Every year I write, as we all do, to reassure others that (I) we are sill here. The affirmation is urgent this year, not only because of my ever-increasing age but also because of ever-increasing Covid-19. I am still here but I have disappeared into a personal, permanent state of lockdown, restricted as can be: no legs, no wheels, no energy, time or money. I am grateful to have my son Matthew with me, because he is good-natured company and an extra set of legs and hands that I become increasingly reliant upon.

I have survived almost a year of pain and discomfort and I am grateful for good health in spite of it all and a few useful marbles that enable me to think and write—still—a little.

I am still here and still thinking and I wish you a serene and thoughtful festive (?) season

Next year will be better.

Like something out of Norman Rockwell (1894-1978), my best Christmas memories date from our brief Stratford years (1968-1973) when we were all together as a family, alive and well, active in the community. I sang in the church choir, Bill was a deacon, the kids were with us—just the girls—John helped with the radio broadcast; Matt waved to me in the choir loft as he made his way out to Sunday school. Our church community (United) went to one church on Christmas Eve. We went to a couple of parties first but met with the kids to attend a midnight service there, where I sang with a collective choir. I still remember the feeling of that evening, the last “normal’ year of my/ our lives. (Bill died the following April.) It is a lovely memory and I cherish it.

We all take our blessings for granted. Right now as we are under siege and going through a Christmas we have never experienced before, do pause and think of those who have never had festivities like ours. I came across a line attributed to Peanuts by Charles Schulz (1922-2000).

When we are stressed, Remember we’re blessed.

We are, we are still blessed.