And we will never forget him...

Long ago, when nature and mankind were at peace, there grew a tree by a river. He was tall and mighty and filled with age-grown wisdom and love. He had seen so many people throughout his years and they had relied on him for all sorts of things, growing friendships from tiny seeds into bonds as sturdy as the tree himself..

Some of his friends were weary and sad. Those people leant against him, feeling the energy slowly return as they waited in his presence.

Some seeked shelter from the elements. They found safety under the canopy of his leaves, secure in the knowledge that he had their back.

Some just needed a friend to share their fears and dreams with. He listened with all his being, swishing his leaves in the breeze as they explored their future paths and unpacked their problems, leaving them at the foot of his trunk.

He spoke little but loved much.

And everyone who met him took a part of him away with them, a gift from the tree who knew exactly what they needed. The ones who needed inspiration were given a leaf with them as they travelled. When they needed encouragement they looked at the leaf, tracing the intricate patterns, the asymmetric designs, marveling at the way the colours flowed among one another and back again. Each leaf was unique. And this is how the tree taught them of nature and it's ability to inspire the downtrodden.

The ones who needed support through their trials were given a branch, strong and sturdy, an extra limb for when they were weak. With it they could climb the highest mountains and cross dangerous torrents. They leant on it when weary, and defended themselves from the wild. And this is how the tree taught them that nothing is too big to conquer and they are the masters of their own destiny.

The ones who needed soothing were given the stories and songs that the tree had taught them. They could sit and stir up from their heart the wisdom of their old friend, remember the whistling of the wind in its leaves, the dancing of the branches in the breeze, the stories within his bark, story after story after story etched like the concentric circles within his trunk. From his first story as a sapling through to the final climatic tale.

One night, a mighty storm happened upon the land, the winds screaming like banshees across the sky, the rain firing bullets into the river below. The tree swayed and danced through the night, allowing the tempest to move him, joining in with the song of the storm, the beat of the rain, the melody of the wind. His body bent and creaked and became the storm, nature and nature, atoms and elements. The tree told his final story as it left the earth it had been rooted in for so many years.

And so when the people heard of the tree's final tale they came and sat together around the place it had once stood. One by one they brought out the parts of the tree that they had carried with them throughout their lives, from the years, months or days in which they had known him, the parts he had shared. They revealed his stories, each one different, each one a testimony to how the tree had changed them.

And in doing so the tree lived on. The stories that once came from within his bark were passed on and on. And the greatest story of all is this:

That once, there stood a tree.
A tree who gave away all he had to help all he met.
A tree who spoke little and loved much.
And a tree who danced through the biggest storm the world had seen, beautifully at one with nature.

And we will never forget him.

 

Ho Ho Ho and a bottle of cheer!

It's the most wonderful time of the year!

With the hearts that are glowing

And the happy Ho-Ho-ing

And mulled wine and cheer!

It'[s the most wonderful time of the year!

 

Christmas really is the most wonderful time of the year for me. It’s so magical and wonderful watching the lights on the tree, eating all the mince pies in the world, wrapping gifts all nice and happy. I love nativity plays and carol services. Once at school I got to play the part of Baboushka in the Christmas nativity play. She isn’t mentioned in the Bible and is often forgotten but I think she probably was real and important. I had to sing a song about being Baboushka and sweep the stage with a witch’s broom.

Advent was also a very exciting time for me. My mum made us an advent calendar with little pockets for chocolates to go in. It’s the only time of the year you’re allowed to eat chocolate in the morning you know. One year we had an advent candle. Turned out to be a bit of a nuisance actually. We had to keep lighting it and waiting for it to burn the last 4 days away from when we’d forgotten. Our impatience took the advent magic away a bit.

On Christmas Eve, when I was a small Hannan, me and my sister would watch The Snowman (remember that documentary I wrote about last time, about the snowman that abducts that boy? Click here to read about snowtimes…) and then maybe the Crystal Maze or Gladiators and then it would be time for bed. We would be too excited to sleep, obviously, so me ol’ Mum would drip lavender oil onto the pillow to make us all sleepy-tired and we’d drift off to dream land. I got a tiny bit freaked out when I thought properly about what Christmas Eve entailed. I knew in my mind that Father Christmas couldn’t get down our chimney (it’s a gas fire) and the idea of him creeping up the stairs and into my room really unnerved me but no-one else seemed concerned so I just pushed my fears down into the part of my brain no-one knows about and tried to sleep. That’s the healthy response to fear I think.

Oh but it was so exciting to peep our eyes open in the morning and see our stockings full of presents! We’d run into our parent’s room screaming “HE’S BEEN! HE’S BEEN!” and open our gifts with glee. As we grew older, the gifts became more practical until 2 years ago I basically received sensible underwear and stationary. Didn’t have go to Paperchase for 4 months, it was great!

I love giving presents. A couple of years ago, I bought my sister the best present; a book called Awkward Family photos. I knew she would love it because we are that family, awkward in photos, with a hundred cringey stories of our history. Anyway, she handed me my present and I opened it. It was exactly the same book… Inside I was laughing my face away but on the exterior acted all cool as a Christmas Tree and accepted it with surprise and joy. “Ohhh! I haven’t seen this before. Ever! Oh HOW funny! I cannot WAIT to read it!” *Pretend to read the blurb and flick through while casually handing her my present…* Best reaction ever.

Growing up, Christmas day would always involve having someone over for the day as an act of goodwill and love. Sometimes my Mum would invite random students home from church, or a local couple with no family, or a random man from the bus, or whatever. Our house was so warm and open and welcoming. So welcoming in fact that one year a long-lost cousin from New Zealand rocked up without warning and spent the day with us!

I remember the first Christmas it was just me, Mum, Dad and Jess. It felt weird. Like Sunday lunch but a bit fancy. It was like getting into a party frock and then going to Asda. Not that Christmas wasn’t glam that year, it’s always super special. It just felt weird not having strangers sharing it with us!

Last year was the first year I spent Christmas day with The Boy and it was mega special. I screamed “HE’S BEEN!” in his ear’ole and made him take it in turns to open presents from our stockings! I sewed the stockings myself like an old fashioned house wife and they are well good. When we were having Christmas dinner at my parent’s house in Preston it was The Boy’s job to open the champagne. He popped the cork and suddenly noticed that the fizz was rising up. He tried to stop the fizz coming out by putting the cork on top of the bottle but this made it all worse and he sprayed the whole room with a disc of bubbly, like when you put your thumb over the end of the hose and the water goes crazy all over the place. It went all on his face and our faces and into the apple sauce and on the Christmas tree…

This year my Dad is in charge of opening bottles…

Have a Merry Christmas and remember Baby Jesus while you sit in front of your Christmas Tree, singing Cliff Richard and smiling with love. He’s the reason for the season! (Baby Jesus, not Cliff Richard…)

Love Hannan xoxo

Let it snow, Let it snow, Let it snow... please?

I was peeping at the Guildford sky today and noticed it was looking paler than usual. Maybe it had just put talcum powder on after a lovely shower, or maybe it was feeling a bit poorly. Or maybe...just maybe... it's hiding a winter full of snow behind its back. Maybe its waiting for us to close our eyes at sleeping time and then SZHUZH! Down it will fall, flakey floaty onto our land, covering everything and making Surrey clean and beautiful! I hope so.

This hopeful wondering got me thinking about all my adventures in the snow and I thought I would share them with you.

I love the snow. I actually try to embrace all seasons and weathers or else you end up all fed up when it rains and moany when it snows and that's never fun. So I always look on the bright side of bad weather. When I was little and it snowed it was the best day ever. Rules went out the window. Forget school! Or if we HAD to go it was all "Let's all go out and build snowmen and have a great old time!" It was all fun and games until someone got a snowball in the gob though. There are no words to describe that feeling. Like a freezing jelly that sticks onto your eyelashes and in your nostrils. It's also a mega hazard for contact lens wearers like me. It can freeze them solid, or slide them out! Nightymare.

I always have a little go building a snowman. The trouble with building snowmen however, is this. It's never like in that documentary "The Snowman", you know, the one where the little boy's snowman takes him flying around? The snowman always ends up grey at best, if not brown from scooping up mud and grass when rolling it together. And when you stick their twiggy arms into their body it splits them in half and they fall to pieces! Tricky tricky.

I always overestimate how much I love snow. I allow myself a good 2-3 hours of snow time and go bounding out, rolling around on the floor, making snow angels, all sorts. After about 15 minutes though, my fingers are numb, my toes are numb, my face is numb and I just fancy watching Made in Chelsea with a brew in my jim-jams. I forget every year how quickly the novelty wears off!

This year if the snow visits I am determined to try a bit of sledging. The idea terrifies me though. What if I lose control and slide into a danger...? What if I tumble off and roll, roll, roll down the hill like a determined log heading for an icy pond...? Or if I fall off the sledge on my face in the snow...? What if I hit a fence? Or a dog? Countless hazards await. But as we have already discussed, I must try to overcome my fears (Click here to see my earlier posts all about my other fears!) So I shall be going to the Mount (apparently a good sledging spot) and having a little go.

Watch this space.
It can only end badly.
I'm Hannan after all.

Love Hannan xxx