Naaaaav'n black 'n' blues

26.12.10

Navan, Co. Meath, Ireland

Perusing the last post, I was reminded how I was in a different world a few days ago: Temperatures were cool; the preferred foods were pizza, Parmesan cheese, and prosciutto; and Sean was with me. Here I sit in front of a fire in a drafty Irish home with some lovely cousins of mine, having just eaten a roast of chicken, potatoes, and parsnips. This has been their worst winter in many years – aside from last year – with the thermometer diving to -8 C and the snow piling up nearly six inches. OK, this is really nothing compared to Chicago, but it's still enough to cause a country ill-prepared for rough winters to shut down completely. And, of course, Sean is back home, no longer laughing it up with me in Europe.

Christmas in another place is quite strange. I don't mean that Irish customs are unusual or all that foreign, nor do I mean that the weather or landscape is that much different from home (this is a relatively flat part of the country, caught in a cold spell). This is the only tradition that I feel must take place with family (yes, I'm forgetting National Family Funn Day). Luckily, I have some wonderful cousins here in Ireland who have taken in this bedraggled warrior, or, if you'd rather, this smelly and unshaven man, for the holidays. But talking to my family yesterday made me happy in a way that I've not felt for a while. When you are on your own, feelings are either dampened or amplified, but in either case emotions aren't what you would feel in a stable environment with friends and family at hand. Yesterday, I was struck by how much I missed everyone back home when I was reminded of the distance by a phone call, made Christmas evening here and received Christmas morning there. Nothing like an immeasurable chasm of time and distance to strip away the self-erected layers of protection and reveal how dear something is to you.

Tonight, I'm accompanying my cousin Emma to some sort of club for an Irish celebration of Boxing Day, known here as St. Stephen's Day. I've received many tips how to avoid the common pitfalls of Irish clubgoers. Most importantly, the Happy Bus is to be shunned at all costs. This vehicle arrives at a party “after the seventh pint” and replaces all the ugly, overweight girls with attractive beurs. Another trick is to bring along a set of keys and tell all the girls that I have a Ferrari (You have a Ferrari? A few). But I think it all boils down to being smart and in control, much like the babysitter, and not “losing it.” At any rate, we're leaving soon, so I'd best be off. I only hope they play something decent. I wish I could walk into a place and be hit with one of Brian Eno's walls of sound, now that would be a treat. Or if Prince made a guest appearance and started rocking. Bobby D is out of the question. But I'll take what comes with a big ol' smile and dance dance dance my troubles away. And if said troubles stem from the dancin'? Then I revert to the Eclectic Slide.

Mrrry Chrrrrsmas! And a very merry one at that!