Tuesday, October 11, 2022

Christmas Cards

22nd Nov

Christmas Cards

It's less than five weeks till Christmas!!!

I don't know about you but for me, it comes around all too  quickly. I can't believe we're nearly there. A sign of my age perhaps.

Do you send Christmas Cards? Some people don't do they?  It's definitely the time to think of at least buying some. 

I like to send them and over the years have come to realise what an important part of the Christmas  story they can be.

Many years ago I used to buy a big box of cards from Woolworths - yes, I know, definitely showing my age now!!

Anyhow, in this box of, I think 50 cards, there might be one or two that would be considered "Holy". What do I  mean by that? Well, I'm thinking of those ones that actually showed the Holy Family, Mary, Joseph and the baby Jesus. Those few cards would be selected, by me, to go to people who I thought would appreciate them, those ones who, I knew believed. I certainly wouldn't have popped one in to my neighbour who'd expressed agnostic views or to a family member who had fallen away from the Faith. Wouldn't want to upset them, now, would I?

These days I no longer  buy assorted boxes. In fact I go out of my way to purchase ( from local shops if at all possible), only ones with the real message of Christmas on. I only send religious cards.    For some people it might mean my card is the only one on their  shelf  showing what Christmas is about. And to think they'll have a nativity scene in their home makes me very happy. In this small way maybe I am bringing  Christ to others. And with a warm message inside, who knows the good it might do.

Are you particular about your Christmas Cards? Will you strive to pass on the Christmas message in this very easy  way. 

Wednesday, October 5, 2022


 5th Oct 2022

This week's six sentence challenge bloghop can be found here, 


Rules of the hop:
Write 6 Sentences. No more. No less.
Use the current week’s prompt word.
Link up at Wednesday’s post. Link goes live at 6:00 pm through Saturday late…
Spread the word and put in a good one to your fellow writers 😀


Dancing  With Dad

"Come on then, you're turn now," my father  put out his hand to me and smiled, having first  made sure  Mum  was comfortable sitting with  my Aunt and my sisters, "let's see what you remember from last week."  

As my handsome dad, with his jet black hair  swirled me round the dancefloor in an attempt to teach me the waltz, homework, friendship concerns,  and all the survival stuff of school, melted away and, having looked forward eagerly to these precious moments, I now concentrated only on  the steps, while  dad whispered , "one, two, three," over and over in my ear.  

Every Sunday evening we joined other Parishioners, mostly Irish, like one big family,  at the Hay Lane Catholic Club, which was packed to the rafters and where, I'm convinced more Guinness  was drunk here than in Dublin itself.  Proud to be dancing with my dad, and  striving as I was  to be as brilliant with him as mum was,  the two of us meanwhile  laughed together and enjoyed ourselves so much that the good feeling of everything being right with the world seemed to  seep into my bones. 

 Dad died  six years ago, and it was many years  before that I'd  last danced with him,  but these memories, rather than fading, seem to be as clear to me now as back then - when I trod on his toes,  when he patiently and kindly waited for me to learn, when he let me have some of his Guinness, when we'd finally danced the whole song without me making any mistakes and he lifted me up and kissed my forehead, and if I close my eyes and breathe deeply I can  smell the  beer, the smoke, the sweat of that lost time.  

Though things didn't stay that  good between us,  much as  I  wished they would, and though I'm sad that I didn't make more of an effort to be closer to him, I am , nevertheless, so grateful and thank God for these fond memories of a happier time. 

Saturday, October 1, 2022


 1st Oct 2022


Following on from last weeks story, I stay with Marie in the garden.

The  prompt word, Spark.

Marie glanced through the grubby window of the greenhouse, saw his spade hanging in the place he had always left it, saw the neat pots stacked in ordered rows, saw the seed boxes  all meticulously and lovingly  made by Frank all those years ago, and wondered what had finally pushed her over the edge, what was the spark that set her off.

When they first got married she enjoyed sharing his passion for all things horticultural, had followed him around at shows, had even done a course in flower arranging so she could make use of the many flowers that he grew, eventually becoming a teacher herself. 

However, as time went on and the children came along, it became clear to Marie that his plant obsession was the most important thing in the world to him and she would have to get on with things by herself, which , for the sake of the children and because she had loved him, she put up with.

The fact that their father showed them so little affection, she found it difficult over the years to convince her daughter and two sons that their father did actually love them, speaking well of him at all times and doing her best to encourage him on the odd occasion, usually with flowers involved, to attend events that they might be involved in. 

But she had become tired of living a lie and on that last day, the day he'd trudged over her new carpet with his muddy boots without a care for her at all, she'd been slicing onions for their dinner and suddenly, though she has no recall of the incident itself, she found herself looking down at his body, blood dripping from the knife she held in her hand.

"This is a good spot for you, right where you'd want to be," she said to her dead husband as she rolled him into the hole she'd dug outside his greenhouse, while she wondered how she would get his blood out of her new carpet.