Every day is a holiday

D: I see you’d rather look at Brownielocks’ Official Holidays than write today, hm?

A: Uh huh . . .

D: A . . . ? Come back, A . . .

A: At least I’m not lost on Go Fug Yourself. There’s a chance I might come back from all the interesting daily holidays . . .

D: A . . .

A: Did you know that today is Blah! Blah! Blah! Day?

D: No, I wasn’t aware.

A: D! It’s a day devoted to you when you get on your high horse! You should feel honored.

D: . . .

A: Just kidding, D! Oh, look – it’s also National Bookmobile Day and Nothing Like a Dame Day.

D: What does that even mean? My god, has civilization has become so complacent as to make up daily holidays? Your lives are obviously far too easy. I think I need to go back to the Renaissance. (Sigh) Those were good times.

A: Welcome to progress, D. . . oh, hey, tomorrow is National wear your PJs to Work Day – yes!

D: I give up.

“. . . Did you know that the church had been built on a fairy hill?” Sean asked absently as they walked in a rut of the narrow path.

Maureen glanced at her friend, his hands shoved in his pockets and shoulders hunched. “I didn’t know that, no. Are you telling me you think fairies grabbed us and sent us hurtling through time, Sean?”

“No… although it’s as good a theory as any, at the moment.” Sean looked up and winked at Maureen, who was rolling her eyes at him. “I was reading that book – you know, the one you smuggled in with the rest of your packages last weekend?”

Sean grinned. Maureen acquired information – usually the forbidden kind – with an almost avaricious glee. “That book on the old religions? It had something about the Tuatha dé Danann, and how the Celts, having defeated them, led them into the earth through the sidhe mounds – fairy hills.”

“So, the Celts, being the invaders in this scenario, took over and assigned their own meaning to already-sacred sites?” Maureen had read the book, too. Suddenly Sean’s meaning became clear.

“And the Anglo-Irish priests completed the circle by sealing the deamons inside forever with their church,” she finished, triumphant. “Just like Patrick trying to drive the snakes out of Ireland!”

Sean rubbed the bridge of his nose, not sure whether he felt shocked or amused. “I wasn’t going to go that far, but it is the general idea. Why do you think the oaks were being cut? Lucky for us they were, though; it gives me an idea of when we might be. . .

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