I should do more blogging. One of the reasons why I don't do it is probably because most times I feel like writing is at work, and SG is hardly what you would call "work safe".
All Hallows Eve. Halloween.
On Ireland it is really Halloween, complete with the pumpkins, the skeletons and the hysterical commercialism you have started to associate with every major or minor holiday in this western world. Even in Sweden this hysteria has started to spread in the last couple of years and now you can find marzipan pumpkins and ghost napkins everywhere you turn, even though nobody had hardly seen a pumpkin ten years ago.
I remember one time when I was a child when my parents took me to the graveyard on All Hallows Eve. It was pitch black, and very cold even though the he first snow had not yet begun to fall. The graveyard lay just at the edge of the forest and the old pine trees watched over us as we stepped across the age old paths that led through the sanctum. The darkness and the forest would normally have seemed frightening at this time of the day, even today I would not walk casually in those old woods, but walking between my parents this night all I felt was serenity and awe.
The cold and dark forest, this place of death, was all silent and calm, and the whole graveyard, every grave, was lit up by white candles, burning to honour the dead that there rested.
All Hallows Eve was not a night of demons and darkness, or not even crass commercialism. It was a night of nostalgia and rememberance, a night to honour the past and the passed.
I remember when I was a child we dressed up like witches on Easter, when they all flew to Bluehills to meet with the Devil himself. Nobody does that anymore. It was only fifteen years ago.
I met up with some colleagues after work at the Shelbourne Bar, a couple of quiet danes in the deserted bar. Was I coming along tonight? The costume party started at eight.
I muttered some lame excuse about "having to clean the bathroom" and promised I would think about it. Truth is however that my evening will be spent honouring the old norse traditions. There will be no costumes, no luke warm beer, no make up or cheap child labour plastic props.
The devils may come with Lucia on December 13th. My All Hallows Eve belongs to me, great uncle Assar, great uncle sten, granddad's sister Wiola, my happy childhood and my lost innocence.
All Hallows Eve. Halloween.
On Ireland it is really Halloween, complete with the pumpkins, the skeletons and the hysterical commercialism you have started to associate with every major or minor holiday in this western world. Even in Sweden this hysteria has started to spread in the last couple of years and now you can find marzipan pumpkins and ghost napkins everywhere you turn, even though nobody had hardly seen a pumpkin ten years ago.
I remember one time when I was a child when my parents took me to the graveyard on All Hallows Eve. It was pitch black, and very cold even though the he first snow had not yet begun to fall. The graveyard lay just at the edge of the forest and the old pine trees watched over us as we stepped across the age old paths that led through the sanctum. The darkness and the forest would normally have seemed frightening at this time of the day, even today I would not walk casually in those old woods, but walking between my parents this night all I felt was serenity and awe.
The cold and dark forest, this place of death, was all silent and calm, and the whole graveyard, every grave, was lit up by white candles, burning to honour the dead that there rested.
All Hallows Eve was not a night of demons and darkness, or not even crass commercialism. It was a night of nostalgia and rememberance, a night to honour the past and the passed.
I remember when I was a child we dressed up like witches on Easter, when they all flew to Bluehills to meet with the Devil himself. Nobody does that anymore. It was only fifteen years ago.
I met up with some colleagues after work at the Shelbourne Bar, a couple of quiet danes in the deserted bar. Was I coming along tonight? The costume party started at eight.
I muttered some lame excuse about "having to clean the bathroom" and promised I would think about it. Truth is however that my evening will be spent honouring the old norse traditions. There will be no costumes, no luke warm beer, no make up or cheap child labour plastic props.
The devils may come with Lucia on December 13th. My All Hallows Eve belongs to me, great uncle Assar, great uncle sten, granddad's sister Wiola, my happy childhood and my lost innocence.