Steps To A Perfect Christmas

The trouble about childhood Christmases is that they feel so much better in retrospect, even though memory tends to be unreliable as the years pass, just as it was the case for Dylan Thomas, who could never remember whether it snowed for six days and six nights when he was twelve or whether it snowed for twelve days and twelve nights when he was six.* Of course, it never snowed in the country where I spent my childhood Christmases but, not intending a pun, you get my drift.

            Although my childhood was a tropical one, December is usually a month of cool temperatures, sometimes cold enough to require blankets at night and flannel during the day. So, I am sure I remember correctly when, early one cold, dark Christmas morning I woke up to my father playing the carol, “Christians, awake!” on a tin whistle which, as it turned out, was one of the stocking-fillers destined for me that day. A thrill, impossible to forget, ran through my entire body, and all Christmases thence have had to be measured against that high. 

            Since then, I have had Christmases in many lands on three other continents and in various circumstances. I even spent the entire day of one at an airport once. But I am happy to say, though, that many of those Christmases have equalled, if not exceeded the rapture on that Christmas morning all those years ago when I was six or seven. That old memory thing again. Gifts there have been aplenty, given and received, and the thrill endures, especially when we, too, in turn had young children.

But Christmas is also a time for a retro look at and reflection on the year just ending. In our case, the credit side has been more than enough to balance those minor annoyances on the debit side that sometimes look so formidable. One event in particular has been the cause of much joy when, in May, our son, Steve, married Carla Jacobson.

We have reason to be satisfied also because the Sierra Leone Sickle Cell Disease Society, of which we are foundation members, continues to bring relief to people who are, unfortunately, born with that disease. Their well-being is assured by donations from people like you. 
I haven’t had cause to source a tin whistle recently, but the cost of a common garden one could help make a difference to those who suffer from this disease for which a simple cure has, so far, been elusive. So, when you consider where to put your Christmas money this year, spare a thought for the Society and head for their website at www.sleonesickle.org and you will be taken through easy steps to the many ways in which you can donate. Perfect.

I hope you all have a lovely Christmas, if you celebrate, and also, and for others as well, that the coming year will be a glorious and healthy one.

Tell Fren Tru

*A Child’s Christmas in Wales