Another Christmas. Another winter solstice just gone. The turkey's in the oven waiting for morning. Presents are under the tree. We have so much to be grateful for. But see the picture in my Christmas card. It was taken from "The Island" rural cemetery in the middle of County Clare, Ireland on June 30th. It's where the body of my oldest brother, Paul, lies beneath the sod, snug against that rough limestone wall. I spoke with him every Christmas Day but not this year. And yet, and yet... I still hear his fiddle sawing out jigs and reels and the pints of Guinness on the bar in Vaughan's and his impatience, his strings of jokes, the frenetic way in which he finished phone calls with a staccato "Bye-bye-bye-bye-bye" like a machine gun and I remember his big heart, his love of people and his disregard for status high or low. Everyone was his equal and he loved life with a passion. Dear, dear Paul, I miss you. Happy Christmas bro! Happy Christmas everybody!