Christmas 2014

Christmas 2014

 

Dear ones, near and far-

We hope you are battening down the hatches and preparing for your own year end celebrations.  We’re all grownups here, right? So I’m not going to pretend I’m living a perfect Christmas Tale.   In some end-of-year karmic punch-line, small stuff keeps going wrong.   This morning alone, the Christmas tree fell over and the sink packed up.

I, for one, am stressed out, unprepared and very behind.    The Stollen will have to be store bought.  I will try not to raise my voice when Emily steals the ribbon and sticky tape AGAIN.  I will be encouraging and positive when Alex makes weak attempts at his holiday homework.   I will be loving and affirming when Andrew announces that Amazon won’t deliver 3 key gifts until mid-January.  In fact, I will be a model of good cheer when a different courier tells me he attempted delivery at 23:08 at the office and freaked out a security guard who refused to sign for a suspicious looking package.    

As a result, I am losing any semblance of perspective and heading into meltdown territory.  Someone extremely close to me sent a letter moments before I firmed up plans to run away and leave them all to it.  This was the point at which a Travel Lodge somewhere off the M25 with a fully loaded Kindle seemed a viable option.   In her letter, she counseled me not to worry about the curling ribbon or the height of the tree. She reminded me to step back and think, “its not perfect but “F£$% it, its good enough”.  She remarked that I am an accomplished mother, a good wife and a hard worker.  She reiterated the importance of perspective and laughter. 

So I’d like to share with you an outtake from our recent family photo session.  Its not going to make the album or sit in a frame but it captures a moment suspended between stressing that the kids supper was burned, that I’d straightened my hair before stepping out into the rain, that we were running late, that I was hovering dangerously close to a work deadline and that making nice for the camera was truly the last thing I needed to be doing that Thursday evening.  What I hadn’t planned or timetabled or micromanaged was that we would laugh so much during this photo session and that, in itself, was a precious gift.

On the back of that somewhat wonky and completely “us” image, I’d like to wish Merry imperfect holidays to all of you.   Don’t let Martha Stewart or her evil English stepsister Kirstie Allsopp into your head.  Do not attempt a yuletide makeover for your home using recycled Cornetto wrappers or whatever lunacy those two are advocating.  May it be whatever it is in whatever form it takes.  May you not dream of running away from it but be in it and with it.  May it catch you off guard bringing you increments of unplanned peace and joy.

All our love and best wishes for a happy Christmas and a promising start to 2015.      

Cynthia, Andrew, Alex and Emily (captured on film with Nadine, Fred and Eric Coleman) xxx

Christmas 2013

Dear all,

2013 was a truly fruitful year for the Sparkes. In addition to a fun-packed roller coaster of failing white goods, plaster cracks and blocked gutters, the house had plumbing issues that left water marks all over our kitchen ceiling. People often caught themselves rolling their eyes heavenward at the table and then staring in fascination at the Rorschach pattern above while we sat in suspense awaiting the end of their anecdote. They’d lose their train of thought and we’d never learn what happened to the Pole or the Irishman in the tale.

Lest we forget, Alex and Emily caught nits off each other for a few weeks. Back and forth and back and forth until we cracked their “secret sibling head rub” game. Then there was the “What does Fox Say” incident when zany Norwegian band Ylvis hit a gazillion whatnots on YouTube with a song by that title. We, logically enough, assumed Alex was yelling at his sister “what the f%$k are you saying???” and banned him from opening his mouth ever again. And no, he does not have unsupervised computer time, it was just there, suspended in the ether, and all the kids in his class seemed to be singing it by osmosis or something. Those fandangled “pooters” get my goat.

Alex is at an age where he doesn’t know whether he wants a build-a-bear or an ipod for Christmas. Emily is more focused on wanting to see loads of age inappropriate apparel under the tree better suited to the Moulin Rouge than West London. What does an 8 year old need with a tutu, leg warmers, flamenco shoes and a bikini top trimmed with marabou feathers, I ask you?

This leaves me somewhat trapped between my mother and daughter as the sartorially challenged Jessica Fletcher of “Murder She Wrote” sandwiched between Emily’s confections at one extreme and my mother’s fabulous sense of colour and style. Those of you who attended our wedding still talk about “THE” hat.
Emily demanded a lot of answers this year and I had to fess up to Father Christmas, the Easter Bunny and exactly how the daddy’s seed gets to the Mummy. Through it all, she remained sanguine until it dawned on her that the exchange rate meant losing teeth to the euro tooth fairy was a far less interesting proposition than to her Sterling counterpart in London.

Most of the time, Andrew and I just ride their quirkiness out and try not to fixate too much on the inherent contradictions of the pre-adolescent. When things get stressful with Alex, for example, I remind myself that I have an arsenal of secret weapons at my disposal such as standing at the school gates at drop off sign languaging “I love you my little bunny-wunny” as he files into 5th grade.
Andrew has been busy working on three businesses and most recently a recipe aggregation app called Zest. When home, he commandeers the kitchen table working late, typing furiously on the ipad, yelling his opinions at Radio Four during Women’s Hour, taking calls around the clock and responding to emails while whipping up a family supper.

My work is going fine and I am hoping to have my book out early this year. I know you’ve heard this all before but this time, I really really mean it. Enter “Cynthia Coleman Sparke” on Amazon and you’ll at least see what will neither be the cover nor the pub date.

But enough about us. We hope you are well and merry, wherever the season finds you.

All our love,

The Sparke Family

Drop us a line with your news on cynthia@coleman-consulting.co.uk and/or andrew@iskratv.com

Christmas Letter 2012

Having been laid up with ‘flu in the lead up to Christmas (not man ‘flu, the real deal), I got a bit behind this year. Apologies to Kirstie Allsopp who is England’s buxom answer to all that is evil about Martha Stewart. I have neither extracted ink from virgin squid to write upon homemade papyrus nor have I pressed poinsettia leaves to the backside of my envelopes...I resort to the e-letter.

Once again, I can’t point to ground-breaking news or enviable achievements: We’re fine, the kids are fine. Andrew and I have all our teeth; the kids less so.

We had a year to weave stray twine and twigs into our family story. Wonderful memories to us, such as Alex on the beach at Lyme Regis, filled with the unbridled joy of an 8 year old boy experiencing his first dramatic coastal storm, yelling “WELL DONE, WAVES” at the sea. The four of us on Halloween night, snuggled under duvets in garden chairs at Dorogaya (my parents’ home in Normandy) and staring at the stars. Another I keep close to my heart is spinning out a bedtime story with Emily whispering sleepily “you’re taking me into a wonderland”.

We shared some fabulous travels over the course of the year, and perhaps best of all a magical trip to Amsterdam. I include the only documentary evidence of the four of us from 2012 taken by a passing skater on a frozen canal. Note the tragic sartorial misstep that IS that beret when I don’t wear it at the proper angle. Note too, that Emily hadn’t wiped that frown off her face for 48 hrs due to the cold. Added to Plan Amsterdam were crackling fires with my parents at Dorogaya, two weeks by a pool in Spain, theatre outings in London, cheering Andrew on at the Royal Parks ½ marathon, outdoor food festivals, bike rides—mostly anodyne “you had to be there” sorts of things but moments we treasure none the less.

The kids didn’t break any world records but they learned to try things they hadn’t imagined they might be good at. Emily’s long legs are made for running hurdles. She draws beautiful peacock feathers and has a kooky sense of style (ref her mother’s headgear???) Alex can play off-key on his electric keyboard for hours, fix most of my IT issues and make pancake batter from scratch.

Outside of work hours, Andrew continues to work his socks off volunteering for the kids’ school, singing at church, and cooking for friends and neighbours. He is patient, resourceful, calm, soothing where I am neurotic, anxious, and short-fused.

You know when Maria von Trapp looks mistily off camera and sings “…somewhere in my youth, or childhood [chorus: OOORRR CHILDHOOOD] I must have done something good”, then leans into Captain von Trapp’s arms and continues “for here you are, standing there, loving me”? It’s kinda not like that at all. Instead of Salzburg, I’m in our kitchen in Chiswick wondering how in blazes I got so lucky?? Not that we’ve converted our interlined draperies into matching lederhosen but picture this: After shooing me out of the house last summer and onto my bike so that I could re-boot along the Thames, I was welcomed home with the word “better?” and handed a cool drink. Or recently when I was chilled to the bone waiting for the 94, he collected me at that bus stop in our toasty car. 10 years on and Andrew still doesn’t do the hearts and flowers but, jeez-o-flip, does he blindside me with impeccable timing.

I have continued to consult for Bonhams and finally completed my book on Russian Decorative Arts. The snappy title is “Russian Decorative Arts” and is due out this Spring 2013; available near you on Amazon pre-order. This to explain much of my tantruming over parts of this year as various deadlines loomed.

Tomorrow, practically on the eve of Christmas, we set out to Rugby to attend the Christening of our newest little cousin, Clara. They tell us it will be a small celebration for family and friends; a moment to remind us of how precious life is and how much we have to be thankful for. Then on the 24th, we will go to a crib service at St. Michael and All Angels and hear Alex in their junior choir. Nadine and Fred have arrived from Paris loaded down with delicacies. Having my parents and my brother Eric around the table on Christmas Eve, to be joined by my in-laws on the 25th, will bring huge joy (as well as lashings of washing up).

May you have someone in mind to kiss under the mistletoe but most importantly, your own reasons to celebrate the end of 2012 and the dawn of a New Year. I know we all say we are “SO over” making resolutions but who doesn’t look forward to a fresh start?

Merry Christmas and much love from the Sparke Family xxx

Christmas letter 2011

Dear friends-
As another year draws to a close, it seems fitting to reflect on the past 12 months and to share our proudest moments with you. This is where we will casually drop names and list our children’s achievements in no particular order. The goal is to amuse you and keep you feeling in touch with our lives.
Except that waxing lyrical about our smug life isn’t actually going to make you feel warm about us at all. We think our offsprings’ little habits are darling but given the extra drinking many of you are doing this season, reading such bile will only serve to exacerbate your hangovers. With this in mind, I think it worth trying to share the unvarnished truth.
We have neither moved house, travelled extensively nor completed any triathlons. We haven’t traded in our car, acquired a pet or had any run-ins with stars of Xfactor. No one has been identified, recruited or headhunted. Alex and Emily haven’t particularly distinguished themselves at school, business has been patchy for both of us and Andrew’s corns have played up. My book isn’t finished and, in certain light, I reveal the unmistakeable signs of a permanent moustache problem.
That said, loved ones who waited endlessly for children either adopted or through the miracle of science became parents. THAT is joy to behold. Other A-listers in our entourage were given the all-clear or came back from unspeakably dark places. We are endlessly thankful for the forces that guided and/or granted these outcomes.
Our families are well. On Andrew’s side, the oldest generation is travelling far more than we are. My brother is enjoying his new job and my parents are too busy with their own lives to be on tap whenever the need to call or visit happens to strike me. When it works for everyone’s diary, we enjoy their amazing hospitality as a precious getaway or they come to us and smother the kids with nibbles and treats.
Andrew makes me weep with laughter. Through thick and thin, he makes me snort, giggle, cackle and literally wet myself with mirth. That has to be worth a great deal. He has been incredible about keeping his weight low. This has in no way inspired me to visit the gym any more often.
The house is alive with Alex plonking away at the piano. I’m not saying he’s good. I’m saying he enjoys it. Emily spends an awful lot of time turning art supplies into stuff. I’m not saying she has a gift of any kind. I’m saying it absorbs her.
There are fingerprints on the walls and dust bunnies where there shouldn’t be but the house is alive with laughter and music—of sorts. We do loads of things together like snuggle in bed on weekday mornings, ride bikes and picnic and cook. The things we do at church make us feel happy to belong to something bigger. They also contradict that biddy who said we only went to church to get into the school.
There is always a duvet waiting for you and a meal to share. Just make contact on andrew@iskratv.com or cynthia@coleman-consulting.co.uk and we can take it from there.

All our love this Christmas.