My latest book, Empty Hearts, is a vintage romance. It isn't about Christmas, but the cover, designed by the wonderful Michelle Lee at Stardust Creations at http://michelleleedesigns.net evokes the spirit of Christmas, chilly though it is.
This year, all my immediate family are going to spend Christmas together for first time in 9 years so the house is going to be very full, as are the cupboards and the fridge, with the overflow stored in a cold outhouse. Consequently I have had to start thinking about it much earlier than usual this year, and this has prompted me to recall the Christmases I enjoyed when I was small.
The first one I remember was the one when my parents gave me a dolls house. I was probably about 5 years old and it wasn't any old dolls house, it was one they made themselves. Money was tight so buying a fancy one was out of the question, so my father divided a wooden box into 4 'rooms' and papered each one with scraps of wallpaper. Offcuts of carpet were stuck to the floor and curtains were hung at the windows on tiny lengths of wire so I could open and close them. Although the windows themselves were merely holes in the wall I thought the whole thing was magical. My Mother, meanwhile, was busy with the furniture. I can still clearly remember the flower-patterned sofa and two armchairs. They were comfortably padded and had frills around the base and it was a very long time before I discovered that they were made out of matchboxes. The bed in the upstairs room had pillows and sheets and a bedspread (no duvets or throws in those days) and there was also an upholstered cot (another matchbox) for the baby. I don't remember the rest of the furniture so clearly but I know there was a bathroom and a kitchen with a few pieces of bought furniture. No stairs of course but my family of dolls were all very adept at clambering up the walls to the upper floor, and I certainly don't recall considering that a defect. Far from it. I thought it was the most perfect house I had ever seen, especially as my Father had somehow found some stick-on paper that looked like tiles for the sloping roof. What a gift, and knowing how I feel when I see my grandchildren open a special present, I imagine they had as much joy as I did.
When I was older books and drawing materials were my preferred option, and there are two other Christmases I particularly remember. The first is when I received an artist's palette, paintbrushes, some tiny tubes of oil paint and a few canvases. My parents and grandmother all had to sit for their portraits and for years those pictures hung on the walls of my childhood home. Sadly they disappeared a long time ago, probably around the time I got married and my mother cleared out my bedroom. As I fondly remember them as true likeness it is probably just as well I can no longer see them and be disillusioned as to my artistic skills.
The final Christmas that was special was the one where every present was a book! I can still remember my parents' faces as the pile grew taller and taller (I had a lot of aunts and uncles!). I think they were worried I would be disappointed, but I wasn't. I loved being given what was essentially a mini library and I still have some of those books today, ones that I have shared with my granddaughters. What Katy Did is a favourite.
So when I see my grandchildren open their presents this Christmas I will be remembering the excitement and hopefully at least one of them will receive a present that they will never forget.
Merry Christmas!
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