious, clanging and tinkling. The cherished xylophone, eventually, disintegrated, thereby, prematurely ending, my burgeoning musical career. I never did learn to play another musical instrument, one of the small regrets in my life.
When my children were small, I landed each of them with a xylophone at some point in their Santa-believing years. Not one of them was as enamoured with the simple music machine as I was. I felt, quietly and unreasonably, disappointed. I wanted them to experience their own unique wonder and pleasure at creating sounds from coloured pieces of metal and wooden bongers. I wanted to share part of my childhood ecstasy with them. But they had their own ecstasies. C'est la vie, I suppose.
Now, if I ever have a grandchild .....
One good thing about the advent of the Festive Season is the demise of November. The end of NaBloPowhatsit. A cessation of posting, ad nauseum, every day. A return to the REAL pleasure of Blogging ... reading everybody else's posts.
Only 3 more posts and how many sleeps Birdy?
6 comments:
Only a couple more days until freedom!
Kudos for doing it, I never could.
I felt like this about my spirograph. It was a constant amazement to me. I was so excited when I deemed my daughter to be the perfect age to receive one.
She probably looked at it twice...
Yes you deserve some medal or something for you persistance. I have enjoyed reading your posts very much, even if they have been a source of anxiety for you.
I never quite got the doll of my dreams. I overcompensated with my daughter. I must say, she did love her dolls as much as I did.
Funny what grabs us as kids. For me it was a small chalkboard. I played with it until it fell apart and then I mourned it for a long time.
I loved our xylophone too, I wonder what happened to it? Musical presents for kids are a great thing.
Christmas is what you make it Rise. And I know there is also a lot of heartache around at this time of the year. But I look on it as a time to remember friends, real and bloggers and wish them good greetings and hoping their next year is going to be all they wish for. only 25 more sleeps now.
well done on the posts they have been wonderful. Please don't stop now.
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