The season of goodwill is upon us! The shops online and in the High Streets are buzzing with Christmas fare. There are 3 for 2 and 50% off, etc, enticing us to spend our hard-earned cash. But I have become more savvy over the years. I now make a list and stick to it with self-inflicted discipline to keep myself from going overboard. I learned my lesson the hard way years ago, and now I am one step ahead of the crafty retailers’ advertising. Seriously, write a list. I do mine around the beginning of August (yes, as early as that). And, bit by bit, I find out what the grandkids have their little hearts set on, except George, who is 7 and will chop and change from one week to the next and start putting money aside when I price things up. The older grandkids all want money, so that is easy, and I begin to put money away for them from the beginning of the year; believe me, you don't notice it so much. Around October, I look at my Christmas decoration...
A Little Birthday Magic ✨💐
It was the first week of September 1990—Mum’s birthday—and the first one without Dad, who had passed earlier that January. Emotions were delicate, and anyone who knew my mum knew she was a tear-jerker when reading the verse in a personal card. This year, though, the tears were different. They came from somewhere much deeper.
It was a sunny, beautiful morning, and I arrived at Mum’s with my 4-year-old granddaughter in tow. My two sisters were already there—one had brought a stunning bouquet of vibrant flowers, sitting proudly in a floor vase beside Mum’s chair. I handed Mum my card, and as expected... waterworks! 💧
My sweet granddaughter, confused by the sudden tears, leaned in and innocently asked, “What’s the matter, don’t you like it?” 😲😂 That one line lifted the sadness and the sun came shinning through! Mum burst out laughing, and things certainly became more cheerful.
And then—this is the part I still can’t quite explain—one of the flowers in the bouquet suddenly moved. It didn’t fall, it didn’t droop. It just… shifted, like someone had gently nudged it. The ribbon was still tied, the cellophane intact.
We all looked at each other. Nobody spoke. But in that silent, sunlit moment, we all felt the same thing…
Dad was there. Just popping by to say, “Happy Birthday, Love.” 🌼💕
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