Waking thoughts . . .

     Occasionally I get a friend request on Facebook from someone hoping to find a long lost cousin or friend. This usually leads to a brief exchange to establish that I am not the person they were seeking. I then thought of other encounters with people seeking a relative or a favourite teacher. The first that came to mind happened along Topanga Canyon Boulevard in Canoga Park. I was walking along minding my own business when a car drew up and a lady hailed me. I turned and saw disappointment in her face; she thought I was her estranged son. He must walk bouncily like I do . . .

     Even though most city streets in the USA have sidewalks they are not put to much use. Pedestrians are viewed with some suspicion especially in places like Beverly Hills or Bel Air. I've previously mentioned my liking for maps, haven't I? Thinking of LA got me browsing the 1979 edition of Thomas guide, the taxi drivers' bible, for Los Angeles county . . .

     The second incident is memorable because the person sought was English and it was some time into the telephone conversation before the caller realized I was not the Alan Richardson, a UCLA professor, he remembered. Did he live in Venice too? So not only is there some poor soul out there who walks like I do there is someone else who talks like I do.

Orphan post

     Singing has always been a part of my life. My mother had a small sweet voice and I always liked to sing and hum to myself on those long walks I took with dad on autumnal Sunday afternoons. Dad didn't sing but thumped away on the piano; listened to French radio and read Paris Match.  I would sometimes help him learn lines for a play . Evenings were spent by the radio listening to Journey into Space on the BBC Light Programme or me curled up in Dad's lap listening to him read Treasure Island. Mum knitted. I had lots of pullovers; I would help choose the patterns and the colours.

     Wednesdays were early closing so I knocked on the front door instead of coming through the shop when I came home after school. Wednesday four o'clock was the time Choral Evensong was broadcast on the Home Service and I associate the ethereal sounds of an anthem sung in some far away cathedral with home and a coal fire.

     Christmas was nearing when the bakery across the road began selling crumpets. Tea in the sitting room by the fire was a treat. My uncle Bill (Mum's only brother) and auntie Lee would pay their annual visit a week or two before Christmas. For several years their gift to me was the Rupert Annual.

     The one live Christmas tree we had, when I was about four years old, we planted in the garden and it survived and grew into a forty foot tree before being blown over in the gales of  . . . 1987 was it?

     I think the first Christmas carol I learned was the Czech Rocking carol, then Away in a Manger and the hymn Once in Royal David City.

What about now?

     Now? I sing and play the traditional Christmas carols I grew up with and raid the Oxford book of Carols for more from other seasons. Tschaikovsky's 'Legend' The Crown of Roses is one of my favourite modern pieces . . . And here is another New Year.

Christ's mass

     Now that he season that celebrates Christ's birth has finally arrived, many of the secular lights will be extinguished and trimmings taken down and the trees discarded or mulched. What of the other remembrances celebrated by the Church at this time? St Stephen, the first Christian martyr; St John the Evangelist; the Holy Innocents and the Epiphany and childhood of Jesus?

     I continue living in my own little world, that flow of the Church year learned as a choir boy and continued as sacristan at the parish church where I grew up. Christmas began for me then at 3pm on Christmas Eve with the live broadcast of the Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols from King's College Chapel, Cambridge.

     David Wilcox's musical influence seems to remain strong . . . and each year one new musical piece is commissioned . . .

     I wondered when I was little, "Who is this Mary? And what's a virgin?".

     I don't worry much about the pagan origins of some of the things we do at this time of the year. The time of year in the northern hemisphere when the long dark nights begin to shorten is a cause for celebration. A time to anticipate the first aconites and snowdrops . . .

     So, what did I do with the day? Mass to hear the Gospel . . . ultra-traditional goose for dinner, traditional carols to listen to and to play and sing;  and Kathy likes to watch lots of Christmastime themed movies . . .

The remainder of a white Christmas