Yesterday I had to take Ninesh for some minor treatment at Bognor hospital. It was the middle of the day and I had lots of presents that needed wrapping for staff at work. So I took paper, gifts, sellotape and scissors with me so that I could wrap while I waited.
" That's a good Idea," said an elderly lady, sitting with two fingers, bandaged and elevated above her head.
" Do you need some scissors?" asked the receptionist
" How many have you got to do?" asked a mum, sitting with her teenage daughter.
And gradually everyone in the waiting room was commenting or helping.
After only a few minutes, Ninesh was out again and I gathered together the small chaos I had created.
The disappointment in the waiting room was tangible. Now they would never see me achieve my wrapping goal. As we left we were followed by " good luck with it all." wishes.
Perhaps it was just the boredom of waiting that made everyone so interested in what I was doing but I think it was more the activity itself. The English are known for being " stand-offish," and unfriendly but yesterday made me wonder. Perhaps it is just that we are not very good at starting conversations with strangers. Perhaps all it takes is somebody busy doing something that people can comment on, so that without having to look anyone in the eye, a conversation can begin. It's strange how quickly somewhere as small as a waiting room in a small hospital, can feel like a community. I find myself wondering about what happened to the elderly lady with the elevated fingers. Did she live by herself?How did she get home? And the teenager? Why was she there? And I don't think it is nosiness, I think it is because it is human nature to care, it's just that sometimes we have forgotten how.
At work , Christmas craziness is truly here. Staff frazzled, children manic, parents exhausted. At the Children's Centre Christmas party last Sunday morning, our " soon to be dressed up as Santa," teacher arrived. Taking the costume, hidden away since last Christmas, out of the bag, he discovered that the beard was missing. Santa without a beard is not a possible concept so with 10 minutes to go, he cobbled one together, using white netting and pieces of white paper and material. Sitting in his grotto, waiting for the glue to dry, the odd bit of torn white paper floating to the ground, he wasn't convinced about children believing the whole Father Christmas thing.
" Aren't beards meant to be soft?" he asked worriedly.
But the rest of the staff just laughed.
" It's Christmas," they shrugged, opening the Grotto.
And they were right. Because that is the wonder of childhood and the power of Christmas ( especially where a sack of presents is involved). Father Christmas is Father Christmas, whether his beard is soft and curly or feels suspiciously like pieces of cardboard stuck togethers with glue and sellotape.
Let the merriment begin.
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