Christmas Thoughts

I received a joyful email the other day: a fellow adopter, in her 40s, wrote that she had read my book Dear Mummy, Welcome a couple of years ago during the adoptive process and now she is the proud mum of a teething ten-month year-old on her third reading: I just felt compelled to write to you to say how absolutely wonderful your book has been for me as a single adopter…it has become something of a bible during all the different stages…

Whenever I learn that my book has been of help I get a huge sense of satisfaction, and I was particularly appreciative of this email because it arrived whilst I was recuperating from an operation to mend a broken wrist (I slipped on a concrete jetty whilst we were enjoying a few days at Thanksgiving on the Gulf coast). What a boost the email was! I even decided that day to make scones, prompting a friend here to recall her great-grandmother who lost an arm in a train accident and continued rolling out pie crust dough.

Mike told me that there can be advantages to a change in circumstances and he cited the example of Robert Louis Stephenson who, if not for his melancholia associated with consumption, would never have written Treasure Island. I don’t expect to write a blockbuster but I have, I think, benefited from an enforced period of relaxation, allowing all those books that had piled up over the months to be read. And during a period of cold weather here – often only in the 30s during the day – it has felt deliciously cosy lying on the bed with the sun streaming in through the patio doors.

The house became even cosier yesterday after Mike and Mattie fetched the Christmas tree, a lovely tall bushy one which, as Mattie keeps reminding us both, was her choice. But the proud 13 year-old no longer, it seems, has the same sense of excitement at dressing it, leaving me to do the bulk. This I found to be an additional therapy for so many of the baubles have a history behind them. Hanging them up I thought of the person, or event, that had brought each one to us: that little chimneysweep from Mattie’s former foster mother (now sadly deceased); the set of Victorian cats from a neighbour in Sussex; the little cowboy boot that Mike gave to Mattie during her first Christmas in Texas; the pink ‘sugar mouse’ she made long ago from flour and water; the painted tin animal shapes from Mexico; the grey knitted mouse that my youngest sister Caryl made for me over 40 years ago; and the little decorated wooden spoon from my other sister, Molly… The only thing missing was something to go on top and after hunting through Mattie’s memory box I found the golden-curled cardboard fairy that the two of us had made for her junior school Christmas tree when she was eight. Now that sets off another train of thoughts …

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