Scenes from a simple and beautiful last lunch provided by my mother, in Cape Town, just last week.
In South Africa we say Happy Christmas, in the States, it is merry. For us, this year, it is neither, and for millions of others, too, it is not a happy time, even as we are frogmarched with the crowds down the lighted way of ho, ho, ho.
So I shan't wish it for you. What I shall wish is that you find a place at the table, any table, when you need one.
I wish hospitality and generosity and costless acts of consideration. I wish a smile upon the stranger on the street and a door opened for someone you do not know. I wish a look in the mirror, a recognition of what is there and the courage and resolve to be kinder than it is easy to be.
And if the dearly departed cat were here, he'd roll his eyes at me and say, Yos weesh the people a merry forgheen' Chreestmas, OK? OK!
Fine. Merry forgheen' Christmas, then.
[Footnote: The sun just came out. I can see blue sky.]