Storms

I woke this morning to torrential rain and high winds. It is the noise of the storm that always stirs the soul. The leaves protest and the trees sway in anger, the house creeks and the dog curls up and sleeps.

The circle road around the harbour to Sandbanks was a river. The storm winds and high tide coincided, pushing the waves over the wall and flooding the sidewalk and road. We drove slowly through the torrent of water, passed floating wheelie bins and debris from the harbour. 

The tide was pushing up to the promenade, the highest I have seen it. We had a great view from Sandbanks Cafe and enjoyed watching the storm slowly abate as we had breakfast. No doubt the cost of which will be counted tomorrow.

November for me marks the point in the year when the cold begins to set in. The clock has gone back and it is dark by 5pm. November is to me the quiet celebration of a happy festive time ahead. Now starts the hunt for gifts, bouncing ideas off each other, planning and dreaming. Enjoy this gentle time before things gather pace to the mayhem of last-minute Christmas shopping begins. When it arrives, it does pass in a blink of an eye. We rarely get that special gift but a gift can bring pleasure to the giver, when given with thought.

My feeling is do not try to give too much, give something you know they like. I, for example, really enjoy a selection of anti-pasta. I love putting all these tasty nibbles on the table and watching everyone dig in. Cheese, salami, olives, sun-dried tomatoes, craft bread and a soft red wine to celebrate the joy of sharing and eating.

I am not ashamed to say, I love food, but it tastes better with friends and family. Food is the most a basic form of comfort but the real joy emerges when you have someone to share it with. Someone to cook it for is also a passion I enjoy. I find myself enjoying just watching others eat the simple or complex dishes I have prepared. Good food brings out good company.

Christmas is all about children. Dylan Thomas wrote in the book ‘A Child's Christmas In Wales.’

‘All the Christmases roll down toward the two-tongued sea, like a cold and headlong moon bundling down the sky that was our street; and they stop at the rim of the ice-edged fish-freezing waves, and I plunge my hands in the snow and bring out whatever I can find. ‘

For me, that sums up what Christmas is all about. Full of dreams, wishes and imagination that runs wild through their young heads. I must get that book out again and read it, if only to remember the times I read it to the boys when they were young and full of fantastic ideas about Christmas and what Father Christmas would be bringing them. The times when they were so young believed.