In the days that have passed I have been so very ill with Andy's cold. But as I've got better I've been thinking and reading more. My book at the moment is The Christmas Mystery by Jostein Gaarder. You have to read a chapter a day until Christmas, like an advent calendar in book form. It follows Gaarder's story within a story format and it is wonderful.
I adore his prose. It is sparse and descriptive all at once. I feel transported to his world where people are running through time to see the Christ child. Walking and running with out rest.
What would it be like to experience that?
This weekend I have been visiting Dunster in Somerset with Tom's mother and her husband. They light up the village with candles and have entertainment, all the shops and restaurants opening late into the evening. Walking was on my mind again as we tramped round wrapped up in many layers. If Jesus was born in the winter, which he wasn't but hey, then he could well have been in the snow in the Jerusalem hills. Imagine tramping in the cold with a new child. So many people are experiencing this right now.
It seemed so priviliged to be harking back to another era, and pretending with candles. I hated how people were moaning the whole evening, moaning they had to pay, that it wasn't as good as last year. What's a few more pounds to play make believe when others are starving in the cold. Whilst wasteful, you have no right to be complaining.
...and it was a beautiful evening.
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