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Note on Christmas Eve
About marital strife. Lise and I agree these days that we’re lucky in
each other, and I’ve written plenty celebrating the good things,
indeed an almost embarrassing amount apotheosising her as the goddess in
the garden and so on. But in the early days we had to work at it. For
Lise, many of the worst times centred on Christmas, which we’ve always
celebrated with a Scandinavian Christmas Eve smörgåsbord and a British
Christmas Day (later postponed to Boxing Day) turkey. This poem tells a
clear enough story. More than once over the years we’ve ended up
wondering who or what forced these expensive celebrations upon us:
Who forced us to spend so much upon ourselves,
framed us so spruce and testy amid his lore,
making us ask what we’ve contracted for?
Luckily
for us the marriage contract held. We won through.
Alan
Marshfield
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