Thanks for the Short Figure at our Door

End of November. Long month. Souls. Thanks. Dark early. Crazy moon.

Comparisons are weird. Why do we compare ourselves to others? I try not to, but sometimes I do. Sometimes I buy stupid things. When the Celtic Tiger was roaring I bought a leather chair because we needed a chair. But we did not need a leather one, even though it was second-hand, it was ill-affordable, grasping... and it's not even comfortable. It takes up too much space. It reminds me of a time I'd rather forget--a time of something opposite of gratitude.

We have a new little friend who thinks we are rich and says so when she sits on the chair next to the fire. But I know it is the warmth of the fire that she likes. She lives in a one room home that was really meant to be a small shop. It has no heat. They have a gas heater but can't afford the gas. She is a wonderful eleven year old. She is sparkly resilient. Her Mom is from the Czech Republic, her Dad from Pakistan. She speaks Czech, Gypsy, Polish, English and Irish. Her favorite song is one she learned in our village school, it's about Annie Moore going to New York on her own when she was 15. I get misty when this New Irish girl sings it. Neither of her parents are working, but would like to be, and they don't collect welfare because they can't or don't want to. When this short adorable figure shows up at our door we are happy to see her. She likes to play with Lily. The two short ones who do not fit into community norms enjoy each other, argue, make up. I like to feed her, keep her warm. She hit a boy in second class who called her Dad a pig. He looks like he is about 15 and adores his daughter.

We took the train from Athenry to Dublin Saturday with our old friend, Malcolm. We went to the Gaiety Theatre to the Nutcracker. It was brilliant, and I loved being in the Grand Dame of theatres, built in 1857. I could picture James and Nora Joyce being there, and Wilde and Behan. Those Edwardian balconies were all cluttered with carved beauty. We ate at a fabulous Italian restaurant,  Il Fico, 6 Chatham Street, Dublin 2, which I highly recommend. Five handsome Italian men sat outside the restaurant like birds on a wire, sipping and smoking. I wished our new friend was with us.

On Sunday we went to the Family Science Day at NUIG. We sat through 40 minutes of everything you never wanted to know about bubbles, and 40 minutes of traveling through the universe. I felt sufficiently insignificant. And so grateful for the 5 bags of wood in the shed which I will wait to light until Lily gets home from school. Every thing is relative.