My grandfather died when I was three years old. The memories I have of him are few, but cherished. I used to recall a lot more, however, in time, my moments with him faded away, just like an old painting. Sometimes, when it's really cold outside and I get cozy with a cup of orange tea, I return to the winter of my third year.It's Christmas. I'm in my bed, wrapped in covers while grandpa is sitting...