I Wish it Could be Christmas Every Day.
You know the song.
Even as I child I knew that if it were Christmas every day then it wouldn’t be Christmas.
I’ve been lucky, I’ve had some big moments in my life: getting married, the birth of my children. Selling my first novel. Travelling. These times are not typical of life. If they happened all the time they wouldn’t be special.
I remember the big moments, but the weeks and months that I look back on with most fondness are filled with times spent laughing at the dinner table, or sitting with friends in the pub after work. I remember walking to work through the snow, breakfasts at conventions chatting with friends, chance meetings in town…
And, in keeping with the theme of these posts, I remember playing in rock groups, jazz bands, folk groups, brass bands, in duets, trios and so on.
I’m a writer. Something compels me to sit alone at a keyboard writing stories and articles. It’s odd, because looking back I don’t remember the reviews – good or bad – the sales, the signings, the fan mail. What I remember are the friends I’ve made, the places I’ve been too, the nights spent chatting with other writers.
Most of all I remember the walks I’ve taken when seeking inspiration. Climbing over the hills in the wind and rain, coming home for a hot bath and dinner.
I think it’s a mistake to have a bucket list, to attempt 100 things before you die. There are too many things to do already that are so much more enjoyable.
I was inspired to write this series of posts by a concert I took part in at a Methodist church. I enjoyed the evening, it got me thinking about happiness, music and performing. Listening to the lessons read out that night, I thought it would be nice to write something positive for a change.
Clearly I’m not alone in thinking this: I’ve been overwhelmed by the number of positive messages I’ve received about these posts.
I’m off soon to for my last gig of the season: playing the accordion for a Christingle, seeing faces lit up by candlelight. It promises to be great fun.