I’ve always loved advent calendars. The traditional ones, that is. Not the rather over-the-top ones with chocolate and even make-up. My favourites are those that remind me of my childhood ones, made of card and with little windows that you open to reveal a picture. Anything secret like that, always charmed my inner soul. Did we share one as children? Probably. Oh, and that little door that revealed Christmas Eve was the cream. I have one now. It hangs on the fridge door. It’s not of a nativity scene but a Roger de la Borde commissioned illustration of a polar bear. It’s nice enough. And, I do get a tiny frisson of pleasure from pushing the little window open. He bought one for her. A mini version that she can have on her table beside her. I hope it gives her some pleasure too. She said that she used to keep the same calendar year after year. She’d push the little doors shut at the end of each advent and re-use it. I like to think of her. And I do so often.
