You get to enjoy the best day ever — describe in detail what that means to you. Where are you? What will you do? What’s the weather like? What will you eat? Who will you see?
Photographers, artists, poets: show us INDULGENT.
Another prompt I will have to slip around. I noticed it has been up an hour and only one contribution has been made. Probably the Christmas fun is the reason; people are too busy enjoying their best day ever to write about it.
I have had some good days in life, memories of which remain. The less good days slip away from my mind. Life is too short to indulge in bad memories. Best days are not composed of where, doing, weather, eating and seeing. Best days are a calm feeling you have inside that all is well, nothing goes wrong and you can relax and breathe and treasure being in good health, which many cannot.
My daily computer tour is usually the same. Look in on the e-mails, is WordPress still there, and of course the customary trip across the Facebook landscape. I am not an avid writer in Facebook, my main contribution being the cross posting of my blogs from WordPress. Some people even read them. Today was a real lookalike sensation.
First of all I was confronted by Christmas wishes from all over the world, from my cyber colleagues that I have never met. They really take pains to present wonderful graphics full of the Christmas spirit. I cannot summon up the energy to do this myself and my wishes are usually season’s greetings. At the moment I am enduring the second day of Swiss Christmas. We had a good lunch, we are taking it easy, no stress. Yesterday was the big family day, and to be quite honest I could only really relax when the food was eaten and the presents distributed.
I saw photos of turkeys in all situations. Being ready for the big bake, their carcass draped with spicy extras, perhaps bacon slices and their insides stuffed to the maximum. Here perhaps a few minutes’ reflective thoughts for the motherless turkey chicks now left to tend to themselves, until next year when we again decimalise the turkey population. I saw photos of laid tables ready for the feast and so many decorated fir trees it was overwhelming.
Many years ago when No. 2 son sung in the cathedral choir I attended a midnight mess. Not really my thing, but we do everything for the kids, and he would have to walk home on his own in the dark in the early hours of the morning. Not being catholic or anything else, I found it to be an interesting service, very symbolic and the choir sang wonderfully.
Yesterday evening through some perchance, I watched the midnight mass at St. Pauls in Rome with the pope himself as the chief. It was a channel hopping thing but we remained and watched about an hour until eleven in the evening. I quite like this new pope, he is a realist, knows what religion should be about, cares for those not so fortunate as himself and has changed quite a lot of the customs in the Vatican, much to the disappointment of many fellow Vaticanites. It is a wonder that he was elected I think. I am not becoming a convert, but I have no problem with religion. Comparing him with photos from his predecessors at the same mess, there was a great difference, mainly in the clothes. Clothes do not make a person, it is what inside that counts, but they leave an impression. The pope was dressed in a plain white church cassock, no pomp and circumstance, no bejewelled clothing, just plain and simple in white with his famous brown shoes and a white skull cap. The fancy slippers seem to have disappeared from the uniform.
The transmission of the service was interesting. Perhaps it was public relations pure, but it was an unforgettable experience. The organisation and logistics were perfect. Every participant knew what to do and when. It was fascinating and I enjoyed it more than any Hollywood show or film. I must be getting sentimental in my old age.
And as the golden blogging sun sinks slowly in the West, I will now leave this place and put my hope and faith in the future blogs that I will be writing until the end of the year.
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- day one | belindabroughton