Scrooge! Who me?

Scrooge! Who me?

"That does it," said Jace. "I'm going to get you a dictionary for Christmas this year."

"Why?" Isabelle said.

"So you can look up 'fun.' I'm not sure you know what it means.”

― Cassandra Clare, City of Ashes

Honey, it’s cold outside. Its also raining but then again, this is Ireland and its winter. Despite the monopoly on rain in this green Isle, memories of growing up in here always seem slightly deceptive. The summers were long and sunny and spent outdoors with my five siblings and a smattering of the forty-something first cousins. The winters, specifically Christmas time, were cold, white and magical.

Christmas at Fairy Lawn was often spent in darkness. Who would have thought if you lit your house up like an airport runway that it would cause a regional blackout? To add guts to misery, the water would often go on strike too due to solid, frozen pipes and an iced over well. It was nothing short of making one feel like a Charles Dickens character.

Despite the Dickensian context, Christmas at Fairy Lawn was fun. It must have been as despite my best efforts, I foresee, I will be home for yet another one. The dread one feels for the onslaught of the New Year festivities is played out to the backdrop of silliness that Christmas brings. To help maintain sanity over Christmas, I bring home my knitting.  Them indoors have become accustomed to my quiet solitude sitting in the corner, knitting furiously during a re-run of Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom while, a deft hand takes hold of a couple of Milk Tray chocolates, eyes sweeping the room before dropping back down to knitting at hand. Ah Christmas: Baileys for breakfast, 12 hours of TV a day and a time to re-fuel, put on those extra pounds that got lost somewhere on a trip to the gym.

I remember ….. this is why I keep coming back.