December

Although the change from one month to the next is an artificial man-made boundary, today it was as if nature recognised the date and chose the first day of December for the first real white frost of the winter. 

This morning I could hear the sounds of ice being scraped off car windscreens before the early morning commute and in the garden there was a thin layer of ice on the tray of water the chickens like to drink from.  

I was glad of my coat, scarf and fingerless gloves when hanging out the washing on the icy line. I returned to the house barely able to move my fingers and was almost glad to tackle the pile of breakfast washing up so that my hands would thaw out.

Of all the months of the year, November is my least favourite and although the change of date has no real significance, I am pleased we are now in December.  We have hung up our Advent tree although the pockets are less full this year, only after the 19th when everyone is at home will we need chocolates for four.

The time leading up to Christmas is a quiet time now that the boys are grown.  I remember when they were at primary school, there were plates of mince pies to be made for Christmas Fairs and Cub-scout parties, there was the school play and the end of term carol service (both with more mince pies), lot of cards to be written, raffle tickets to be sold and an endless stream of Christmas artwork to be fastened to the fridge, it all seemed non-stop and Christmas lasted for weeks.


At the time, I loved being caught up in the hustle and bustle and imagined that I would miss it once the boys were older but now I find I don't mind at all. I appreciate the calm and slower pace that comes from having fewer things to do.

I walked in the lanes just outside the village today and brought home some catkins and ivy which are now on the mantlepiece next to the Advent candle.  Just the sort of quiet Christmas preparations I look forward to this year.