The Word Cloud

I don't know about my fellow clouders, but I am finding it quite hard to get into the 'spirit' Of Christmas this year despite the fact that a handful of houses nearby have had their lights up and on for a week, perhaps its because my other half is working Christmas Eve through to Boxing Day :-( and to be honest, I preferred it when everything shut down and if you wanted a pint of milk you had to find a cow.

Not being religious, Christmas for me is about family time, festive fun, indulgence ( I am always on some kind of diet thesedays), old movies like 'The Wizard of Oz' ... I try to replicate 'the old days' experience for my kids, we don't go out much, certainly not to the shops if I can get away with it.
We all celebrate it differently, some not at all. For this month's Competition, it would be nice to capture the essence of Christmas in 200 words or less, to kick off the festive season and help us all
get in the mood. I am looking forward to reading your entries, Noodle :-)

I know you are all busy doing festive stuff so this is just a quickie!

Christmas for me is about winning....

If I dont win this comp I will kill the neighbour's pet baboon and ducklings...and it will be all your fault!

May enter properly later, but for now - The essence of Christmas is the aroma of frankincense and the wonder expressed in a small child's eyes as he/she imbibes the warmth and glitter of the festive season.

Christmas for me is venturing out over the squeaky cold snow to a distant Wal-mart where I can grapple over Rock N Roll Elmo with another frantic housewive, darrainged and lachrymose from a lack of sleep. Then skid back home to tackle the surprisingly impossble task of wrapping presents with my 2 yr old son in the house, resorting to just shoving everything half wrapped back into the car for later. After a few weeks of a bit too much of Mommy's special Eggnog I rouse myself on the 24th, fat as the turkey I'm about to stuff and for what feels like 72 hours I stand in my kitchen and attempt to create a culinary masterpiece while my husband watches TV in what I have come to call his football coma. In what he believes is the ultimate show of support, he keeps the baby beside him and shouts occasionally to our son to come back from whatever distant part of the house he's destroying. Don't get me wrong, it's all worth it when that little boy puts his hand around my finger and beckons, "Mon!" around his pacifyer, pulling me to the christmas tree so I can point at the ornaments one by one again. You can't hate Christmas when you have kids, you just can't.

I was scared of growing old, i always have been, because i always remembered my aunt telling me that when you get older, you won't like christmas anymore, it won't be fun when you turn 18. But here i am, sat in my room, bursting with excitement.
Christmas is the time of the year that i get REALLY creative. At sixth form yesterday i made a fireplace out of cardboard and stuck it to the radiator. it looks awesome.
Last year a wrote my little brothers a christmas story.
I love christmas because of the community spirit you see. You go into a shop, and there are people shopping, trolleys full of presents (Although sometimes they looked too stressed) and the lamp posts have christmas lights on them. Me and one of my little brothers (the other was playing C.O.D :/...) decorated the christmas tree.
I've got nothing to open this year because my present comes in june. DOWLOAD FESTIVAL BABY.
Christmas is looking out your window and seeing the winter wonderland that you see on TV. The look on your families faces when they open your gifts, The smile you cant supress when you wake up at 6am on the 25th!!!
Putting christmas into words is like giving an accurate description of how love feels. Its impossible.

My childhood Xmases were all about the Clan Gathering. Xmas eve meant staying up late to watch TV while the parents were at the pub; Xmas day was depressing and claustrophobic; but Boxing day was awesome! The Gathering was usually held at one of three aunts' and uncles' houses which were big enough. There would be more food than us kids would usually see in a month, and plenty of cigarettes and booze to nick. At least one auntie would get drunk and disgrace herself, doing the Lambeth Walk and flashing her knickers, and there would always be a fight amongst the uncles.
When everyone had passed out, I would get up and gather up as many bottles of booze as I thought wouldn't be missed. I'd then sneak out to Dad's car and stash them in the boot, under the spare tyre, wrapped in any old rags to stop them clinking, then retrieve them at a later date.
This went on from as early as I can remember, up until I was 16 and got banned from family events after pulling a knife on my ex-army boxer uncle who had made my girlfriend cry.
Ah, memories . . .

The fire is roaring in the grate; it is gas rather than real, but we don't care. It warms our toes as we stare out of the window, our breath crystallising upon the glass, catching our excitement. Behind us, the lights twinkle upon a tree laden with gold, red, and silver, and lumpen packagesmade pretty with ribbons nestle at its roots.

Not long now.

The minutes tick by, and we wait, straining our ears, determined to be the first to hear his arrival. All would be quiet, if it wasn't for the buzz of the television, proclaiming it the best day of the year. But it isn't for us. Not yet. Soon, but not yet.

We glance at the piles of gifts, tempted by their gaudy dressing. How much longer? Surely a little peek wouldn't hurt? Our little hearts contract in both despair and glee; it will happen, but when?

And then we hear it. The faint throb of an engine brings with it all the joy of Christmas. A motorbike – racing green, with tinsel on the fairing – roars around the corner and parks in the drive. The rider enters the room and we run to him, and breathe in the scent of cold and leather and woodsmoke as he peels off his helmet: our dad, coming back from a hard night of fighting fires and rescuing cats out of trees.

Then, with a smile, he claps his hands together: “Let's see what Father Christmas has brought you, shall we?”

This is the moment we have been waiting for. Christmas never truly began until he arrived home.

Bugger! Just over 200... sorry. Got carried away.

Edited and is now 200 exactly. Sorry 'bout that...

We stare out of the window, our breath crystallising upon the glass, catching our excitement. Behind us, lights twinkle upon a tree laden with gold, red, and silver. Lumpen packages made pretty with ribbons nestle at its roots.

Not long now.

The minutes tick by. We wait, straining our ears, determined to be the first to hear his arrival. The buzz of the television proclaims it the best day of the year. But it isn't. Not yet. Soon, but not yet.

We glance at the piles of gifts, tempted by their gaudiness. How much longer? Surely a little peek wouldn't hurt? Our little hearts contract in both despair and glee; it will happen, but when?

And then we hear it. A motorbike – racing green, with tinsel on the fairing – roars around the corner. The rider enters the room; we run to him, and breathe in the scent of cold and leather and woodsmoke: our dad, coming back from a hard night of fighting fires and rescuing cats out of trees.

Then, with a smile, he claps his hands together: “Let's see what Father Christmas has brought you, shall we?”

Christmas never truly began until he arrived home.

The Magnolia Tree

The biting cold is gone, as though dissolved away in the rain that has descended with nightfall. I am glad. Cold pierces; numbs your ears. I don’t mind rain, and the damp on the pavements.

A myriad of coloured lights from the fir tree on the green reflect in decorated windows. And in the puddles. Snatches of, “So this is Christmas” cheer me on my way as I bustle past the tinselled newsagent’s, my head scrunched into the collar of my overcoat. Drizzle glistens and dances in the light from the last lamppost and I watch my shadow lengthen as I leave the village behind.

I trudge up the darkened slope, clutching my parcel. At last I see the white fairy pinpricks that sparkle on our wintry magnolia, beckoning me home to warmth and shelter on this rain-soaked eve of Christmastide.

My key slips into the Yale, but Lucy has the door open before it turns, eyes questioning, expectant. “Did you – ”

“I got it.”

Her face relaxes. “How wonderful! Timmy will absolutely love it.”

The welcoming hearth is ablaze with burning logs and Lucy holds out a warming glass of Amontillado, “Happy Christmas, darling.”

Not Wordsworth, but prose poem musings! CHRISTMAS PAST/CHRISTMAS PRESENT Little girl waiting and wishing for a horse and a dog which Santa never did bring, but content with small contents of a crisp, white, sweet-smelling pillowcase at the foot of her bed and the drifting scent of a fire lit in a best room rarely used in times of austerity. A magical time full of family and love. On becoming a mother; memories of magical Christmases home and abroad, with glistening trees in the snow or the sun; with home at the heart and thanks for our family and love. Memories, too, of 'Last Christmases' and those where all was not well: illness and crises, as Christmas stars shone above a home full of family and love. A grandma now, with little girl awe still intact, preparing for Christmas, waiting and wishing not for a horse or a dog, but for the magic and wonder in a little boy's eyes, amidst family warmth and love. As Christmas approaches this year, as all, my wishes flow outwards and I use the old phrase: 'Goodwill to all men'.

Sorry, I don't know what happened to all the spacings I used - this is a little difficult to read. Cloud gremlins, I suspect!!

My first time on Word Cloud...so not sure if I'm doing this right!

Christmas spirit...waits behind 24 cardboard doors. It's imbibed with the turkey, cooked early for an annual, at-home, black-tie-and-posh-frock dinner for close friends. (Pass the port!).
It's present in every stitch on the handmade felt stockings, designed exclusively by 'the stocking fairy' who has to make a new one every time someone new joins the family by birth or marriage.
Christmas spirit is in every one of the eclectic mix of decorations hanging on my tree. No colour co-ordinated extravaganza, this. Just baubles and trinkets charting 20 years of marriage and family life.
Christmas spirit makes me feel nostalgic when I sing familiar carols by candlelight in the little church up the hill, and fills me with a rosy glow caused by the delicious combination of mulled wine in front of a roaring fire.
Christmas spirit...lies in a manger among the other stylised wooden figures given pride of place in the heart of our home.

Really enjoyed reading the various entries. Here is mine. Late on Christmas Eve the ham comes off the cooker. We set about the glaze. Mustard, brown sugar, whole cloves. We work quickly in a familiar rhythm and get it into the oven. The clean up will be the last job of the day. The afternoon was spent in town. Twilight reflected in muted reds all down Henry Street. People huddled and bustling through the cold, wet gloaming. Common goals, individual missions. There weren't supposed to be any last minute errands this year. On the bus, the relatives were spinning around in my head. Have to see all the cousins before we leave Dublin for home. My mother made the sausage rolls while we were out. We told her not to. She'll need her energy for tomorrow. She ambles into the kitchen while we are cleaning up. "Can someone throw the sausage rolls in the oven while it's on?" "Yes, fine. Sit down." Suddenly, with my hands submerged in warm water, Christmas hits me, rising from the oven. Eyes closed, I linger in the aroma of the steamy kitchen. It could be any Christmas. It is every Christmas. There, in that essence, everything is all right.

And here is my apology for messing up the start of my entry. I put in lines, I thought I put in lines, it looked like I put in lines after Here is mine. Please judge, don't start counting until Late on Christmas Eve.... Please judge, please. I'm a newbie. Did I mention I put in lines?

I always slept with the curtains open Christmas Eve, so I could keep an eye out for Santa.

When I eventually drifted off, my dad would sneak in to my room and fill my pillowcase.

Christmas morning, I’d wake up, full of excitement and take my hoard in to my parents room, where me and my brother would take in turns opening them.

Christmas morning breakfast was always ham. I’d copy my dad and eat it with piccalilli, even though I didn’t really like piccalilli – I thought it’d make him happy for some reason?

After lunch, we’d go to my nan’s, where the entire family congregated.

Nan would drink rum and always have a puffed out cig hanging from her mouth. I used to watch for the end to drop off.

The adults would play cards for 2p’s and my two uncles would fall out after too much booze.

My granddad would bring his homemade mince pies out of the oven, and I used to giggle because the pastry was so crumbly most of it would end up down my front.

Nan would lay on a Christmas spread, and I remember overindulging most years and being sick.

Orange peel and candlewax, children singing out of tune. A tree dropping needles like it’s New Year’s Eve and a drunkard baying at the moon. Sellotape and ribbon and another awkward shape and disguising it like it’s in fancy dress, whilst a damp cloth’s swept across the counter tops, not believing one mince pie made such a mess. Another Christmas Special keeping no one entertained as small sausages and dips are passed around, accompanied by something that I’ve never drank before from the back of cupboard bottle someone found. Outside Jack Frost’s turned vandal, nose nipping last year’s part, for tomorrow his activity will mean the car won’t start.

Sleigh bells ring, kids all listening, one more choc, wrapper glistening, tomorrow’s the day, mum and dad on their way, maybe now’s the time to go to bed.

Gone away, no more budget, repayment day, have to fudge it, turkey’s too big, the oven’s a pig, maybe now’s the time to go to bed.

In the garden we can build a snowman, adult’s can pretend he’s Cameron, he’ll say ‘I’m the Daddy’, they’ll say ‘No man’, nothing left but slush when he’s all gone;

When it snows, it ain’t thrilling, utilities make a killing, too much mulled wine, kidding me I feel fine, maybe now it’s time to go to bed.

Omigosh!! Have just twigged the song for the second half and sat singing it at the computer with my daughter!! Almost couldn't sing for laughing - loving it! So do we have to sing the first half too - and what's the tune??

Minxie - brilliant memories, very evocative. Piccalilli - yeugh!

GD - thought your lyrics were fantastic.

Not sure it captures the spirit of Christmas, but here goes:

I bought three leather stars.
One each in green, red and blue.
I'm going to give them out on Christmas Day.
One for a daughter, one for a father, one for a mother.

The daughter, at home in Somerset, worried about her parents, doing as much as she can.
The mother, alone in her house on the South coast, forgetful, often angry and taking it out on her daughter.
The father in a nursing home, frail, sometimes confused, sometimes sad and wanting to be at home.

I'll say 'whenever you look at your star, you should think of the other two and smile.'
I'm hoping it will last longer than just the 12 days.

I've only just seen your comment Mark. Thank you. I don't eat it now I'm a grown up :]

You've written a very touching Christmas memory. Hope it did last longer than the 12 days...

(Sorry Noodles - taking up comp wall space with chat. It's a great idea for a Christmas comp and I'm enjoying reading all the entries.)

Oops - sorry, Noodles - forgot that Xmas Eve is fast approaching. It doesn't seem like it here - the sun is shining, and I'm contemplating going for a leisurely swim after my bike ride around the district. There's always a lot to see, a country life by the sea - a perfect retirement setting and the welcoming shouts from the little children as a fat farang peddles by...

Tomorrow heralds in the beachside bar barbecue - all I can eat for a Scrooge-like sum of four quid, and washed down with cold lager. I'm in training - two consecutive days worth of hangovers so far this week, but I'll limber up graciously with a relaxing massage before the main event.

Christmas in Thailand - it's tough...

Stephen, with the deepest respect, bugger off :-) I think we are all very envious of your tropical lifestyle, wishing you a wonderful barbie Christmas, the spirit over there is very different. Once had Xmas in Brisbane ... tried the roast but much preferred the aussie relaxy barbie. Season's Greetings to you and your family x Will have some serious reading to do on New Year's eve hic .. hic and double hic :-)

Christmas Past

Everyone
Smiles
Some
Even
Nuture
Childhood
Excitements

Opulent
Festivities

Chimneys
Harbour
Red
Invites
Spreading
Truthful
Messages
About
Spirit