Keeping on track

I've made a (so far) mental list of the things I have to do in these next few days, together with the day I'm intending to do them on. So far, the cake icing, the cranberry sauce and the parcel-wrapping have all been accomplished at the appointed hour; today was destined for crèche construction and what was loosely, and optimistically, termed "sorting out the spare bedroom". Said bedroom has been an increasingly terrifying tip for months - mostly clothes on the bed, the ironing board and abandoned boxes before it also turned into Santa's Grotto. Today I had to make up the bed lest it is needed at the weekend, change the duvet (it was still the summer one on the bed) and get rid of stuff. 

But before that it was time to fix the church for Christmas Eve. I don't do flowers and things like that, but Di and I do go in for the extra touches like the Advent Wreath and the visuals for the gospel of the big moments. At this time of year it entails digging out the figures of Mary, Joseph and the bambino, making sure we get the shepherds, tucking the Magi and the one surviving camel away on their journey because they've still got a long way to travel ...

This year we were helped by two small boys, so I let Di do most of the direction in her best Primary Teacher manner while I rummaged in the unspeakable tower room for the shepherds and the Magi. The advantage of putting small children on the job is their ability to crawl right into the space below the altar (doubling as a stable) to affix the starry night backdrop in place - thus sparing our aged knees on the tiled floor. 

All this allowed us to go for a walk in the afternoon, which is where I took the photo above - the silhouettes at Toward Sailing Club, with the last light sky above Bute. It was relatively calm and only very slightly wet, but now, after midnight, it's once more blowing a hoolie and raining hard. I'm trying not to stress about our forthcoming travel arrangements...

Lastly, because of yesterday's discussion in the comments, I'm including a poem I wrote about 5 years ago on the subject of the Annunciation. Picture the adult Mary looking back on the extraordinary event that changed her life for ever: for me, the realisation that surely every woman feels on realising she's pregnant, that her life will never be the same again, was complicated by a bewildered sense that she didn't really know what was happening - and still couldn't quite recall, even after everything else. 

Annunciation
I remember it was that sad time -
when daylight fades, the night not yet arrived
and lonely souls feel lost and grey -
that time. There was a sudden change
which swirled in the air around
the room where that last friendly sun 
had shone before it left me there,
a change which seemed to move within
my heart, my breast, my open eyes …
Dear God. It’s there, although the years
have passed with all their joy and loss - 
that fierce moment in the darkened room
when I was asked - no: I was told 
my life would be no longer mine.
I cannot tell now what I saw; 
I have a thought of gleaming light,
of eyes too fierce to face, of wings -
Wings? Feathers? huge and hard and white
that filled the space and sky as well,
and danger as God’s messenger
handed me as if a gift
the burden of the love of God.
C.M.M.