An advent calendar with a literary theme. This blog came about because I wanted to give my daughter, who lives alone, an advent calendar during the 2020 pandemic. A daily blog post with a seasonal quote or poem was a way of saying 'you are in my heart'.
December began with shopping L Kiew for the exotic: mint and apple sauce, imported rosemary, cranberries, candied peel and blocks of English butter. It began with baking, the Christmas cake drenched daily with dark brandy until it oozed from the lightest finger-flick and emptying jar after jar of Robertson’s mincemeat into pastry. Cinnamon gold-dusted everything. After the final Advent window, we opened all our doors, welcoming hungry occupants, their cars filling up the driveway, aunts and uncles, cousins in greater and lesser iterations, the generations dressed in batik, bearing gifts. The kitchen was ever at the heart of it. My parents cooked together. Crackling, perfection an inch thick on the side of pig that Dad roasted while Mum beatified the oven-pan, red wine gravy, bliss of roux. Cheerful, family sat where we could, plates heavy in heady heat, heaped meat, golden potatoes, peas, carrots too. Our hands were full. Still there was more, glasses, cups, Anchor beer and Sunkist,
Account of a Visit from St. Nicholas BY MAJOR HENRY LIVINGSTON, JR. ’Twas the night before Christmas, when all thro’ the house, Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse; The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there; The children were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of sugar plums danc’d in their heads, And Mama in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap, Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap — When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash, Tore open the shutters, and threw up the sash. The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow, Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below; When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny rein-deer, With a little old driver, so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick. More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, And he whistled,
Christmas is Come John Clare Christmas is come and every hearth Makes room to give him welcome now E'en want will dry its tears in mirth And crown him wi' a holly bough Tho tramping 'neath a winters sky O'er snow track paths and rhymey stiles The huswife sets her spining bye And bids him welcome wi' her smiles Each house is swept the day before And windows stuck wi' evergreens The snow is beesom'd from the door And comfort crowns the cottage scenes Gilt holly wi' its thorny pricks And yew and box wi' berrys small These deck the unus'd candlesticks And pictures hanging by the wall Neighbours resume their anual cheer Wishing wi smiles and spirits high Clad christmass and a happy year To every morning passer bye Milk maids their christmass journeys go Accompanyd wi favourd swain And childern pace the crumping snow To taste their grannys cake again Hung wi the ivys veining bough The ash trees round the cottage farm Are often stript of branches now Th
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