It is Christmas …

It is Christmas Day … One of my sisters birthday is today.  She is my Irish twin, born less than a year apart.  We don’t talk as often as I’d like, but I love her with all my heart.  We always celebrate her birthday Christmas Eve and her husband makes this amazing Chicken Cordon Blue. I could eat just that, leave all the other stuff behind, and be one very happy man.  Family comes in, from where ever they can. We eat, have a great cuppa or three and exchange gifts.  Seeing the kids open their gifts, their joy and excitement, is a highlight for me. I am a fan of tradition, knowing where we come from matters.

• ˚ •˛•˚ * 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ •
• ˚Merry★* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ •
•。★Christmas!★ 。* • ˚。
° 。 ° ˛˚˛ * _Π_____*。*˚
˚ ˛ •˛•˚ */______/~\。˚ ˚ ˛
˚ ˛ •˛• ˚ | 田田 |門| ˚


Cherish the Mystery
by John O’Brien, Jr.

Ghosts of Christmas past, go floating through my brain

I remember cold and snow, yet remember not much pain
Joyful childhood, waking up Christmas morn’

Delivering the paper, before the wrapping could be shorn

The house all dark but the tree lights still lit.

Not a sound in the sharp air, as I pull on my mitts

Bag over my shoulder, paper in my hands

Had to be in the door, not today’s “wherever it lands”

Quiet, so quiet, but this one morn I’m not afraid

I think not of dark driveways or who hasn’t paid

The stillness so peaceful, I try not to make a sound

I’m all alone in the world, as six a.m. comes around.

Up the long driveways and then back down them again,

Can’t jump the snow high on the grass, stuck like a pig in a pen

Broom hockey shoes keep me from falling, on my ass, in the snow

No matter how I hurried, I went much too slow

Frozen and often wet, I’d turn the corner for home

My mind is on presents, and Christmas past poems

The last paper’s delivered, each door tightly closed

My Irish cheeks look like Santa, the weather has rosed

I trudge up the hill and see my dad at the door

My mind sees those less blessed, many reasons for the poor

The houses in the neighborhood with no presents or a tree

My world’s not so cold, I’m starting to see.

Into the house I go, my bag hung on the stairs

One sister wakes up the others, who come down as a pair

Warm clothes, thick socks, and hot chocolate whipped to a foam

Rush through breakfast quickly, eyes to wonder and to roam.

My stocking off the fireplace, filled with fun little gifts

Then under the trees too sharp needles, the attention snaps and shifts

Clothes and cool games, wall holders for my collection

We each had our spot, our haul’s own little section

And when it’s all over, put the wrapping in the bag

Mom always says: “for thank you’s keep the tag”

Tho’ my sister is all tired, as my mother did warn her

I lean back against the wall, in my section in the corner

I think of the morning, from high chaos to early still

Of the food and the company, that this day will fill

The smell of the turkey, reaches me as I stretch out

Such wonderful memories are without a doubt

The reason I still cherish Christmas, and the still of the morn

Jesus works in mysterious ways, since the very night he was born.

Christmas dunk

***

Please share your story with me; thank you for allowing me to share mine with you. “Follow me where I go, what I do and who I know”:
#LiveMoreLifeBeMoreIrish
O’Bent Enterprises includes:
Ohio Irish American News
Cleveland Irish Cultural Festival
Songs & Stories, my author web and SM sites:

www.songsandstories.net
www.ianohio.com
www.clevelandirish.org
www.twitter.com/jobjr
www.twitter.com/365Irish
www.twitter.com/cleveland_irish
www.facebook.com/OhioIrishAmericanNews
www.facebook.com/Cleveland-Irish
www.linkedin.com/in/jobjr/
http://songsandstories.net/myblog/feed

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *