I usually take down my Christmas decorations and cards on Boxing Day night. If not then, the day after at the latest. After the 26th , to me the frippery, just looks, messy.
I’m working a long day again tomorrow , so just can’t be arsed collecting everything now.
My tired feet need a bulldog’s attention
So I’m sat with almost both big toes in Dorothy’s mouth surveying the Christmas cards looped on string curves under the ceiling beams.
I am thinking about my mother.
I don’t think about her often.
I inherited my love of receiving cards from her as every year I would observe almost obsessional behaviour as she would carefully document each card as it was received in her much used Christmas Card Journal , ticking away in black in that year’s column .
If, God forbid, no card was received ( especially if one have been sent ( this too was documented btw ) then a Red Cross would be entered into the year column .
Two consecutive red crosses would mean no card would be sent the following year.
She was ruthless
She was easily hurt
And she was precise
This year I was reminded of her. Sitting on her couch behind a heavily laden coffee table which was covered in carefully arranged piles of cards. Sheets of stamps, a selection of ball point pens a ruler and a very large gin and tonic.
I remember her now, as resembling the old lady from the far side all be it as a wiry haired brunette and not a blonde………
I make light of this huge undertaking of hers, but it was quietly important to her and sometime in the late1970s, I remember her sadly reviewing a card sent by someone she once was close to
The card was flimsy
A last one chosen from a box of fifty.
It had baubles on it and could hardly stand when it was placed on the sideboard
She was upset and hurt by it and her words have strangely remained with me to this day,
As she showed the card to me she said sadly, in way of advice…..
“ A Cheap card, hastily written, should Never be sent”
