I would like to celebrate Keihnachten. No snow, no gifts, no stress and no garish Christmas lights. For weeks I've been slaving myself with thoughts of who I probably put that gift under the tree's. Results? Not applicable. While my love in secret and furtive web browsing practices, I toss and turn Uni-books and try to come between pre-Christmas tests and stacks of papers in a contemplative mood.
In view of the crowds on the streets, tearing each other's last Christmas baubles and tinsel strips out of the hands and attack with shopping bags filled to bursting, I remember that unfortunately not so easy. Nevertheless, I have
brave attempt in baking cookies, me at my honey cake - a tough time, almost the teeth and risen by about two kilos of biscuits jam - was cheek to call "honey stones". My Advent has been meticulously designed to chew on the cat and eyed my decoration with fir branches and golden candles highly suspicious. Of animal and human residents.
I've tried.
celebrate this year so I Keihnachten. On 24 December I'm going to my father, who thinks of all this hubbub about nothing. We will not have a Christmas tree, no glitter decoration and no Christmas music. For a bottle of wine and a home-cooked meal. And each other. Because that is what this festival again, to spend time with people you love. And if we choose to, we will burn even a candle.
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