Author: anneethompson

Little Women

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Little Women

When I was a child, one of my favourite books was Little Women by Louisa May Alcott. We owned or borrowed from the library all the books by Alcott, though Little Women was our favourite, possibly because at one time there was also a dramatization of the book on television. It tells the story of four sisters and their mother, and the boy who lives in the big house next door. It’s set in America, and is based on the author’s own life (though I’m not sure how closely). There is something wholesome about the stories, and the characters have flaws and strengths, and are easy to relate to. I guess I was about ten years old when I first read the books for myself.

When I was very young, once a week, we caught the bus to visit my grandad. We would walk up to his house, and he would give us sweets, and then we would escape upstairs to play while my mother chatted and did jobs for Grandad. My aunt and cousin would often visit at the same time, and when my cousin was there, we would often ‘play’ Little Women (this must have been based on the telly series and my mum reading us the stories). Grandad’s house had two spare bedrooms, smelling of mothballs and dust and lavender. There were wardrobes, still filled with discarded clothes from my mother and her sisters, and we used these as our costumes, pulling the dresses—long on our child bodies—over our clothes, and swooshing around the room in them. They felt very grand and we felt beautiful (luckily, no one had phone cameras in those days!) We acted variations of the plot. Every week there was an argument/discussion about who would be which character. My cousin and sister were 3 years older than me, so I had very little influence, and they would only let me play if I was Beth—which meant that I had to spend the whole game in bed, not speaking, because I was too ill. I seem to remember that on one occasion, they told me they were starting the story after Beth had died, so I wasn’t allowed to move or speak. For some reason, this felt completely reasonable at the time.

So, last week, when Bea suggested that I joined her and my mother and went to see the new film of Little Women, I was very keen. We collected Mum, and drove to the cinema, and I worried about whether there would be an easy parking space, and whether our tickets (which were on my phone and unprintable) would work, and if the film would irritate me by shattering my childhood memories.

I wasn’t disappointed, it was fabulous.

Now, it’s a long time since I read the books (now on my ‘to do’ list) but I vaguely remember the story. The film is brilliantly cast, with the characters depicted exactly as I imagined them. However, the plot varies from the books slightly. I once watched a John LeCarre interview, and he said that a film is a very different medium to a book, and something that works for a book might not work as well for a film, therefore a film should be left to the script writers and not be constrained by the original version. I think these are wise words. The essence of the books remains constant, even if the plot has slight differences. As a film, it works brilliantly (I think). I won’t tell you how it differs, because you might go to see it and I don’t want to spoil it. It’s a good way to spend a lazy afternoon.

One aspect of the film, which will strike a chord with any aspiring author, is the difficulty that the character Jo has when trying to get her work published. She is depicted as being just as unsure and nervous as every author who I know today, and you see her motivated by encouragement and wilt when criticised. Clearly writing, whichever age we live in, makes the author feel vulnerable.

Do try to find time to watch the film, I fully recommend it. Though if you’re tempted to re-enact scenes at home, try to ensure you’re not cast as Beth–I can assure you, it’s not a great role.

Thanks for reading. Have a great week.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

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Christmas Mishaps

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Hello and I hope you had a good Christmas. Ours was fabulous—but that probably doesn’t make for exciting reading, so instead I’ll tell you about the disasters (always much more fun to read about other people’s mishaps than their successes). They will help me to make some resolutions for 2020.

This year, Husband who has more time, offered to help write the Christmas cards. Great! I thought. Writing Christmas cards is one of those jobs which takes ages and is never fun but simply has to be done, and usually I write all the cards, for all our friends and family, on my own. I handed Husband the address book and cards, and made myself a cup of tea.

Several hours later, I was aware that the cards had not been touched. Husband had been designing a ‘system’. It was a complicated chart of names—the names of our joint friends, his family, and his friends. It was our new list, and he hadn’t included anyone who he didn’t know, on the assumption they were past friends from my childhood and no longer in contact with. The system was way more complicated than simply going through the address book. By the end of the evening, he had written seven cards. Seven.

The following day, I attempted to follow complicated system and write the rest of the cards. Apologies if you didn’t receive one this year. Next year I will do them all myself, using the address book.

The week before Christmas, my Christmas order from Waitrose arrived. I chose Waitrose because I was too late to get a slot with Ocado or Sainsburys. The only available slot with Waitrose was the 20th December, which was a bit too early, but I thought it would be okay. However, when the order arrived, many of the dates on the food were ‘use-by’ 22/23rd December. That’s rubbish! Waitrose knew it was a Christmas order, because it was listed as such on their website, and they informed me when I placed it that because it was a Christmas order, I wouldn’t be able to alter anything. I wrote them a snotty email, and went to Morrisons. Morrisons had lots of food dated 26th onwards (this was the same day:20th December). I sent photos to Waitrose.

Waitrose replied to apologise (excellent). They refunded me for the goods photographed (but didn’t check to find out if other products were out of date, which they were–I had only sent sample photos). They also explained that their policy is to send products with a ‘use-by’ date of a couple of days beyond the delivery date. In other words, if you have an early slot for your Christmas order, it is Waitrose policy to send food that may be out of date before Christmas Day! Gosh, I didn’t expect that!

I complained again on their online survey. They sent me a £10 gift card. Better than nothing. Next year, I will order my Christmas groceries on time, from a different shop.

I will also order less bread. (I have a freezer FULL of bread! What was I thinking?)

One of the very best things about my Christmas was Christmas Eve, when we always open our ‘stockings’. Everyone buys a few gifts for everyone else, often joke gifts, and we sit round and open them. This year there were socks with a girlfriend’s face on them, and I found some of those excellent Ladybird books of ‘Brexit’ and ‘The brother’, and there were bath ducks shaped like Donald Trump, and lots of chocolate and laughing. Bea has pottery classes, and so there were various pots in the stockings. Some had explanatory notes attached. It was lovely, my family at it’s rudest, funny, generous, best.

I hope your Christmas disasters were as tiny, and that you had a lovely time. Thank you for reading my blog, and have a very happy 2020.

Take care.
Love, Anne x

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How to Not Do Christmas!

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How to NOT do Christmas

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by Anne E Thompson

Okay, so it’s that time of year again, when I look around and everyone seems terribly competent, with beautiful houses and cards sent on time. Or are you, like me, still struggling to clear up stray socks and find the floor under dog hairs? Here are some helpful hints for those of you who need to decorate the house, send cards to the correct people, produce a mound of wrapped gifts and cook that all important dinner; whilst also keeping the house clean, the animals alive, and do all the other jobs which fill your life and don’t disappear at Christmas. Hope it’s helpful.

The Tree

Everyone loves a Christmas tree. Here are some things to beware of:
If you take a man with you to buy a real tree, he will lose all sense of proportion. This is true. Crude jokes aside, it seems to be some strange male trait that they always want to buy a tree that is much too big for the space in your home. They always forget the bucket and top decoration adds extra height. And they always forget that you might want to live in the room where they plan to put it – and if it’s too wide everyone will have to scrabble through the branches to communicate. So my advice: do not involve a male of any age in choosing the tree.

You cannot however, avoid them being present for the annual family discussion on where the tree should go. Now, we have lived in our present house for many years and every Christmas we discuss (heatedly) where the tree should be placed. Every year it always goes in exactly the same place.

If you buy a tree in late December, your family will constantly tell you everyone else has theirs already. If you buy a tree in early December, it will probably be bald by New Year.

If you decide to ‘plant’ your tree in soil, over time, as it is watered, the soil becomes unstable and the tree will gradually fall over. If you follow the shop’s instructions and “treat your tree like the living plant that it is” and stand it in water, then after a while, the warmth of your house will have turned the water stagnant and everyone will be asking you what the funny smell is. If, on realising this, you then add a drop of bleach to the water, the tree first gets very pale looking and then dies very quickly. A dead tree will droop and all the ornaments slide off the branches. Your lounge also smells like a public lavatory.

If you ever want a tasteful tree, you must NEVER allow the children to put on their home made ornaments. Every year I produce those faded photos in plastic frames, the robin that sheds paint. I even have the clay angels that my sister made one year, which look like they slept in a puddle after an especially hard night out. It is true, they bring back lots of special memories, but I can now never not put them on the tree, so my tree, whilst full of precious memories, is also incredibly tacky.

If you do not water your tree, do NOT leave the lights on it and go out for the evening or it might burn down your house. (This did not happen to us, but it did happen to a neighbour in the US. A dried pine is incredibly flammable.)

If you have an artificial tree, you can spend hours sorting out branches and colour codes. My advice is: tell someone else that they are in charge of putting up the tree because it is too hard for you (this works well if you have males in the family, who will actually believe that you are incapable of matching colours.) They will also be keen to supervise the taking down of the tree because they will know how impossible it is to put up if not stored carefully.

Decorations

Do NOT believe that everyone who helps decorate the house will also help tidy up after Christmas. Every year I say, “Only put out the ornaments that you will put away afterwards”. I may as well not bother. I know this is true because one year I was ill, and we had a Nativity scene on one window sill all year. I find family members are very keen to decorate all sorts of random places, and not at all keen to tidy them afterwards.

Gifts

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Do NOT buy gifts too early and if you do, do not forget where you have hidden them. It is annoying to find winter nightclothes for your daughter in June.

If posting gifts, do not forget to name each gift so the recipient knows who they are for (you would be surprised at what has happened in our family).

Do NOT assume you will know when your child stops believing in Father Christmas (sorry if this is a spoiler). When I asked one of my sons on his eighteenth birthday (okay, so he wasn’t quite that old) if he really still believed in Santa, he informed me that he had not believed for years but hadn’t liked to disappoint me by letting me know. This was a huge relief for the whole family, as we could now stop worrying he was completely thick, and it also meant that I could give the children their ‘stocking gifts’ the evening before Christmas. Which meant that we all slept much better Christmas Eve.

Do NOT forget to check that either your husband has bought his mother a gift, or you have bought one for her yourself. Really, I cannot stress enough how important this one is……

Food

Unless you are a very organised person, do NOT buy a large frozen turkey. They take days to defrost – and where will you put it during that time? If you leave it in the utility room, the cat eats it. If you put it in the garage, the mice eat it. If you leave it in the oven to defrost, you are sure to forget and turn on the oven to preheat – melting plastic over poultry is not a good smell, trust me. If you place it in a bucket of brine, as was suggested one year, what are you going to do with the salmonella-infected brine afterwards, and how will you stop the dog licking it? If you put it in the fridge, you cannot fit in any of the shelves, let alone other food. Trust me, big frozen turkeys are a bad idea.

Do NOT forget that supermarkets are open other than on the bank holidays. I always do this; I try to buy enough food for the whole holiday period, which is a military operation in an over flowing supermarket, with insufficient parking, and queues the length of the Nile . Then, soon after boxing day we always run out of something essential, like milk, and I go to a beautifully empty supermarket (which is now selling all the food that is decomposing in my fridge for half the price.) Being overly prepared is always a mistake I feel. Just buy enough for the Christmas Day dinner.

If, like me, you have a problem with chocolates, when you buy the family tub of chocolates, do NOT forget to also buy tape. Then, if by mistake you open them and eat lots before Christmas, you can buy a replacement, add the ones you don’t much like and reseal the tub. Your family will never know. Honestly, every year my husband tells me that there are a surprisingly large number of green triangles in our chocolate tin.

Important Things

Do NOT forget to go to a carol service. Actually, I do not especially like carols, unless they are sung by a choir. They are mostly really really long. A lot of them also have things in them that are very European and nothing to do with the actual account in the Bible. But I do like carol services, full of excited children, and people in thick coats that they don’t have anywhere to hang. One year at our church we even managed to set someone on fire. (It was an accident, I should add. She leant against a candle and she wasn’t at all hurt, just ruined her coat. The following year as a safety precaution the candles were suspended above us. Unfortunately, they weren’t the non drip variety and we all made polite conversation afterwards with white wax in our hair.)

Do Not forget to build some family traditions of your own. On Christmas Eve, if my children are in the house, awake before noon and sober (I assume nothing these days) then they still like to help prepare the vegetables. We all sit round, peeling sprouts and remembering how we did it every year while watching ‘The Lost Toys,’ and the year that the youngest removed every leaf from his sprout and then declared, “Mine’s empty!”

Most importantly, do NOT forget what is important. Christmas is not about family or tradition or nice food. Actually, it’s about a God who thought you were special enough that he came to this dirty smelly earth as a baby. Even if you don’t believe in him, he believes in you. And he cared enough to come, so that you have a chance to change your mind if you want to. So spend a little time trying to remember what it’s all about. Look in Luke’s bit of the Bible, and read the account of what actually happened – no donkeys, no inn keepers with tea-towels on their heads, no fairies or snow. Just a simple story of something special.

xxxxxx

Thank you for reading.

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Trying to be ‘Normal’

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Trying to be ‘normal’

Yesterday, Bea brought home a friend she wanted us to meet. I knew this was a fairly big deal for her, and so I was very keen that we shouldn’t embarrass her. Usually I consider that I have earned the right to be embarrassing to my children due to suffering through their teenage years when their clothes and hair and general attitudes were often not what I had hoped for when they were 5—but not this time. This time I was keen to be ‘normal’.

Now, I would say that housework is not my forte. Basically, I hate doing it, and although my kitchen is hygienic, you might find dog hairs on the floor and dust on the window sills, so my first task of the day was to tidy the house and wave a duster around a bit. Unfortunately, Husband (always to be relied upon in these situations) had helpfully decided that this was the day he was going to empty the loft of important papers from 20 years ago, and put them into bags ready to be recycled. The whole of his office resembled a rubbish tip. We had an argument (always a good start when guests are due).

I then began to wipe surfaces in the kitchen, when I noticed an unpleasant smell wafting under the utility room door. We have one of the outside cats in there, in a cage, because she has pulled the ligaments in her back legs (fell out of a tree) and the vet said she mustn’t climb or jump, and I have no idea how you stop a cat jumping, so I have put her into the old dog crate, which is big enough for her to walk around in, but has no opportunity for jumping. She is very cross, but the ligaments are healing, so all is good. Except yesterday, she had dirtied her bedding.

I attempt to open cage door and remove dirty bedding without cross cat escaping, and am about to shove dirty bedding into washing machine, when I hear a shout from the garden. Husband is yelling that the cockerels have been fighting.

I have several cockerels, hatched last year. Until now, they have lived fairly peacefully alongside each other. Cockerels will sometimes live for several years in the same flock without incident, provided they have sufficient space and females. However, sometimes you hatch an aggressive bunch, and then you can only keep one. I hurried into the garden.

One of the cockerels was clearly suffering, having been attacked by one of the bigger ones (his brother actually—chickens are pretty nasty creatures). The bird was obviously dying, and in pain, so I quickly killed him. When chickens are dead, the nerves in their bodies continue to function, making them twitch, so it can be hard to know they are completely dead. I didn’t want it to suffer, so to be sure I chopped off the head. (A chicken with no head is definitely dead, though bizarrely they can still run around!)

Looked at time: daughter due at house with friend at any moment. The cockerel had been a big bird, and it seemed wrong to simply throw him away (waste of a life) but there was no time to do anything with him. So, I tied up his legs, and hung him in garage, to deal with him later. Sent Bea a message: “If you give friend a tour of the house, don’t go in garage because there’s a dead chicken hanging from the ceiling!”

Bea replied: “What? You are meant to be trying to be normal! Dead chicken hanging in garage is not normal!”

I felt she had a point.

The rest of the visit went okay, and we liked her friend immensely. I have no idea what the friend thought of us, but hopefully we appeared to be relatively normal.

Thanks for reading. Take care.
Love, Anne x

Thank you for reading.
anneethompson.com
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 I am excited to tell you that my new book, Sowing Promises, is now available. A sequel to Ploughing Through Rainbows, it is also a stand-alone book and my best one yet (though I always think that!) A family saga, set on a farm, it is all about a family coping with unexpected happenings. . . and trying to be normal.

Available from an Amazon near you, and if you buy a copy today it will still arrive in time for Christmas–it makes a great gift for someone who you want to make smile.

UK link HERE

US link HERE

Amazon Germany HERE

 

Mary’s Story (because it’s Christmas!)

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Mary’s Story

by Anne E Thompson

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I travelled to Bethlehem in a small cart. Every bump (and there were many) was agony. As I was jolted along, I was racked with pain. The baby’s time was near, you see and the pain was almost unbearable. Later, they would sing songs about a cute donkey carrying me. Nice thought! I don’t think there’s any way you could have got me on a donkey. As each contraction cramped every muscle in my torso, I huddled up like an animal and prayed for it to be over.

I could see Joseph, watching me as he walked alongside. He really didn’t have the first idea what to do. Oh, how I wanted my mother. I yearned for her to be there, holding my hand, telling me everything was all right and would be over soon.

When we arrived at Joseph’s uncle’s house, the women folk came and helped me inside. The room was crowded. All Joseph’s male relatives from miles around had come to the house for shelter and food. The women were busy cooking supper and the men were drinking wine and comparing stories. They all told Joseph how much he resembled his grandfather Matthan and laughed at old stories from years ago. The smell of fish and fresh bread was nauseating. I was so tired and so uncomfortable.

Joseph knew I was suffering and asked if there was somewhere quiet that I could go. There was no chance that we would get a place in the inn, they had filled up days ago. Somewhere quiet, in a little house packed with relatives?

There were some fraught discussions and then his aunt suggested that the animal shelter, down on the lower floor of the house, might be best. It wasn’t terribly clean, but it would be quiet and private and at least it wouldn’t smell of fish!

Joseph helped me to go down, and a couple of the women came too. One of them examined me and told me the baby was a long way off yet, first babies always take their time in coming. This was not great news but I felt better having her there. I felt that she knew what was happening, had seen this before and it took some of the fear away.
I was frightened you see. I was horribly afraid that somehow I would damage my baby. My baby and God’s. I knew he was going to be special, I knew I had a great task ahead of me but it all seemed to be going horribly wrong. I trusted that God was still in control but He felt so far away.

Could the baby not have been born in a palace, surrounded by comfort? Would these poor beginnings really be part of a plan? Could they really make this king accessible to the people? I had no idea.

I was a mere girl, I had no education and my memory of scriptures was often fuzzy. To be honest, at this present moment, I didn’t even care. I just wanted this baby OUT! Special or not, my body was tired of carrying him, tired of being stretched and pushed, of fitting something inside that was now too big to be there. I needed this baby to be born and I was too exhausted to wait much longer.

How I longed for sleep.

The pain in my back was terrible. Great waves of cramp that seared through my body, making me oblivious to everything else. I was vaguely aware that someone was sweeping the floor and moving the animals to a far corner. They had laid out a mattress and blankets for me to rest on but I couldn’t lie still for long. I felt better standing, rocking in time with the pain, trying to remember to breathe, in out, in out. Some one offered me water but I couldn’t drink. I wasn’t thirsty, I just wanted this baby to be born.

I could see Joseph with his big anxious eyes watching me. He didn’t know what to do. Someone suggested he should go into the house to eat and I nodded in agreement. There was nothing he could do and the poor man must have been tired too.

He had endured such an emotional time lately. First there was his fear and anger when he first heard about the baby (now that was a difficult conversation!) Then he had to endure the smirks of his friends when the pregnancy became public knowledge. He never complained, but I know he felt embarrassed, wished that God could have chosen a different girl.

We had been travelling for five days, with hardly any rest and the last couple of days had been more chilly. I know he felt the burden of caring for me, watching for bandits on the roads and wondering if we would make it to Bethlehem in time. If the baby had come early I don’t know what he’d have done – left me with strangers on the road somewhere I guess and come to register on his own. One didn’t mess with a Roman decree…..

The pain eventually became almost constant. Joseph had eaten and rested but I continued to sway in discomfort in the little cave of animals. Every so often one of them would poop and although the women with me cleaned it up quickly the smell pervaded the atmosphere.

I could hear the musicians gathering outside, someone must have told them the birth would be soon. That gave me hope, maybe soon the baby would arrive.

Then at last, in a final searing pain, the baby was born. I looked down at his blue waxy body as he wriggled on the blanket and I knew that he was mine.

One of the women wiped him down with oil and salt and I held him in my arms while they looked for the swaddling bands in our luggage.

How beautiful he was. His indigo eyes would soon turn brown and they gazed at me trustingly. I loved him with my whole being.

Outside, there was the sound of music and singing as the musicians heralded the arrival of a boy.

Joseph came and took the baby from me. He held the tiny baby in his giant carpenter’s hands, hands that spoke of hard work and safety.

Then the baby started to mouth for food and Joseph passed him back. The women showed me how to feed him, but he was soon asleep. Then we gently wrapped him in the swaddling bands, securing his tiny limbs so he would feel snug and secure and his bones would grow straight and true. He was so beautiful. It was hard to remember what the angel had told me, that this was God’s son too. I began to wonder if I had imagined it, if it were all a dream. This baby did not look like God, he was a baby. My baby.

“If it’s true God,” I thought, “Let there be another sign. He is so little and I love him so much. Remind me again…”

I too needed to sleep. Joseph fetched fresh hay and put it in the animal’s manger, covering it with a soft blanket. I didn’t want him to put the baby there, I wanted to keep him on the bed next to me, but Joseph was worried I might roll on him in my sleep. Then he laid the baby down and told me to sleep. He looked deep into my eyes and brushed my collar bone lightly with his fingers.

“Soon you’ll be truly mine,” he whispered. I knew what he meant and felt myself blush.
I was so tired, I thought I would sleep for a week.

I actually slept for about two hours! I was abruptly woken by loud voices and a draft of cold air as the door was flung open. There, standing uncertainly in the doorway was a group of youths. Their clothes were dirty and exuded the strong smell of sheep. Joseph was with them.

“Mary? Are you awake?” he asked.
It would be hard not to be with all the noise from outside.

“These shepherds want to see the baby. They were told by angels where they could find him and they have come to look at him.”

I nodded and they trouped into the room. They seemed so big and clumsy in such a small space, I was worried they might hurt the baby.

But they didn’t try to touch him, they just stared for a while and then one of them knelt and they all followed suit, kneeling before the manger, staring at the baby.

Then they told me their story, how they had been in the fields and an angel had appeared. They had thought they were going to die, to be struck down right where they were.

The angel had reassured them, told them that a saviour had been born, the Christ who we’ve all been waiting for. They would find him lying in a manger. Then suddenly there were lots of angels, all praising God and saying he was pleased with people on earth.

After the angels had gone, finding they were still alive after all, the shepherds decided to come at once and see for themselves. It was as though they couldn’t quite believe what they had seen and heard, they needed to actually see the baby with their own eyes.

I felt so humbled and so cared for. God had heard my thoughts, He was reassuring me. It was all His plan, not some terrible mistake. We were meant to be here. He even knew about the manger!

I listened and smiled and treasured my thoughts.

The shepherds left as noisily as they came. I could hear them in the streets, shouting their news, telling everyone what had happened. They were so excited.

They had of course woken the baby who was now crying with a thin wail that jarred my nerves and was impossible to ignore. So I fed him some more and then we both slept. A tired, contented sleep borne from exhaustion and wonder.

After eight days, Joseph came and circumcised the baby. How he wailed! It felt cruel, though I knew it was the right thing to do, even in this strange place we must obey the Jewish laws. We also formally gave him the name Yeshua, the name we had been told to give him by the angel all those months ago.

I wondered if Joseph minded, people would know it wasn’t a family name. I also had no one called Yeshua in my own family, though I did know a boy from my childhood with the name.

After forty days, we had to travel to Jerusalem, to pay for redemption at the temple. As Joseph was from the tribe of Judah, we had to pay five shekels of silver. We couldn’t afford a lamb, so bought two pigeons to sacrifice.

It was nice to leave Bethlehem and to have some exercise at last, to see people and to take my baby into the world. I felt quite excited as I approached the temple, our holy place. I didn’t recognise anyone, but everyone could see we had a new baby and lots of the women came over to see him. I felt so happy!

We walked through the Beautiful Gate and up to the Gate of Nicanor.

Then something strange happened. As Joseph and I walked through the temple, a man approached us. He came to look at Yeshua and indicated that he wanted to hold him. That was a little unusual but there was something about him, something that made you sure he was a good man, someone you could trust.

When he looked at the baby, the old man got all emotional and prayed, thanking God and saying that now he could die in peace. He blessed me and Joseph too and then he leant towards me and said something which was very strange.

He said Yeshua would cause “the fall and rising of many in Israel” and would be “a sign that would be opposed so that the thoughts of many hearts may be revealed.”

What does that mean? I know that he is God’s own son and that he is part of the plan to establish God’s reign on earth. Will he be opposed? Surely everyone will accept God’s annointed one, we have waited so long for him.

Then he said something that made me afraid. His face was very near, I could smell his breath.

He said that a sword would pierce my soul.

It made me very frightened, I practically snatched Yeshua away from him! I want my son to grow strong and be happy, will I suffer for this?

I knew I was tired, not getting enough sleep and it was hard to care for a new baby in a strange place without my mother to help me. I felt that I did not want to hear the man’s words, even if they were true.

The man left us and almost at once an old lady approached. She was ancient, her white hair showed under her mitpahath and she leant heavily on a stick. What I noticed most were her eyes. They almost sparkled! You could tell at once that she was a holy woman and also one who loved to laugh.

As soon as she saw Yeshua, the elderly woman started to pray loudly, thanking God and telling people nearby that if they wanted Jerusalem to be redeemed, they should look to the baby. I was glad that no Romans were allowed in the temple, we would have been in trouble!

We finished making the offerings and then went back to Bethlehem. I didn’t know whether to tell Joseph what the old man had told me. I kept thinking about his words, worrying about what they might mean. I was so tired, I decided I would wait and maybe tell him later.

The months passed and we settled into life in Bethlehem. We moved into a little house and Joseph worked on the many building projects that the Romans have introduced.

Yeshua continued to thrive. He grew into a sturdy toddler and would walk around the room holding onto the stools and baskets. I loved to feel his solid weight when I carried him on my hip. He started to sleep much better at night and Joseph and I were thinking about having another child. Then everything changed.

It was one evening, still quite early but we had filled the lamp with olive oil and lit the linen wick. Joseph put it on a bushel basket, so the room was well lit and we could talk about the day. Suddenly, there was a banging at the door.

Joseph went at once and there, in the road, was a group of Persian travellers. They had dismounted from their horses and were peering intently into the house. They told Joseph they had seen a star and had come to worship the king. I was so glad I hadn’t gone to bed yet!

We let them into the house and I went to get Yeshua. He was damp from sleep and his tired eyes looked blearily around him. I wondered if he would cry but he seemed fascinated by our strange visitors. They wore their hair in long curls and one had a band of gold on his head. It glinted in the lamp light and I could see Yeshua watching it intently. Their clothes were patterned with birds and flowers.

We offered them wine, it was clear they were tired from their journey. I was embarrassed that we only had two stools to offer them, but they didn’t seem to mind and in fact insisted that I should sit on one with Yeshua and they were happy to sit on the rush mat. They didn’t really sit anyway, they wanted to kneel before Yeshua.

Then they gave him gifts. They were beautiful to look at. They gave him gold, signifying that he is a king. They gave him frankincense. The strong aroma filled the house and I wondered if Yeshua was to be a priest, even though he is not descended from Levi. They also gave him myrrh. Myrrh is costly but is for embalming a body. It was a strange gift for a baby and I wondered what it meant.

They told us their story before they left. In their Persian home, they were magi, watching the stars and foretelling the future. Many months ago, at the time of Yeshua’s birth, they had seen a special star which they knew meant a powerful new king had been born and they determined they would find him and worship him. Unfortunately, following the star caused them to go to Jerusalem first (I always knew that star gazing was a misleading activity!) They went to Herod’s palace and asked where the new king was. This was scary, Herod had shown he was not a king to be trusted and his cruelty was well known. I would not have wanted to visit his palace.

However, it sounded as though he had decided to be helpful. He asked the scribes to research the early scriptures and they discovered that the promised king was to be born in Bethlehem. The king told the Easterners and asked them to find the king and then return and tell him the exact location, so that he too could worship.

I wondered what would happen next. Would Herod himself come to visit my precious baby or would we be summoned to the palace? This was not a comfortable thought.

I also wondered why the palace scribes had not come to visit us. Did they not believe the scriptures that they studied so diligently? Surely if they were truly expecting a redeemer they would also have come?

The men left. They planned to sleep in an inn and return to Jerusalem the next day. We could not offer them lodging in our tiny house and they seemed content to leave now they had seen Yeshua.

I returned Yeshua to bed and soon afterwards Joseph and I also went to sleep.

I had not been asleep for long when Joseph woke me. He shook me awake, then went to light the lamp. I could see his face was tense and instantly turned to check Yeshua was well. He was sleeping soundly.

Joseph told me I needed to get up at once, we needed to leave. He said that he had had a dream, like the dream when the angel told him that the baby inside me was God’s son. It was so intense and real that he could not ignore it. He said he had been told we must leave Israel, Yeshua was in danger, Herod planned to kill him.

I wondered why I too had not be warned and then I realised – God had told Joseph to take care of me and Yeshua. That was a hard task for a man, to care for a son that was not his own. So God was now telling Joseph alone what we needed to do, underlining his role, establishing him as head of our family. It was a kind act.

I began to pack our things but Joseph was hurrying me, telling me to only take what was essential.

We were to go to Egypt. Egypt! Could this be right? Was Yeshua not to be king of the Jews? I packed hurriedly and we left that very night.

What would the future hold? Would we ever return to our home town? The future was uncertain but I knew that something bigger than us was happening. Whatever happened, God had a plan and no one could alter the course of that.

——————————————————————————————————————————————————–

This account necessarily involves some imagination but I believe it is also as historically correct as possible (and more accurate than some of our Christmas carols!)
If you are aware of any historical errors, please tell me and I will modify it.
I used a variety of sources including:
The gospels of Matthew and Luke
Geoffrey Bromily (1995)
William Hendriksen
William Barclay
Joseph P Amar (university of Notre Dame)
Michael Marlowe
Tessa Afshar

Thank you for reading.

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A hilarious family saga set on a farm. Being a parent has no end-date, as Susan discovers when her adult sons begin to make unexpected choices in life.
A warm-hearted, feel good novel that will make you smile.

A great gift for Christmas. . . or be kind to yourself and buy a copy to keep.

Available from Amazon as a paperback or kindle book. The sequel, Sowing Promises, is now available too!

Amazon UK link
Amazon US link

Sanibel Island Again

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Sanibel Island is one of my favourite places in the world. We arrived towards the end of our road trip, after a long drive from St. Petersburg (see my last blog). Husband had splashed out, and paid for a condo facing the sea, so I opened the curtains and there were palm trees blowing in the breeze, and sand, and blue, blue, sea. Perfect.

At 6.30am the following day, I suggested we went for a run. Husband made unkeen sleepy noises, so I went without him. There were about a million people on the beach, so it wasn’t as secluded as I had hoped. Everyone else was searching for shells, wandering up and down, many holding special little nets on sticks so they didn’t have to bend down when they found a pretty shell. (I have lots of comments, which I am holding in, about whether it might have been good for some of those people to have had the exercise of bending down to pick up shells. . . but it’s easy to judge people who you don’t know, so I will remain silent. Ish.)

The weather was warm but not too hot, and as I ran beside the sea I saw a dolphin, and dinner-plate spheres of transparent jellyfish, and lots of shells.

Back at the condo, I was having a coffee and reading my Bible, when I heard a shuffling noise coming from my dirty washing bag. I opened it, and a lizard jumped out! Tried to catch it. Failed. Spent the rest of the day with a lizard under the chest of drawers in the bedroom, which was not a very satisfactory outcome.

We went to Sanibel Cafe for brunch. I ate banana and pecan pancakes, lightly sprinkled with cinnamon and drizzled with honey. I love this country!

Later I did some washing, and as I was hanging it on the balcony, I saw Husband wandering around the garden taking photos. I wolf-whistled at him. Husband didn’t hear, and continued taking photos, but a gang of workmen all looked up and grinned. Embarrassing.

Our other days at Sanibel meandered past. We went for long walks on the beach, crunching shells underfoot, searching the waves for dolphins. One afternoon we hired bikes, and zoomed around the island. One day we drove to a manatee park, hoping to see manatees. We saw statues of them, and read a lot of information boards, but no actual manatees were visiting that day. Maybe next time.

Another day we swam, and a flock of white egrets flew overhead, inches from our heads, near enough to touch as they glided over the water. Then three pelicans floated above us, looking for food, diving down like fighter planes when they saw something. One pelican stayed, bobbing on the surface really close to us, and I thought about trying to touch it (but the sharp beak put me off!)

We had some lovely meals, and enjoyed simply being alive in such a beautiful place. Then, all too soon, it was time to pack up and head back to Atlanta, and the end of our road trip. We had such a wonderful time, I really did not want to come home. Thank you for sharing it with me.

I hope you have a lovely week. Take care.

Love, Anne xx

Thank you for reading.
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Salvador Dali in St. Petersburg

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St. Petersburg

We left Amelia Island, watching a storm brewing in the sky above us. The weather channel had given tornado warnings before we left, and although we weren’t really sure what we were supposed to do, the roads were comfortably full of other cars, so we figured we would just copy everyone else. As we drove, I tried to Google what we should do if there was a tornado, and abandoning the car and flinging ourselves into a ditch seemed to be the main advice, so I hoped we wouldn’t need it (especially as we might end up sharing a ditch with an alligator!)

We had a couple of stops en route, for bagels and a Mc Donald’s ice-cream. The weather was windy and rainy and as we approached Tampa there was a very tornado-like storm cloud—big and black with wisps coming down. I kept my eye on the possible weather danger while Husband drove (and mostly ignored all my helpful advice about ditches).

We checked into a hotel in downtown St. Petersburg and went for a walk. It was windy, but dry, and we set off for the water front. As we crossed a small square (with fountain and white egrets) a woman passed us at a jog, and shouted: “I just felt 2 drops of rain!”

So what? We thought, and continued on our walk. Within the minute, it was raining—raining as in a deluge of water from the sky! We ran to an awning over some tables, and watched. The wind was blowing the palm trees, the water was coming in torrents, everyone was running for cover. It was amazing!

After a few minutes, it stopped raining, and we continued our walk. The water front was pretty, with boats and docks, but before we could enjoy it properly, we felt a couple of spots of rain. This time we knew what to expect, so began to run for cover! We dodged between awnings and over-hanging porches, until we came to a bar, all the time avoiding great fat drops of rain that the wind flung at us. We went into the bar.

The bar was fabulous. We sat up at the bar, looking at the room in the mirrors behind the bottles of drink. Everyone was damp and laughing, and having a nice time. There were huge televisions showing sport, and people eating, and a babble of conversation. I suggested we have some shots (it seemed appropriate). We didn’t.

When the rain stopped, we went back to the hotel.

Dinner was at The Ford Garage. The restaurant was set up like a garage, complete with a car hanging from the ceiling. Our napkins were like grease-cloths, and the walls were full of car paraphernalia. The food was really nice, and I had funnel cake for dessert (like donuts).

The following morning we went for our early run. The weather was warm and muggy, so running wasn’t very easy, but there was a small lake near the hotel, so we ran round that.

After breakfast (banana French toast and coffee) we walked to the Salvador Dali museum. This is now my favourite art gallery in the whole world. It was obviously designed by someone who loved Dali’s work, as even the building was very much in keeping with his style. There was a staircase that went up to the ceiling, and drippy benches in the garden.

Dali’s work is wonderful—though some needs explaining to be properly understood. It is also very clever. Some of his paintings are pictures within pictures, and the museum had little films next to the paintings, showing how the images combine. For example, his painting of a bull-fighter looks like statues of goddesses, but within that there is a bull dying, and a bull-fighter crying because he feels trapped by his life-style. In a painting of a slave market, as you walk further from the picture, you become aware of a huge skull, which is formed from the bodies of the slaves being sold. It’s all very clever. Plus, I really like Dali’s use of colour, and the way he challenges how we think about things (like time—have you seen his drippy clocks? Is time rigid?)

The museum also has a fabulous shop, and after enjoying Dali’s pictures, we could browse the same works made into notebooks and magnets and jigsaw puzzles. Great place for gifts. There was also a car, which Dali had filled with water, and was driven by a deep-sea diver—playing with the idea that people get taxis to stay dry in the rain. I think that’s what I like about Dali’s work, he plays with ideas. And he is a skilful artist.

Can you see the bull-fighter? (He is wearing a green tie, and has a multi-coloured jacket, and he’s crying…

The Slave Market…can you see the skull image entangled with the slaves?

 

 

 

We had lunch back at the bar we’d sheltered in the day before.

Then we packed our things, and set off for our next stop: Sanibel Island. I absolutely loved St. Petersburg, with its pretty waterfront, and fabulous museum, and amazing weather. I’m so glad we came, even though our visit lasted less than 24 hours. It was all so much fun!

I’ll tell you about Sanibel in another post. Thanks for reading.

Have a great day and take care.

Love, Anne x

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Amelia Island

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Amelia Island

We left Savannah, and drove to Amelia Island in Florida. We crossed a large river/swamp to reach the island, so I guess strictly speaking it’s an island, but it didn’t feel like one! The guide book said it had an historical town, with strong links to pirates in times gone by, so I hoped it would be interesting. In actual fact, it had some deeply naff elements.

We passed The Beach Diner on our way to the motel, so after we’d checked in, we went back for dinner (because diners are usually excellent places to eat). We started with clam chowder, which arrived with warm corn bread (not as sweet as yesterday) and was delicious. While we were still eating the chowder, our main courses arrived, which felt a bit rushed. We watched them getting cold on their plastic plates (what is it with this country and plastic plates!) while we finished our soup. I had meatloaf (huge—enough for a family of four) with mashed potato (very tasty) and some indefinable green/grey vegetable that tasted as bad as it looked. My dinner looked barely started by the time I had finished, so I asked for a box. This has become a tradition—after every meal, I ask for the remains to be boxed (which saves embarrassing questions about why I have eaten so little) and then I dispose of it later.

We walked to the beach. Everyone else had driven, right onto the beach, parked their cars, set up a chair less than a foot away, and was relaxing. Maybe they were too full of dinner.

The town is called Fernandina Beach, and it was full of pirate stuff—statues and toys and fridge magnets and books. . . However, I could find no evidence that the island had ever actually been used by pirates. There was no ancient prison, or gallows, or look-out tower. I began to wonder how true the pirate link was. The next day, I asked in the Tourist Office, and we were directed to the Maritime Museum. The Maritime Museum was certainly an experience.

We arrived at the modern building, which is shared with a wine museum, and we went to the counter to ask how much it cost for entry. I was trying to peer round the man, to try and assess what was there, but I could only see one room. We said we were interested in the pirate theme of the town. The man (who to be honest, looked a little like a pirate himself) beamed, and told us he was a ‘treasure hunter’. Unfortunately, Husband misheard, and thought he said ‘treasurer’ and then launched into a conversation about accountancy and was it easy to make the museum financially viable; while I got the giggles and pretended to be very interested in a map of shipwrecks. We paid and went inside—except there wasn’t really an ‘inside’ as the whole museum was the single room that I could see.

We walked along, looking at the displays, while the treasure-hunter-not treasurer watched us from his desk. It felt a little uncomfortable. The museum was basically a room crammed full with stuff the man had collected during his many diving expeditions around the island. The highlight was a canon, from an original pirate ship, which had to be kept in a tank of water (don’t ask me why). The tank of water (looked like a chest-freezer to me) was full of very murky water, due to all the minerals (again, don’t ask me why). It looked to me as if it was full of bath-oil to me, and all we could see was slick grey liquid. It was impossible to tell if anything was in the bottom, let alone a canon.

There were many maps on the walls, and display cases of ‘treasure’ which might, I suppose, have been genuine but they did look suspiciously like they might have been won at the fair. We left the museum, and I felt the whole pirate thing was something of a scam/tourist attraction (though I do think Mr Treasure-Hunter genuinely believed that one day he might discover a hoard of sunken gold).

I’m not sure I particularly like Amelia Island, though it did have some pelicans resting on the jetty. It is also the starting point for the first cross-state railway, built by David Yulee, and his name appears a lot around the island—should you be interested in railways.

We had dinner at Artes Pizza, which advertised as having real wood-burning pizza ovens. We had a view of the kitchen and the only ovens I could see were definitely gas-powered, but maybe I missed something. I was feeling I had had enough of Amelia Island. To be fair, the town was pretty, and at night they decorate all the trees with fairy-lights, and people seemed friendly. But it didn’t feel very ‘real’ to me, and I had no desire to stay.

We left the following morning, and set off for St. Petersburg. Before we left, we checked the weather, which had tornado warnings for the region. Not really sure what we were meant to do with that information—should we cancel our 4-hour drive to St Petersburg? We didn’t, and I’m so glad we didn’t, because our time in St Petersburg was the best 24 hours of the whole trip. But I’ll tell you about it in my next blog.

Thank you for reading. Have a great day, and take care.
Love, Anne x

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Travel with a family…always unexpected.

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Savannah

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I loved Savannah! It was one of the places the guidebook recommended, so we went down the coast from Charleston. Even the journey was an adventure, as part-way there, we decided to stop at an IHOP (pancake house) for lunch, so came off the highway at a service area. We parked the car, and walked to the restaurant, ate our food (including a rather delicious ice-cream sundae) then returned to the car to continue our journey. As we backed away from the space, I pointed to a sign warning us to ‘Beware of Gators’ and said how stupid it was! There we were, at a service station, where 2 major roads crossed, surrounded on all sides by major roads, and there was a beware of gators sign–so obviously just for tourists. Except, as we backed away, I noticed a large pool of water, fed by a river, a few yards from where we parked. . . and there, sunning itself, was a rather large alligator! At first I thought it must be plastic, but then it walked forwards a few steps. Nope, not plastic, very alive, very near where we had parked. I decided the signs were a good idea.

We checked into another Springfield Suites, and put our stuff in all the same places as in the motel in Charleston, before going for a walk. We headed towards the river.

Savannah has a large river, which is lower than the rest of the city, so we walked down some steep steps. The river is lined with old red brick buildings, once part of the docks, many of which are now gift shops or restaurants or bars. It was a fun place to walk, especially when large boats, weighed down with massive cargo, edged past us.

There were several statues, including one to commemorate the slaves, who would have been unloaded onto the docks, and sold. A sad reminder. The street was cobbled, with the remains of old tram lines.  When the slaves were unloaded, they would have been auctioned immediately, and sold, individually, to the highest bidder. This meant that even if families had been captured together, and survived the journey in a slave ship, they may then have been separated, never to meet again. Husbands and wives sold separately, children taken from their parents. I cannot understand how people ever thought that this was okay.

We ate at Huey’s, a restaurant in the docks, so we could watch the boats while we ate. I had fish roulade, with mash and green beans—it’s not always easy to find somewhere that serves vegetables here. It arrived with a salad and cornbread. The cornbread was nice, but sweet, like syrup sponge without the syrup.

The following day we got up early and went for a run. We walked down the stairs, and there, squashed, was a dead snake. . . except Husband helpfully pointed out that it wasn’t a dead snake, it was a discarded snake-skin, and the snake (a rattle snake) was still lurking somewhere. Not a great start.

The air outside was crisp and cool. It was the best run ever, watching Savannah wake up. Originally, Savannah was built during unsettled times, by a general, and he built it defensively, on a grid system with forts at every junction. Those forts have now been replaced with parks, so at every block, there is a pretty square with trees and fountains and benches. We ran through them. There were lots of roads to cross, but most had crossings where pedestrians had priority, so we rarely had to stop. The only thing to be careful of was the uneven paths, where tree roots had pushed the brick paths up into mounds and gullies. The streets have old, 3-storey brick houses, with flat roofs and painted shutters. It’s very pretty, and early in the morning you see real people doing real things: coffee shops full of workers collecting their take-out coffees, firemen sorting out their fire trucks, workmen on building sites, street cleaners and homeless people.

Back at the hotel, as we went down for breakfast, a woman joined in our conversation. This is normal here—everyone is very chatty. Even the lift talks! I took my china mug into breakfast, and had waffles and fruit and coffee–it all tastes better when it’s not in disposable cups.

We spent the day wandering around, admiring the squares. The weather was warm in October, but pleasant enough in the shade, and there is a lot of shade. All the trees are covered with Spanish moss, and there are trees everywhere. If you have watched the Forest Gump movie, you might remember a scene where he sits on a bench chatting while waiting for a bus. This was filmed in Savannah, and the square behind him is typical of all the squares here.

We returned to the river in the evening. There are lots of plaques, describing the slave trade, and one mentioned a book, written by a slave: Olaudah Equino. I bought a copy, and will tell you about it another time. Savannah was one of the main ports that traded slaves.

We ate at Huey’s again, and finished with pecan pie—another traditional dish. It has sorghum in it, a cereal grain, which looks like corn and is made into a syrup. It was probably introduced from Africa, as it grows well in drought conditions. . . another whisper from the past about what the slave ships carried.

We walked back to our hotel. All the crossings have very bossy lights (honestly, Savannah is a very chatty place!) The lights speak to you, as soon as you press the button, they start to shout: ‘WAIT! WAIT!’ In my other ear I have husband, saying: ‘Right, get ready, we can make a dash for it after the next car…’ So hard to know which one to obey.

I hope you stay safe today. Thank you for sharing our adventures, our next stop is Amelia Island and all things pirate. . . Take care.

Love, Anne x

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Travel with a family…always unexpected.

Thank you for reading. If you enjoy my travel blogs, you will love my travel book: The Sarcastic Mother’s Holiday Diary. Available from an Amazon near you.

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Charleston. . . and Friendly Fred

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Charleston

We drove to Springfield Suites in Charleston. We’ve stayed at a few Springfield Suites, so it felt nicely familiar. They are all very close to a motorway, very clean, and the room layout is almost identical. This one, near Charleston, overlooked an area of swamp, so that was a little different (usually the view is of several major roads converging!)

There was a hotel shuttle bus, costing $6, to the centre of Charleston. Fred the driver was very chatty, and gave us recommendations for places to visit. His favourite place to eat (apparently) was Mason’s Lobster Rolls. We arrived at lunch time, so followed Fred’s directions, and found Mason’s. The lobster rolls were delicious—freshly baked bread, filled to almost overflowing with lobster. However, at $15 each, they were rather over-priced, and I highly doubt if friendly Fred ate there as often as he said, and I wondered if he was related to Mason or had shares in the business.

We walked around Charleston. There were lots of pretty colonial houses, tree-lined streets, markets, and estate agents, art galleries and bridal shops. (Honestly, there were a LOT of bridal shops!) Most of the buildings had plaques on them, telling you who had lived there in the past. To be honest, they would only interest someone who was really, really, interested in American history.

We found the old slave market, which is now a museum, and gives lectures on the history of the slave trade. I peeked through the door, but it seemed to be mainly old photographs, which I assumed would be talked about by the tour-guide, and I wanted to see actual places, to ‘feel’ how a slave market would have been, so we didn’t go in. This was, I feel, a mistake. I later read the guide book, and realised I had missed an ideal opportunity to learn more about slavery, and to see one of the busiest market places in the area.

We walked to the waterfront, and looked across the river to a big naval ship. There were water birds and seagulls, and people wandering aimlessly, and big swings where you could sit and watch the water.

I bought a fridge magnet in Central Market (which has always sold produce, not slaves, despite what we were told by friendly Fred). Then we walked to a coffee shop, and drank coffee (which was horrid) and ate muffins (which were nice). All served in disposable plates and cups.

We ate dinner at California Dreaming, because it was walking distance from our motel. It was a round bar, right next to the water, but as it was dark we couldn’t see the view. The inside was dark too, so I couldn’t see my food properly, which rather put me off eating—how can you check the chicken is properly cooked if everything is dark? I worry about things like that, but then, I worry about a lot of things! We survived, all was fine, we slept well.

Charleston was one of the cities highly recommended by the guide books, but it wasn’t a place I need to return to. It was very pretty, with all the painted houses, and flowers, and horse and carriage rides—but I couldn’t really get a feel for it as a real place. There was something a little twee about it. Plus, although the houses were very pretty, I kept wondering how many were only possible due to the busy slave trade, and whether it was okay to admire things that were only possible because other people had suffered terribly. It didn’t feel honest, somehow–but maybe I was simply in the wrong mood, and I’m sure a single day is not long enough to do justice to a city.

The next day we headed for Savannah, I’ll tell you about it in my next blog (it was one of the places I absolutely loved!)

Thank you for sharing our adventures. Take care.

Love, Anne x

 

Thank you for reading. If you enjoy my travel blogs, you will love my travel book: The Sarcastic Mother’s Holiday Diary. Available from an Amazon near you.

UK Link:Here

 

US Link: Here