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The Merrymaking Of The Christmas-like Revelries

Much to our relief the dust of initial puppy turmoil has settled and still life is restored at Les Pierres, new habits and customs in place to prevent any profusion of excitement that was bringing out Mec’s inner devil, driving all of us to despair, cat siblings included, but days are smiling at us again, also acknowledged by the vanishing of the interminable rain in favor of calmer wintry weather, not necessarily entailing snow or frost, but a pleasant dim sunlight throughout the day and renewed chances for the reappearance of extravaganza at nightfall.

It seems incomprehensibly silly not to take these colorful splurges exceptionally personal when given the chance, which is actually often with happy occasions bountiful in our privileged lives, to fully enjoy these precious gifts and to not let them pass unadorned. When I took in the effects of this particular display, during my late afternoon walk with Mec yesterday, there was not a shred of doubt to whom it was dedicated and why, today being my love’s birthday and an early start to his festivities can never be too premature.

Ivory is facetiously jealous of my name day in August, pretending to feel belittled by the abundance of other December celebrations, a semi-important indicator when we chose our wedding date as to right this wrong and finally provide him with a personal party pretext in summer. As for the celebration of his birth, unalterable through its roots in reality, my bent for interconnectivity glues his birthday to the following day, when Saturnalia starts, an ancient Roman festival and holiday in honor of the god Saturn that heavily influenced some of the customs associated with later celebrations in western Europe occurring in midwinter, now associated with Christmas, the Feast of the Holy Innocents and Epiphany, like electing a Lord of Misrule, known in Scotland as the Abbot of Unreason and in France as the Prince des Sots, who would preside over the merrymaking of the Christmas-like revelries.

Happiest of birthdays to my own Lord of Misrule, for whom the sky colors up to denounce all belittlement and memorialize the most important December celebration, at least for us pagans of Les Pierres.

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