Bless my lovely neighbours. All up to their eyes in their own Christmas preparations, but 6 of them have found time today to get sympathy cards and post them through the letterbox.
And bless so many of you, all up to your eyes, caring for your loved ones, sorting out Christmas, and still finding time for me. I feel truly humble. I managed to get through best part of a box of tissues with It's a Wonderful Life, but then my son and daughter have had me in hysterics, exchanging anecdotes about their Dad on emails.
I'd like to share just one with you. When my son was 6, he was impressed that both John and Jesus had the same birthday. Nobody else in his class had a Dad with their birthday on Christmas Day. He was convinced that John, too, was the Son of God.
On Christmas Eve he was passing Christmas Cards to John, who was putting them on strings. He ran out of space and was hammering another pin in the wall, on which to hang a string, and hammered his thumb, at which point John yelled "*&^%$* it!!!" , and at that moment my son sadly knew that John was a mere mortal.
I love it. So much nicer to talk about happy times. And thank goodness for modern technology, that enables me to talk to my son, 6,000 miles away, and read loads of emails, remembering the fun times we all had. I'm so glad my kids, though in their 40s, remember such happy childhoods.
Bless my lovely neighbours. All up to their eyes in their own Christmas preparations, but 6 of them have found time today to get sympathy cards and post them through the letterbox.
And bless so many of you, all up to your eyes, caring for your loved ones, sorting out Christmas, and still finding time for me. I feel truly humble. I managed to get through best part of a box of tissues with It's a Wonderful Life, but then my son and daughter have had me in hysterics, exchanging anecdotes about their Dad on emails.
I'd like to share just one with you. When my son was 6, he was impressed that both John and Jesus had the same birthday. Nobody else in his class had a Dad with their birthday on Christmas Day. He was convinced that John, too, was the Son of God.
On Christmas Eve he was passing Christmas Cards to John, who was putting them on strings. He ran out of space and was hammering another pin in the wall, on which to hang a string, and hammered his thumb, at which point John yelled "*&^%$* it!!!" , and at that moment my son sadly knew that John was a mere mortal.
I love it. So much nicer to talk about happy times. And thank goodness for modern technology, that enables me to talk to my son, 6,000 miles away, and read loads of emails, remembering the fun times we all had. I'm so glad my kids, though in their 40s, remember such happy childhoods.
