’tis the season
…to start my Advent Journal.
I lit my Advent Candle on the first Sunday of Advent this year and decided to start my Journal from then. This is the first entry in my book.
I haven’t really thought about the meaning or start of Advent since I was a young girl going to mass on a Sunday morning with the family.
It was such a special time, a time of preparation and anticipation for the birth of Jesus. I loved the ritual and the colour of Advent in the Church. The purple wall hangings and priests vestments, a symbol of Hope and Waiting.
The peace, the singing, candlelight and the deep earthy perfume of frankincense burning touched my soul.
Mum used to begin her preparation at home like everyone else, starting with the pudding made last Sunday. There was so little money and so many of us. How she did it never ceases to amaze me. She baked and stored things away, (later, not far enough away from brother Tim who loved her mince pies!)
She shopped and stashed things in her wardrobe (discovered by brother Martin). Her knitting needles flew through the evening, socks, hats and scarves for this person or that person.
Fabric, always a bit of fabric to be made into something for this dolly or that action man.
My parents were ‘famous’ around family friends and neighbours for the sweets they made and packaged so beautifully for gifts.
I remember making smooth glossy fudge, vanilla or chocolate or rum & raisin, my dad’s favourite.
We used to stand in a row waiting for a turn to pull the toffee from one end of the kitchen to the other (or so it seemed) fold it, like a bed sheet, and pull it out again to make it chewy and smooth.
The smell and the pink and green colours of the coconut ice, are still so vivid in my memory. I didn’t like the smell of it then or now.
How our parents coped with the endless stream of demands, the television advertising and peer pressure remains a mystery. I can’t ask mum now of course but I know what she would have said. “Just get on with it!” that was her answer to lots of things. I realised as I grew up that she was a very strong Irish lady with an unshakable faith in the Lord. Only He had the answers. She certainly did not she told us, so she left things in His hands.
I have her strength and some of her faith. For that and all our childhood Christmases I thank her.
Merry December story telling to you all.
The cover of my Journal
I will share my JYC pages during the week. Hope you have a happy day today.