Sitting on the black and white cushions, lights from our tree flickering, smells from the oven lingering and mum holding up the Grinch reading to me as I turn the pages, wrapped in a blanket that smells of her.
Same book 30 years on, sitting in Sydney with the balcony door open, warm breeze of summer drifting in mixing with the buttery smell in the oven. I’m holding the book so my Coco can turn the pages for me.
Thirty three years of Christmases: happy, light moments, painful times, memories, laughter, tears, tantrums and dances and:
“Every Who down in Who-ville, the tall and the small, Would stand close together, with Christmas bells ringing. They’d stand hand-in hand. And the Whos would start singing! They’d sing! And they’d sing! AND they’d SING!, SING!, SING! SING!”
And to all the who’s tall and small, near and far, who have held my hands through the years,’ the puzzling’ the laughter the tears: Thank you for keeping me singing.
Merry Christmas and may you all get to carve your favourite “roast beast”!