I can't remember one Christmas in the first house my family lived in.
The pit rows - terraced houses, old and decrepit, built decades before, with a workforce in mind, to keep the workers conveniently close to the mine they moved to the area for. I know all this because Trev has researched our family trees and part of my immediate family moved from the Cotswolds to Derbyshire because of the shortage of work where they originated from and the potential for work, a new home and the promise of a new life.
I cannot remember any of those Christmases. Not in that house - we moved before I was 7 years old.
I don't remember the Christmases there, but I do remember the decorations - I remember them because we still used them in the new house.
When Trev and I set up our own home, we were handed lots of stuff to take with us. Whether that's a tradition, to help the new couple settle into their new home with familiar things or not, I don't know, but I think it did help - especially on our first Christmas here at our home.
Over the years, some things have 'died' - the Christmas lights had to be discarded because they were becoming dangerous and we couldn't risk the babies' safety with the old wiring.
One particular year, a lot of my cherished baubles died all at once.
Danielle was 'helping' me either take them out or put them away - I don't know which.
The baubles my grandparents had given to me when they moved out of their (too large) house and into a two-bedroom flat were all in one box, wrapped tenderly and safe - or so I thought.
All your eggs in one basket? Same thing with baubles - not a good idea!
The box I used was one that a toy had arrived in - a ball which had different sized and shaped holes for toddlers (Dani) to fit the corresponding shapes in.
Dani saw the box and rolled it down the stairs - well, that's what you do with a ball... she actually remembered the event and we discussed it a few years ago. That was her mind-set and the reason she rolled the box. It wasn't her fault the box no longer contained the toy pictured.
I didn't get angry, but I did become upset at the loss of all those memories. I remember sitting on the stairs crying. Dani sat next to me and put her arm around me to comfort me.
What a memory!
Santa’s Little Helper
A Dusty the Demon Hunter Story
By
D Michelle Gent
The poem that had been whirling around in her head seemed to be being recited now.
Instead of the words being inside her head, she could hear them and she noticed that Santa was reciting them in a quiet voice too.
Dusty wondered where the words were coming from.
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of Toys, and St Nicholas too.
“Yeah, the toys,” she said in a distracted tone. “Where are the toys?”
“Ahh, I never gave out toys, Dusty. That was never me. I give out different gifts.”
They were coming to a large town and Dusty hoped that her questions would all be answered soon.
The sleigh pulled up on the roof of a house and Santa got out.
He didn’t disappear down the chimney as Dusty was expecting, but instead he took a long staff from the side of the sleigh.
It was a gnarled and old branch but it was straight and it looked to be extremely tough and hard.
Then it started to glow and sparkles and sparks began to spin around the knobbed top of it.
The sparkles and sparks swirled around as though they were caught up in a miniature whirlwind.
Then the whirlwind began to expand and grow.
It grew wider and larger but the density of the sparkles didn’t diminish. Then Santa tossed the staff up into the air, just like a majorette in a marching band would.
The effect was far grander, more explosive than any baton.
As the staff spun in the air, suspended by what Dusty could only assume was magic, the sparks and sparkles were flung far and wide.
Dusty saw them as they landed on houses and gardens, cars and even one lone passerby. He didn’t seem to see the sparks landing on his coat but as they sunk into the heavy fabric, he straightened his back, pushed out his chest and seemed sprightlier than he had moments before.
Dusty smiled, she couldn’t help feeling happy, delighted, euphoric.
She saw sparks trickling down chimneys and at least one cat was the recipient of whatever it was that those twinkling things bestowed.
She could hear Santa’s voice as he recited more of the poem.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St Nicholas came with a bound.
He returned to Dusty and the sleigh and he winked at her.
She grinned back and then her mouth dropped open in surprise and her eyes grew wide.
Santa was putting on weight and his beard was growing.
Pictures from Google Free to use Images