Ghosts of Christmas past

Scrooge’s ghosts terrified him; I love mine. First, Bridget, my mother, and Aunt Emma, a child waking very early on Christmas morning finding gifts from Daddy na Nollaig (Santa). The excitement of tearing wrapping paper, joy uncovered. Breakfast, then Mass, home to the aroma of something wonderful in the oven. People coming and going, cousins and friends showing off our festive treasures to each other. The warmth of a blazing fire, surrounded by love, the essential ingredient of childhood.

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