Lewis and the Christmas Giant
ONE
I invite you, dear reader, to join me in a most peculiar tale. This story cannot be certainly discredited, though one would be hard pressed to confirm its authenticity. Some, upon hearing this tale laugh and shake their head. “Too Ridiculous,” they might say “Too ridiculous to be true.”
Other readers may furrow their brows and say, “Well, perhaps too ridiculous to be entirely true, but I dare not say it is all false.” There is another kind of reader, though, who will embrace this tale for all that it is worth. That is the kind of reader who waits patiently for Santa, who avoids fairy circles, who delight in seeing other worlds in their bedroom mirror. To that reader may every blessing befall. To all readers who humor this story, may you walk away refreshed, with new Christmas joy in your hearts.
Now, for our story.
Imagine a tiny island in the middle of a vast ocean which does not belong to our world. On this tiny island lived a boy. He was only nine years old, but the dark brooding in his eyes and the heavy, serious mood of his eyebrows seem to belong to a man of fifty-nine, one who had seen altogether too much of life. The boy’s name was Lewis. He laughed seldom and short. His shoulders hunched as if they bore a great weight. He rarely looked up. I will now relate to you the story of how his eyes became young, his laugh jolly, and his shoulders straight.
Lewis lived in a in a hill of debris a few stone throws from the Dwarf Mine of Tisland. What did the dwarves mine? No one knew. He thought it must be Petathiaic, the most precious medal on the whole island. Every day they would come up with wheelbarrels, wagons, and lifts simply overflowing with debris and in one swift motion dumb it upon this hill. What kind of debris? Oh, all kinds! There was Clay, dust, crude rust, screws and nails, copper rings, bags of sand, bags of soft moss long since dried and hairy. The bulk of the hill was wholly artificially now, though its foundation was natural. Years of debris mixed with clay, mud and solid rain had made it sturdy enough to house a small boy in reasonable safety. Here Lewis heard all day the clanging of the Mine Bell, of the singing of the Dwarves, and the infernal din of hammers on stone. This noise came from deep below the ground, several fathoms down. It sounded like the very earth was mumbling, grumbling, crying and fretting.
Late at night, so late it was nearly morning; Lewis’ Dwarf Jin-Haung would come in from the Mine. He was hunched, hungry, and hurried. A short dwarf, he came only to Lewis shoulder. All the same he drove the boy before him like a chained dog. The dwarf was not, one might say ‘cruel.’ He was only very selfish, self-concerned, and self-important. All dwarves are this way. Their heart was created after their heads, their egos before their ethics. Every Night (or early morning) he would bark and snap at his boy. “Go here, Lewis!” “Take That Lewis!” “Bring my such-and-such a thing Lewis.”
Lewis obliged readily. For one thing the Dwarf, though not cruel, had quick and heavy hands and would strike the boy without warning if a task was not done as quickly or as well as Jin-Haung thought it should be done. He had a temper as short as his stature so Lewis was dreadfully careful not to set him off.
During the day Lewis had chores like the rest of the Dwarf boys. He honed and sharpened the big Dwarves’ tools from the day before. He emptied debris onto some of the smaller mounds around the Mine. He worked the watermill to lower ropes down into the darkness. He brought mugs of hot coffee and food down to the Dwarf men when they forgot to come up for it. The coffee and food were made by the Dwarf wives and daughters who were just as sharp, hard and feisty as their husbands and fathers. Well, perhaps not just alike. There was in their attitude a calm serenity their husbands lacked; Other than that, nearly exactly alike. Lewis did his chores silently. The dwarf children did not speak to him. Many would bully or harass him if he spoke. His language was labored, his accent thick, his words scrambled or incorrectly pronounced. Many times he could not understand the other dwarves either. They spoke too fast. Often their words were too complicated and erratic for Lewis to decipher. He thought he must be very slow and stupid and so, in shame, he kept very silent indeed. Every night he trudged home in the evening, hat in hand, and would walk to the very edge of the island to look out on the waves until the stars peaked out. Other times, when he had not avoided the bullies, he walked the whole shoreline until he no longer felt like crying.
This tiny island was always cold, even in the midst of summer. Some dwarves said the whole vast sea around them was glacier and their island happened to be in the only warm pocket for many thousands of miles. In the winter bit horrid winds came from the north accompanied by terrible frost and ice-rain, ice-rain that turned to rock-hard snow when it hit the ground. Sometimes in the dead of night it would freeze the very ocean waves mid-crest. During the winter there were terrible blizzards which would build ice walls across hills, trees and holes alike. Several times a year this weather would trap the Dwarves in the Mines for days at a time. The Dwarves did not mind at all. They liked the cold and dark, and there were many air ways so they would not suffocate. Lewis, though, hated the wind and the cold and the ice and would curl into his trundle of a bed and block his ears against the dreadful winter. Then, of course, there was The Monster.
The Monster came a couple times a year. What a dreadful monster he was! Taller than the volcanic mountain. His great body would blob out hundreds of stars, his long legs could step across a mountainside as easy as we can step across the street. His eyes were flames of flashing, burning coal. His terrible fingers came down like so many pointed teeth, longer the wisps of smoke trailing from the clouds.
When it walked the whole island shook. The waves crashed. The Island’s trees crumbled beneath his trembles. The sun was blocked out and all things turned to darkness like a great eclipse.
The Dwarves hated the monster. They would drive him away with sharp knives, arrows and swords hurled at him. They would light fires in his path. They would use their magic to bring up thick fogs and blind him. Always they drove him back into the ocean, where he would sink beneath the waves. Lewis knew this did not kill him though. He could always see the Monster far away, climbing back out of the sea and disappearing into the horizon.
Once the Dwarves’ set The Monster on fire. Its’ scream was terrible to hear and for days after a peculiar smoke lingered in the air. Lewis would never forget the way it fled the island that foggy morning, flames licking up Its leg, running like a tree on set aflame.
***********
It was the dead of winter. The Dwarves had been iced into their mines for nearly a fortnight – one of the longest entrapments Lewis had ever known. Worse still, a blizzard had blown great ice walls all over the island. Lewis knew he was cut off from the other homes. No one would brave this bitter weather to help him if he need it - Especially not him, the malformed and unnatural dwarf child. He made the best of his loneliness and tried to ignore the howling gale and the ice and the cold. Then, Lewis heard something which chilled him more than the wind outside.
THUMP.
THUMP.
THUMP.
The Monster. It was coming.
Lewis dove beneath the only bit of furniture in the house. The low-resting table he and Jin-Haung sat at for meals. Not now. Not when he was alone and help so impossible to ask for. Not now, please not now! THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.
Closer, so close! It was already on the island, and the men were stuck in the Mine. He knew the Mine would not cave in – it never had and never would for Dwarf magic is too strong – but oh how he wished Jin-Haung was above ground!
THUMP.
THUMP.
Lewis squeezed his eye closed. Go away, he prayed silently. Go away, go away, go away!
But the Thumping went on, and now it was so close Lewis imagined the Monster must be only a few miles away. Oh, where was it? Where was it going? The Thumping grew so loud and terrible Lewis realized the Monster was on his side of the ice-walls. He could hear it breathing. He could hear it’s heart-beat. It was nearly on top of him. He wanted to scream, and his prayer became a shrill whisper. “Make it go away, Make it go away, please make it go away. Don’t let It see me.”
The Thumping stopped. A great heavy hand thumped against the hill. Another drew back the stone in front of the doorway. A face leaned into view. Lewis screamed and bolted to the farthest corner of the hovel. “Go away!” he screamed. “Go away!”
For a moment nothing happened. The wind howled. The ice-walls grew. And the Monster stared at Lewis without blinking. Then he sat down, cross-legged, in front of the door and folded his hands across his lap. He spoke.
“If you really wish me to leave, I will. I do not stay where I am not wanted.”
The voice was not dreadful. Nor was the fact that this Monster could speak. Lewis raised his head a little. “I didn’t know you could talk.”
“Some don’t. Some never learn.”
“Are you going to kill me now?”
“No.”
“But…. Do you kill things?”
“No.”
His answers seemed so final that Lewis did not dare continue down this path at that time. Instead he said, “Well then. What do you want from me?”
“I need nothing from you. But I do wish to give you something.”
“What?”
“Hope.”
Lewis had stood up without realizing it. Now he took a step forward. “Monster?”
“Child.”
“I can’t see you well. Mightn’t I come closer?”
“Come as close as you dare. I will not harm you.”
Lewis did. He was still afraid but not so badly afraid as before. The Monster did not seem so terrible when he sat and spoke like this. His voice was not vicious, and he had not tried to kill Lewis yet. Surely he would have tried already. All the same, he stopped half-way to the door.
“Are you frozen, Child?’
“No, Monster. I am only afraid… afraid I can’t go farther.”
“Why are you afraid?”
“You are big and terrible and I am small and week. You are a Monster and I am not.”
“Supposing I wasn’t a Monster?”
Lewis thought. “Perhaps I’d dare come closer.”
“Dare then. For as surely as you are not a Dwarf, I am not a Monster.”
This remark surprised Lewis so much that he did dare. He walked out the door and stood at the Monster’s knee. All the time he looked at his feet and did not raise his head to the frightening face.
“I am here,” he whispered.
“You are here. “ The Monster shifted. “Tell me your name.”
“I’m Lewis.” He hesitated. Then, “And what is yours, Monster?”
“I’m afraid you wouldn’t understand it yet. You may call me The Good Giant.”
“Good Giant.” Lewis was not sure what to say next. “What do you want to show me?”
“The world, and it’s Maker.”
The Good Giant held out his hand. “You may come with me. Or you may stay here in safety. I will not force you to come.”
Lewis climbed into the hand. He had almost forgotten how big the Good Giant was. Speaking to him at had seemed they were the same size. Even now he seemed smaller than he had before when Lewis had seen him streaking across the hills. He plucked up his courage and faced his travel companion.
The face was not hideous, but it was peculiar. Long and narrow, as dark as coal and as rough as leather, with a great beard that dropped down to the Giant’s chest, and a great mane of hair down his back. There was also a many-spiked silver crown on his head, but it was so small and so thin that Lewis almost didn’t notice it. His eyes were as bright fire against all the darkness of his skin. Lewis shivered.
“You are cold.” The Good Giant reached up with his other great hand and pulled a huge scarf from around his neck, many miles long. Lewis was about to protest – to thank the Good Giant but to regretfully reject the offer – when the scarf came around his body as long and as warm as if it were tailor-made to fit him. The Good Giant wrapped it and knotted it so that the ends came down to his toes where they pooled, and the back fell to his ankles. In the front was a fine, wide loop which fell to his knees
“Warm enough now?” Lewis nodded. “Get comfortable than, young child.” The Good Giant stood slowly, boy in hand. Lewis, sitting on his knees with his back against the giants fingers, closed his eyes and tried not to look down.
“Lewis.”
“Giant?”
“Open your eyes.”
So Lewis did. He saw the whole Island spread out beneath him. He saw the mine, buried in ice, twinkling like a studded tower in the moonlight. He saw the shoreline, the waves breaking throw ice, freezing and breaking, freezing and forming, freezing and crashing. He saw hills of stone and walls of ice cutting along them, thin, fragile, and deadly. He saw the snow blowing wildly and he heard the wind. He smelt sea salt. He heard bear trees creaking and groaning in the night. He wondered that he could see everything so clearly. He wondered that he could see anything when it was so dark.
“Hold on tightly, Lewis.” The Giant began to walk.
TWO The whole Island spread out beneath Lewis like a warm, moving map. Each step the Good Giant took was so long and steady it was more like flying than walking. The wind blew wildly past his ears but Lewis was safe and warm in the Good Giant’s palm. He did have a shock when wild spray of water struck him in the face, cold and real and perfect. The next wave that came drenched him all over. They were walking on water! No, they were walking through water. It pooled at the Good Giant’s legs. It splashed and roared, foamed and crashed. Lewis could see ever wave crest, ever icicle forming and fracturing, ever jeweled droplet as it rose in a fury around them. But just as soon as he saw it, there was the whole event in full quick enough to miss and all he saw was wild, untamed water. All he smelt was wild salt. All he felt was free. He laughed aloud. The Good Giant laughed with him.
The water came to an abrupt halt. All around Lewis and the Good Giant were faced with icey jaws of ocean water which might never thaw again. Lewis could not tell if the Giant simply stepped over these obstacles or scaled them in a few massive leaps, but in seconds he was on top. Just as fast the ice fell behind them. They were on a frozen shoreline; thousands of shells mixed with gold sand streaked by them. They were climbing a cliff of stone. They were at the top, overlooking the whole landscape. Looking out, Lewis realized they had just cleared an entire glacier in one leap. He felt strangely sad. He would have liked to see the glacier. As if reading his mind, the Good Giant spoke. “Don’t be sad, young Lewis. We will journey back across the ice when we end our journey. It is too cold now – too cold even with your special sweater. You could not bear it yet. But hearken! – see the island where you live.”
Lewis did see it; A small pebble of green surrounded by a thin strip of moving water, encircled by foaming, spiking ice which stretched for miles upon miles. It was like a stormy whirlpool had frozen in the throes of its motion, but the center had been curiously spared the frost. Stranger still, the center ceased to spin but had begun instead to lap on the Island shore steadily, as sure and as certain as if the rest of the whirlpool had never existed.
“Are you warm enough?”
“Yes,” said Lewis, and it was true. He was perfectly content. In fact, he wasn’t even wet from their watery adventure, though he’d been soaked through more than once. I supposed we’re moving too fast for me to stay wet long, he thought.
“Are you ready to move on?”
“Yes, but –” Lewis faltered. “I don’t really belong to that Island do I, Giant? I mean, I live there but I shouldn’t should I?”
“No you shouldn’t.”
“You said I wasn’t a Dwarf.”
“No, you couldn’t be less of one.” The Giant spoke with a smile on his tone. Lewis chewed his lips. “What am I then?”
“You are a human boy. You belong to a race of creatures that live far, far from here. All across the worlds. Very far.”
“Are we going there?”
“We are going many places this night. Your world will be the last place we visit, the last but one.”
He began to walk again. He didn’t move quite so fast now, (though ‘not so fast’ was still fast) and sometimes he’d pause as if unsure of his direction. The Cliffs by the sea were slick with snow, ice, and frozen mud. The sky was overcast now, no stars but Lewis never lost his vision. He wondered where the light came from by which he could see so well. He fancied it came right from the Giant. How peculiar!
Once when the Giant paused Lewis raised a question.
“Good Giant?”
“Yes, Lewis?”
“Every time you came to the Island, were you coming for me?”
“I came for everyone but I had a special interest in you. I could hear your loneliness. I could feel your isolation” The Good Giant crouched down to begin his decent from the Cliffs. Then Lewis got quite a fright – the Good Giant stepped right off the cliff edge into the sky!
He stepped out of the world as easily as words step off a page. All at once every natural, living noise disappeared. Every sensory movement disappeared. All was still. All was silent. Lewis was sure if he moved from the Giant’s hand he’d be neither warm nor cold. Blackness stretched out in front of the travelers, out and all around them. For a moment the darkness was all Lewis saw. Then distantly, he realized there were stars – stars lived out here! He saw great whirling spirals of violet, green, crimson, orange, and silver; spirals the size of galaxies, spirals that were galaxies. He knew they were all very far away. There was a great deal of blackness to walk through before getting to them. But even here not all was black. He saw streaks of brilliant color as if an artist hand use this dark canvas as a to practice shading and shaping. He saw planets gleaming like jewels. He saw tiny lights streaking past him like fireflies. Some golden. Some silver. Some in colors he couldn’t name.
“It’s starlight on its way to the world’s below.”
The Giant’s voice gave Lewis quite shock. He didn’t think anything could speak out here. He didn’t think anything could exist out here. Already he’d half-forgotten where he was and whom he was with.
The Giant said nothing else. He passed across the sky like an iridescent shadow against the vastness of space. They travelled quickly, and Lewis got the idea that the Giant must have grown. Otherwise they could not move so fast, nor take steps so long, and anyway he could feel they must be bigger, much bigger. Well, it had to be both of them or else Lewis would have been quite lost in The Good Giant’s hand. It would have been another whole world.
Then, the Good Giant and Lewis found a living path of silvery mineral, frost and sparkling gases. It bent across the sky like a waterfall from some great, hidden lake. It curved and pooled, rushed and spun, whispered and roared. The Good Giant sat down on his knees and scooted into the mysterious path.
Lewis had never been sledding. He’d never been swimming, or paddling. He’d never sailed in a sailboat or gone down a steep hill on a bike. Even if he had nothing would compare to this. Lewis and The Good Giant were floating down a silvery space-river made up of a thousand lights, matters, meteors and goodness knows what other magical things that can only exist far from human interaction. He heard a whistling, sighing sound of all these odd things mixing together, clinking in harmony. It moved like water and wind and fire. It smelt like snow. It made Lewis cold all over. He curled into a small ball in the Giant’s hand.
He must have fallen asleep because the next time he opened his eyes the Good Giant was stepping into a silver city.
***************
It wasn’t a city really, but for the glory of it, it could have been. Really it was more like a great, floating realm made up entirely of soft silver, forged iron, hanging bells, and glass towers. At first Lewis thought it was raining but no, those jeweled droplets floating gently down were beams of light forever falling, falling. They fell slowly, sparkling and bright amid the glass and silver and this wondrous kingdom. Some light beams danced on their descent, and some fell slower than other so you barely noticed them moving. Some left streaks of dust behind them, pure ethereal dust.
The whole of that realm shimmered and moved like it were made of water, melting into the depths and spreading out like fog or smoke does over a lake. When Lewis reached out to touch one of the towers his hand shimmered against it and a shock went up his spine It was like touching moving water, like touching a canopy of soft leaves.
“Good Giant,” Lewis gasp, “what is this place?”
“This is where the Stars come to rest and recollect. This is where wishes are granted, dreams are kept, and prayers are passed gently to their destination. Count yourself lucky, Lewis. You’re in the Star’s kingdom in the dead of winter, it’s most illustrious season.”
“Stars! Are stars people, Good Giant?”
“Not people, but spirits. They have some physical form but it is not as solid or as restrictive as your human form is. They spirit is not trapped by physical limits. Whatever they can think, they can do.”
“Where are the Stars?” Though the city was bright and beautiful Lewis saw no one in it. It was silent, silent as falling snow.
‘Come,” the Good Giant turned toward the highest Glass tower. “You shall see for yourself.” The Good Giant opened his hand at the topmost window and Lewis climbed into the room beyond. It was all warm and bright, hung with garlands of diamond and precious stone, each glistening like flames. “Go to the southern window and look out,” said the Good Giant. So Lewis did.
Outside the window the Star Realm stretches a few more miles and then dropped off like water over a cliff-side. He saw a Million Stars dancing in the sky. Each one was alight with an inner glow. He could see long graceful bodies and shining, gleaming garments of white. But he could not make out shapes or faces. He wondered if Stars looked human or if humans looked like Stars. They weren’t quite human he could see, but whimsical like trees, and translucent, like angels. Yet they had hands. He could see each star busily weaving something in their hands. They were weaving beams of light from stardust and space-frost, and when a beam was done they’d send it down through the lightyears to the worlds below, like birds being sent to land.
There was a great deal of laughter in the stars. They were speaking in a strange and beautiful tongue, and Lewis thought he would die to hear this sort of conversation again. ‘Stars are nothing like Dwarves’, he thought. ‘Stars are warm and bright and free. Dwarves are harsh and dark and bury themselves in caves. There is no room for laughter on my Island.’ He now noticed that while all the stars were making small beams of light, they also all seemed to be making one very large beam. It was as glorious as the sun and probably twice as large. It was all silvery and blue, but as he watched there came great threads of blood-red into the spirals of this light. He fancied the red almost more than any other color until he saw the threads of gold, and the gold brought tears to his eyes and joy to his heart and made him want to simply sit in that golden glory for alltime.
The Stars began to sing then, and some voices were high and warm and some were low and quacking. The Good Giant’s hummed along with them as if he knew the tune well but did not want to spoil it. They were joined by another Voice which Lewis could not place but he loved it at once. It was so big, so grand, so happy! He was sure even Dwarves would sing if they heard this voice. Behind him the Good Giant knelt on one knee and pulled out a bell and rang it thrice. Lewis was too enamored to do anything but stare, for now something better was happening!
It seemed the universe walls open up and a ray of sun from beyond broke through and shone on the beam of light the stars were weaving. And the ray of sunlight carried the Voice in it. And it set every color on fire and tempered them like steal and smoothed them like water, and the stars sang happier than ever and all together they blew upon their new, shining balls and it rolled down on its journey to the center of the universe.
The Stars all turned them and saluted the Voice and for a moment Lewis saw something like a man with infinite depth reach out his hands and receive a thread of light from their midst. And he laughed a jolly, untamed laughed and he sang, and the song was blessing and thanking and giving. And all the Stars answered his Voice in their own voices, accepting his proposal. Then the Voice went quiet, but not completely quiet. Lewis noticed that he could still sense it’s presence in the turning of the galaxies, the spinning of the planets, and the strange existence of space frost along the silver rivers.
“Ho, Ho!’ Cried the Good Giant. He had stood up from his bow. When he waved one of Stars over. “Lend me your light, young Star. We’re chasing the bells to the next world.”
The Star pulled a long string of silver from her fingertips, passing it to the Good Giant. “Travel fast, Giant. Godspeed.”
THREE
“What are they celebrating?” Lewis asked this question rather breathlessly.
Lewis and The Giant stepped into a sunny, frosted glade. “See, Lewis,” Said the Good Giant, “what few humans have ever seen. The Realm of Faerie.” Lewis looked out from over the Giant’s fingers and this is what he saw.
They were in a wide open glade The grass was so tall it came up to the Giant’s knees. It was golden and red and fiery orange. It was all covered in a thin layer of the finest winter frost you can imagine, purer than sugar, finer than crystal. Lower down on the grass’ blade it became speckled so bits of the grass’ original color poked through in warm happiness. There were large trees with thick trunks and low-growing branches. Their leaves came down so long and thick they touched the earth, making caves and tunnels. These trees were an array of orange, green, red and white, each with a sheet of frost so thin the colors bled through and the trees became like hills of stained glass. The sky above was clear blue – they type of blue you dream about but never see. The wind whistled through the glade and all the growing things swayed and chimed in the wind. The entire scene was surrounded by boulders and cliffs, smooth and colorful as river pebbles. On all sides silver falls of water came pouring down into clear-glass pools with fine golden waterbeds. The falls came right down into the glade and there were many pools amongst the great trees and tall grass. Because of the bitter cold the water froze here and there, creating sheets of ice mixed with moving cold water of the finest, richest kind.
Then Lewis saw the Faerie’s. There were about a hundred of them dancing in the grass between the two greatest, brightest trees in the Glade. They were dancing around one of the golden pools, the largest of three which fountained down the stair-like grass in joyful music. He jumped from the Giant’s hand into the Bright world below and rushed to meet these new creatures. Many of them were twice his size but some were shorter than him, shorter even than Dwarves. Some had wide beautiful wings, not like bird wings, these were more like dragonflies or butterflies. They laughed and chanted and sang. Some carried drums of fifes. They came two by two, three by three, making rounds in some kind of peculiar, difficult ballet. Lewis noticed that whenever they got to the end of a song (or perhaps it was just a verse, for every bit of music seemed to continue that last piece) they’d all stop, lift their hands to the sky, clap three times and cry out in jubilation. The two nearest to the front each bore a fine silver pitcher, which they would dip into the largest pool. They would take a long drink, each drinking from the other’s pitcher, start a new chant, and pass the pitcher down. Every Faerie got a draft of that fragrant water. There was always a pitcher being passed up, and always a pitcher being passed back, and sometimes the pitchers travelled clockwise, and sometimes counter-clockwise.
“What are they celebrating?” Lewis asked the question with something like awe.
“The one Great Story of All time; the story of hope. The story of new beginnings and happy endings. We chased the light of a star here, but it will not stop at the world. The light of the stars go to all worlds - yours will be illuminated next.”
“You mean, the Dwarf world?” “No Lewis. The world you were born in.”
A few moments passed, and gradually Lewis walked toward the Faerie. He got close enough to brush one of their wings. But he dared not join them. He wouldn’t know how to. He watched the dance grow faster and merrier. He saw some of Faeries take flight, their wings gleaming in the early crispness of the morning. He heard one of the Faerie call out high and happy. “The Dawn, the Dawn is coming!” Now all Faerie rose to the sky. Far away on the North side of the glade, the sky turned the faintest pink. The Faerie began a dance in the air. They sang and brought water up to throw into the sky – water which froze in mid-air and hung like silver wind chimes, suspended by the morning wind.
***** END PART ONE *******
**** This is as far as I have in chronological order. I will post the rest of the book in the days the week to come. The ending is really what gives it it’s “Christmas” vibe, but I hope the beginning gives you a warm “Christmas time” feeling. Pardon any misspellings. I’ve not yet edited anything. WHICH IS A BIG DEAL FOR ME. I’m an editing monster. :-P
Merry Christmas everyone! And a VERY Happy Epiphany.
(thank you @inklings-challenge for hosting this.)
