Making Gingerbread for Christmas

Lily's Gingerbread People, Christmas 2008 ". . . the baker with his white cap and big spoon . . . the Princess in a pink dress and golden crown, the old woman and her apples, gingerbread men, gingerbread ladies, and gingerbread cats all danced through their dreams!"

from Snipp, Snapp, Snurr and The Gingerbread (Sweden, 1932)
by Maj Lindman (1886 - 1972)
"Mama and I are gathering fir twigs for the advent wreath. Behind a ridge of cloud the setting sun flames blood red. It is the red-hot glow of the heavenly baking oven. The angels are very busy just now, mixing and rolling and baking the spiced honey Lebkuchen for Christmas. Anxiously I gaze at the fiery glow. They might get their lovely wings singed. As the glow fades, I breathe a sigh of relief, the danger is past for today."

Christmas, early 1930s
as described by Gerda Erika Baker
in Shadow of War

Gingerbread: A Short, Happy Photo History
~
DELECTABLE SUMMER PALACE
CREATED BY BEN, KAREN & ZOE
AS HALLOWEEN APPROACHES,
GLORY DAYS GIVE WAY TO RUIN

A THANKSGIVING TREAT
FOR THE YARD DWELLERS
IF YOU BUILD IT,
THEY WILL COME, THEY WILL DEVOUR ( ~ DEC 3rd ~ )
A SNOWY TREAT
FOR A COLD LITTLE FRIEND ( ~ DEC 4th ~ )
From the squirrel's perspective,
this story has a very happy ending!

Viracocha, St. Nicholas, Buller Clos

This German Buller Clos seems to fall somewhere
between ancient and modern,
along the middle of the Santa Claus timeline
In addition to the familiar lineage of St. Nick -- from the original 4th Century St. Nicholas of Myra to our contemporary incarnation -- I often wonder if his spiritual roots might be tied laterally to those of the much more ancient and enigmatic Viracocha: "Through all the ancient legends of the peoples of the Andes stalked a tall, bearded, pale - skinned figure wrapped in a cloak of secrecy . . . Viracocha, Foam of the Sea, a master of science and magic who wielded terrible weapons and who came in a time of chaos to set the world to rights" (see Fingerprints of the Gods, by Graham Hancock, p 46).

All of Hancock's sources suggest a similar appearance for the widely traveled Viracocha -- always the beard, the staff, and the long cloak; always venerable, wise, kind and mysterious. Always sounding a lot like -- and this is my conclusion, not Hancock's -- Santa Claus! I'm not kidding!

Yes, Virginia, there is a Viracocha!

One and the same?

The connection rings true to me. Hancock may not agree with me, though I mean his work no disrespect; quite the contrary! And quite in keeping with my proposition, poet Richard Eberhart writes of a Mexican Santa who, consistent with my connection, seems a perfect blend of Jolly Old St. Nick and the prescient Viracocha. Surely, without ever saying the name, Eberhart's poem captures the soul of Viracocha. Mystical, apocryphal, legendary, walking through the ages, the Once and Future Santa Claus brings not just toys but light and reason:

Santa Claus In Oaxaca
Nothing seemed so incongruous
In this Christian country of Indians
In bright clothes, Indians part Spanish
And tourists neither Indian nor Spanish,
In the warm dusk in a place of bells
When the cathedral rips again he harsh sound
Of every quarter hour, and then the full hour,
Next to the Marques del Valle Hotel,
And in the square the noisy band goes off
Like a jubilant series of firecrackers,
The firecrackers shot off by Mexican young and old,
Where every breath taken is compassionate,

Nothing seemed so incongruous
As to see Santa Claus in the hot lands
In red cotton garments, trimmed in white,
His bearded face impersonal but appealing,
Walk awkwardly through the square of Oaxaca
Followed by popping strings of boys and girls,
Mothers with babes mangered in red rebozos.
Where are you going, Santa Claus, walking?
Are you going to the ruins of ancient Mitla?
A gentle Zapotec explains the tombs of Mitla.
This Zapotec survives, but gone is the last fierce Aztec.
Are you hastening to see where the future would go?

Richard Eberhart
poem can be found in A Christmas Treasury, selected by Stephanie Nettell

Gift of Love ~ Counted Cross Stitch
Thanks to my sister Peggy Carriker Rosenbluth
for this Christmas Cottage & the Bullor Clos, above
-- beautiful handmade presents from years ago!

Academic Humor for St. Nicholas Day

Presents from Gerry's Auntie Jan (1997):
Red Wooden Shoes, Inscribed "Ben" & "Sam"
and an Amazingly Detailed Bread Dough St. Nick
AN EDUCATOR'S PERSPECTIVE ON THE QUESTION OF SANTA CLAUS

[I came across this academic rendering back in the 90s when I worked at the Community College of Philadelphia]

Dear Editors,

I am old and weary, beyond my years. Some of my friends in the English Department say there is no humor, no heart, no faith, no optimism in the department. My colleagues say, "If you see it in the DEPARTMENT NEWSLETTER, it must be so." Please tell me the truth.

~Virginia

Virginia,

Your friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of skeptical times. They do not believe except they read and hear and feel. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by the meetings, the memos, and the mumbling in the halls. All minds, Virginia, are susceptible to littleness. In this great department of ours, one is a mere insect, an ant, in intellect as compared with the boundless world about us, as measured by our many intelligences capable of grasping the whole.

Yes, Virginia, there are humor, heart, faith, and optimism in this department. They exist as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your job its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be this department if there were no humor, no heart, no faith, no optimism. It would be as dreary as if there were no Virginias. There would no childlike faith then, no poetry, no prose, no romance enough to make tolerable this job. We would have no enjoyment, except in meanness, bitterness, and pessimism. The light with which our profession fills the world would be extinguished.

Not believe this department has humor, heart, faith, optimism! You might as well not believe in teachers. You might get your colleagues to listen in at all the classroom and office doors on any given day to catch the spirit, but even if you did not see the spirit, what would that prove? Nobody sees humor or heart or faith or optimism, but that is no sign that there are none. The most real things in education are those that no one can see. Did you ever see teachers dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that's no proof that they do not. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.

You tear apart each other's theories and think you see what makes the thesis, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest, not even the united strength of all the strongest that ever lived could tear apart. Only faith, poetry, prose, and love can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, Virginia, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.

No humor, heart, faith, or optimism in the English Department. Thank our lucky stars; thank all gods and goddesses! They live and live forever. A thousand semesters from now, Virginia, nay 10 times 10,000 semesters from now, these will continue to make glad the heart of this and every college and every student, professor, and administrator in the land.

******************************
ET INCARNATUS SUNT

[Back when I was in graduate school, some of my funny friends wrote this invitation for a party that was being held at the Graduate Student Union -- 27 years ago today! Can't remember whether or not I joined them, but I did save their clever end - of - semester poem.]

Angels of Light and Darkness:

It is in the air.
In your pride and overwork
You have decided against attending
the GSU Christmas party,
December 7, 1984.
You are in error!

Descend!
Descend!
Descend!
Descend to the Senior Bar below!

Mix and mingle with humans on earth.
They need you. Condescend for one hour temporal.
Bring joy and gladness, your essence angelic, to
those caught in clay.

Get on down!
Shake a tail feather!
Drink divine wine!

Those below need to see and to speak with you. One hour,
a mere pittance in your eternity.

Do you need a buck?
See me at the door.
I'll buy your ticket.

~The Gate Keeper

The Little St. Nick

Sam, Ready for Holidays Around the World (Sixth Grade)
St. Nicholas Day: time to set out our red wooden shoes and fill them with dreidels (combining holidays!), along with two sweet little Waiting for Santa Sisters from my friend Etta, our elegant bread dough St. Nick, made by Gerry's Auntie Jan (in the mirror you can see that even his back is finely detailed), and a couple of St. Nicholas picture postcards collected over the years from our friends in Holland. When the boys were little, these friends also sent us some realistic looking St. Nick shaped chocolates. I set them out on the table to admire and after a few days, Ben (only 4 at the time) said, "When can we eat those priests?"

Day of Light / Santa Lucia

Wall Tile for Lucia Day
by Erkers Marie Persson
As with so many of the December customs, St. Lucia's Feast Day on the 13th is a celebration of light, vision, and enlightenment. Lucia, Lucy, Lux, Lucis -- all refer to Light. St. Lucia is a bringer of light -- in the form of candles, and breakfast in bed, early in the morning. And, as one who was violently deprived of her own eyesight, she has also become the patron saint of the blind. In Sweden, at least in days of yore, the occasion was observed by adorning the eldest sister with a crown of candles as she carried a tray of yellow saffron buns about the house, serving her family members breakfast in bed. The buns are formed in various shapes, depending on which legend you follow. My favorite, of course, are the Luciakatter ~ St. Lucy's Cats ~ and I like to make mine out of gingerbread rather than the traditional saffron yeast dough.

I first learned about Lucia Day in 1972, when Betsy McCall Paper Dolls were a regular feature in McCall's Magazine. Back in those days, I saved numerous pages and articles from my mother's holiday magazines, and I have heard many friends say that this was their favorite and most memorable Betsy Doll.



*******************************

ADDITIONAL LUCIA DAY TREASURES

1.

a Christmas song of "luminous light," perfect for the occasion:

Star of Bethlehem
lyrics by Leslie Bricusse
music by John Williams
from the Home Alone Soundtrack

Star of Bethlehem shining bright,
bathing the world in heav'nly light.
Let the glow of your distant glory
fill us with hope this Christmas night.

Star of innocence, star of goodness.
Gazing down since time began.
You who've lived through endless ages,
view with love the age of man.

Star of beauty hear our plea,
whisper your wisdom tenderly.
Star of Bethlehem set us free,
make us a world we long to see.

Star of Bethlehem, star on high,
miracle of the midnight sky.
Let your luminous light from heaven
enter our hearts and make us fly.

Star of happiness, star of wonder.
You see everything from afar.
Cast your eye upon the future,
make us wiser than we are.

Star of gentleness hear our plea,
whisper your wisdom tenderly.
Star of Bethlehem set us free
make us a world we long to see.

*******************************

2.

Thanks to my friend Cate
for these darling little Lucia Day Stickers

*******************************

3.
Lines from the most famous poem for this day,
John Donne's "Nocturnal Upon St. Lucy's Day"
written back when the Winter Solstice occurred earlier in the month

It opens . . .

Tis the year's midnight, and it is the day's,
Lucy's, who scarce seven hours herself unmasks;
The sun is spent, and now his flasks
Send forth light squibs, no constant rays;
The world's whole sap is sunk . . .

And closes . . .

Since she enjoys her long night's festival,
Let me prepare towards her, and let me call
This hour her vigil, and her eve, since this
Both the year's, and the day's deep midnight is."
*******************************

4.
My Little Lucia Miniature ~ She is a British Lucia, bringing Christmas Pudding & Tea! ~

********************************

5.
One of my favorite Carl Larsson paintings
is this romantic depiction of the early morning ritual:

The Feast of St. Lucy on 13th December, 1916

A Fall Reason, A Winter Reason

The Lanterns, Filled With Snow
According to the calendar, it's still autumn; but judging by six inches of snow on the ground, it's definitely winter. As my friend Olynn described it: "One week till first day of winter! Yay! Love first day of winter because as soon as it gets here, days start getting longer. Hate first day of summer cause when you are finally ready for lots of warm sunny weather, days start getting shorter." It seems so backward, doesn't it?

Czech poet and immunologist Miroslav Holub has written a couple of excellent poems for this transitional time of year. First, in his poem "Philosophy of Fall" comes the "yellow foliage" when there are still a few leaves to be seen:

Fingers of the autumn sun
fiddle with yellow foliage
outside. . . .
this year we are
immersed in history
like a web of light.

Followed at last by the "reddish boniness" when it appears that all is lost:

Autumn
And it is all over.

No more sweetpeas,
no more wide-eyed bunnies
dropping from the sky.

Only
a reddish boniness
under the sun of hoarfrost,
a thievish fog,
an insipid solution of love,
hate
and crowing.

But next year
larches will try
to make the land full of larches again
and larks will try
to make the land full of larks.

And thrushes will try
to make all the trees sing,
and goldfinches will try
to make all the grass golden,

and burying beetles
with their creaky love will try
to make all the corpses
rise from the dead,

Amen.

Miroslav Holub (1923 - 98)
Both poems translated by Stuart Friebert and Dana Habova
In Holub’s collection Intensive Care: Selected and New Poems, 1996


Even as Holub writes of the year's demise, he anticipates the coming cycle of renewed life, a new generation of sweetpeas, bunnies, thrushes, and beetles. American poet Edna St. Vincent Millay looks from the opposite perspective, however, writing in "Sonnet XXXV" that even at the height of summer, she can feel the full weight of love's decline:

If in widening silence you should guess
I read the moment with recording eyes,
Taking your love and all your loveliness
Into a listening body hushed of sighs . . .
Though summer's rife and the warm rose in season,
Rebuke me not: I have a winter reason.

Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892 – 1950)
From “Clearly my ruined garden”
In Fatal Interview, 1931

If you have a winter reason, well, now's the time. But keep in mind the larches and the larks! As Olynn observes, just one short week to go before the days start getting longer! Appropriate for any time of year is this beautiful closing thought from Holub's poem "United Flight 412":

. . . where would we be
if love was not stronger than poetry
and poetry stronger than love?

Hope Springs Eternal

At the Biopond: An Iris Blooming on the Winter Solstice, 1998
English Romantic Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772 - 1834) wrote that "Work without Hope draws nectar in a sieve, / And Hope without an object cannot live," while a hundred years earlier, English poet Alexander Pope (1688-1744) declared that "Hope springs eternal in the human breast."

When we lived in Philadelphia, one of our favorite places to go was the Biopond at the University of Pennsylvania, five hidden acres, right in the middle of a busy campus, surrounded by dorms, medical buildings, and major streets. You might never guess it existed, but walk a few blocks off the beaten path, and there it was -- an urban oasis extraordinaire!

One year, out for a brisk walk on the first day of Christmas Vacation, we stopped by the Biopond, and what to our wondering eyes should appear but a purple iris in full bloom . . . in December . . . in Philadelphia!

I've heard the legend of the Christmas rose, which blossomed from the tears of Madelon the Shepherd Girl, and of little Pepita the Mexican girl whose humble bouquet of weeds, in similar fashion, was transformed on Christmas Eve into a brilliant poinsettia. But that day, we witnessed our own seasonal miracle, something I had never heard of or seen before -- a Solstice Iris -- blooming on the First Day of Winter!

Snowy Winter Solstice

December 21 2010
Porch Lanterns During Evening Snowfall
Due to the overcast sky and the aura of orange light reflected from the five inches of snow that fell in five hours yesterday, we were unable to behold the lunar eclipse here in Indiana. Still, it was worth waiting up until 3am, just to know that somewhere out beyond my sight, the Eclipse, the Full Moon, and the Winter Solstice were coinciding, a rare cosmic occurrence in any millennium.

One of my sweet friends paid me the compliment of saying, "I think you are about the only person I know who would take notice that the Solstice and Full Moon coincided! That is great!" What a gratifying observation, since I am proud to be known for precisely such an awareness of the universe in all of its orderly, harmonious wholeness.

So many beautiful poems ring true on the Winter Solstice, but this has to be one of the best:

The Shortest Day
And so the Shortest Day came and the year died
And everywhere down the centuries of the snow-white world
Came people singing, dancing,
To drive the dark away.
They lighted candles in the winter trees;
They hung their homes with evergreen;
They burned beseeching fires all night long
To keep the year alive.
And when the new year’s sunshine blazed awake
They shouted, revelling.
Through all the frosty ages you can hear them
Echoing behind us - listen!
All the long echoes, sing the same delight,
This Shortest Day,
As promise wakens in the sleeping land:
They carol, feast, give thanks,
And dearly love their friends,
And hope for peace.
And now so do we, here, now,
This year and every year.
Welcome Yule!

by Susan Cooper(b. 1935)
Award - winning British author of fiction and fantasy

Porch Lanterns at Dusk

Poem For the End of the World

November Sunset ~ Champaign, Illinois

Dark, dark night.
The trees. The river.
One more day;
For so slow goes the day.
Before the end
the world goes round
once more.
The world begins the day.
The night has gone.
The day for the end of the world
once more begins.
Once more begins the sun.
Slow, so slow.
Go on, world, live.
Begin, sweet sun.
Begin, sweet world.
The people live and die,
people die alive
alive
alive.

Lynette Joass
Age 12
New Zealand

Title poem from the collection:
Begin Sweet World: Poetry by Children, 1976
editing and photography by John Pearson

***************************************

And on the final page, another wise child writes:

And I awoke and it was true.
I saw everything. I saw sky of
roses, house of daisies, a tree
of orange, a book of apples, and
I loved it all and I lived with
it for the rest of my life.

Dick Link
Age 8
United States

HAPPY SOLSTICE TO ALL!
See the porch light?

Christ in Christmas

"Dear Santa Claus:
This year I'd like the best
to see my fellow man
give his fists and guns
and tongue a rest."
Rod McKuen

Old Favorite New Yorker Cartoon

Invitation
I've seen so many Merry Xmas signs
with Christ squeezed out by laziness*
or the printer's economic need.
The outrage that it once produced
has almost found its way into the attic
with nineteen-sixty's broken toys.

(Had I not the faces of small children
to mirror Christ for me all year long
I might believe God dead, or sleeping anyway.
Though I doubt there lives a Lucifer
who could make September leaves to fall
or set the tails of dogs to wagging.)

God is living in the mountains,
a recluse from some people's hearts.
I bet he'd drop by smiling in the chilly night
and celebrate his first son's birthday
if we cared enough to keep the porch light.

by Rod McKuen(American poet, b 1933)
from The Carols of Christmas, 1971
first published in Woman's Day Magazine, 1969
I still have the original article of McKuen's "Seven Psalms for Christmas," cut from my mother's copy of this magazine and glued onto the opening pages of my earliest Christmas scrapbook. I started at age 12, and have been at it ever since!

The Divine Sextuplets of Menard's

Photographed by Gerry McCartney,
way back in early October when the retail Christmas displays
began appearing for the season at all of our favorite stores
*In closing, I must add one brief disclaimer that although this McKuen poem has been one of my favorites for over forty years, I have never been too bothered by Xmas as an abbreviation for Christmas. My dear sainted grandmother Rovilla Heidemann Lindsey -- never one to be irreverent, and certainly never lazy -- occasionally substituted the "X" as symbolic of Christ. If it once received her blessing, then I shall never find fault with it.

Sleigh Bells

"Late at night on Christmas Eve, she carried us each to our high bedroom, and darkened the room, and opened the window, and held us awed in the freezing stillness, saying -- and we could hear the edge of tears in her voice -- 'Do you hear them? Do you hear the bells, the little bells, on Santa's sleigh?' We marveled and drowsed, smelling the piercingly cold night and the sweetness of Mother's warm neck, hearing in her voice so much pent emotion, feeling the familiar strength in the crook of her arms,and looking out over the silent streetlights and the chilled stars over the rooftops of the town. 'Very faint and far away -- can you hear them coming?' And we could hear them coming, very faint and far away,the bells on the flying sleigh."

from An American Childhood (37 - 38)
by Annie Dillard (b. 1945)
When we moved from Philadelphia back to Indiana in 2004, I made one bad packing mistake: I left behind my red leather sleigh bell strap. See it hanging there on the door knob? The last thing I intended to pack, but I forgot.
Our house in Indiana just didn't feel right without that jingle each time we opened and shut the door. So I wrote to my dear friend and realtor, Melani. She and her son Scott paid a visit to the new owners of our Philly house, retrieved the bells, packaged them up and sent them through the mail in the box that you see above.

I've hung on to this special box for nearly a decade now and take it out each December along with my Christmas decorations. It's a seasonal reminder of Melani and Scott's kindness and a symbol of the joy that comes with recovering such a treasured item that you fear is gone forever. That which was lost is found! Thanks Melani & Scott!

Speaking of sleigh bells, a few years back, my sister Peg wrote to let me know she had received her Christmas card: "Thank you so much for the card. It's beautiful and shows one of the things that's on my bucket list; sleigh ride in a horse drawn sleigh in the snow. No tires, just the sleigh runners. I had a bucket list long before there was such a term, and that one is right at the top, and there's still time for Ron to help me make the sleigh ride happen."

Peg's description of her once and future sleigh ride recalled to me a most amazing thing that happened one snowy December night back in 1985 when I was walking across the Notre Dame campus with some friends. We honest to god saw a one - horse open sleigh pass by right in front of our eyes! We were so stunned! Had we imagined that? Was it Santa Claus? Had we been transported to another place and time for a split second? Even now, I have to wonder!

Come to find out, one of the campus organizations was sponsoring the rides as a fund raiser. They had found some place (an Amish farm?) where you could hire the horse, sleigh, and driver to actually come to campus and give rides to students. So, yes, it turned out there was a logical explanation, but still it remains one of my most magical memories.

All that to say -- YES! -- go out and find that sleigh and take that ride! Tell Santa that's what you want for Christmas!

P.S.
" 'HOLINESS TO THE LORD'
shall be engraved on the bells of the horses."
Zechariah 14:20
~ A Bible verse about sleigh bells! Who knew? ~
Find wonderfully nostalgic holiday images at stock-pal.blogspot.com

The Old Lamp - Lighter

As a child, how I loved to open the piano bench and look through all the old sheet music. I liked seeing the old price marks (sometimes as little as 15 or 25 cents!), the romantic artwork, the long ago photographs of the musicians, and my mother's signature on the songs she had collected. One of my favorites was "The Old Lamp-Lighter," which I often begged her to play:

The Old Lamp-Lighter
He made the night a little brighter
Wherever he would go
The old lamplighter
Of long, long ago.

His snowy hair was so much whiter
Beneath the candle glow
The old lamplighter
Of long, long ago

You'd hear the patter of his feet
As he came toddling down the street
His smile would hide a lonely heart you see
If there were sweethearts in the park
He'd pass a lamp and leave it dark
Remembering the days that used to be.

For he recalls when dreams were new
he loves someone who loves him too
Who walks with him alone in memory

He made the night a little brighter
wherever he would go
The old lamplighter
Of long, long ago.

Now if you look up at the sky
You'll understand the reason why
The little stars at night are all aglow
He turns them on when night is here
He turns them off when dawn is near
The little man we loved of long ago.

He made the night a little brighter
wherever he would go
The old lamplighter
Of long, long ago

by Charles Tobias (lyrics)
and Nat Simon (music)
in 1946

A few Christmases ago, in a used book store in Frederick, Maryland, my sister Peg and I discovered a forgotten treasure on the floor -- boxes and boxes of sheet music, much of it marked down nearly to its original price -- maybe a dollar or so per song, a steal in the 1990s! Talk about kids in a candy shop!

We looked through every page, finding many that we remembered from the recesses of our grandparents' piano benches. We took away as much as we could carry! Some pieces have since been framed for display, some given away as nostalgic gifts, and others once again stored in the piano bench for someone else to find one day. Here is the picture, exactly as I remember, from my mother's copy of "The Old Lamp-Lighter":



Leg Lamp Night Light
from the book and movie A Christmas Story by Jean Shepherd
My friend Rebecca said, "I want to be in that room,"
and Charlotte asked, "Was it a Major Award?" Haha!
The BB gun movie is nearly true to the text, with lots of local color, kind of an American version of A Child's Christmas in Wales, featuring Northern Indiana between the World Wars.

A Child's Christmas in Indiana, 2004

Christmas Stories

Ben's House Without A Christmas Tree Art Project, 1995
I started loving The House Without a Christmas Tree when I was in highschool. Eleanor Perry wrote the screen play for this made-for-television movie back in 1972, winning an Emmy in 1973. The Christmas special was followed by The Thanksgiving Treasure also called The Holiday Treasure (1973), The Easter Promise also called A Dream for Addie (1975), and Addie and the King of Hearts (1976). The related books by Gail Rock were published in 1973, 1973, 1975 & 1975, respectively.

Naturally, the Christmas story is the best of the series! I watched it religiously for several seasons; and then it seemed to disappear. I was so happy when it reappeared in my life, first on VHS and now on DVD. I had not read the books until a few years ago, when I got the gift idea of giving copies of the book along with copies of the movie and felt I should read before sending.

While reading House Without a Christmas Tree, I could see the movie playing in my mind's eye and hear it in my mind's ear -- I guess if we have a "mind's eye," then we also have a "mind's ear," right? The voice-over narration that accompanies the movie and much of the dialogue comes word for word from the book. My usual pattern is to read the book first and think of the movie as a visual aid; but in this case, it's the opposite, the novel serving as script / reference work. Well, that works too.

What I always liked best about the movie were the transitions before each commercial when the final scene would freeze and then morph from realistic to a cut and paste bulletin board version of the same image: Dad's truck, the night kitchen, the Christmas Star. Does anyone else remember that?

After the commercial break, the sequence would occur in reverse: the construction paper school building, Grandmother in the kitchen, and the Nativity Stage slowly becoming real as the action resumed. Even now, we wait for the moment of our favorite changes and try to guess which one is coming next. You'd think we'd have them memorized by now -- but maybe not, if you're only watching once a year. Of course, that's part of the charm.







Another old favorite from the 1970s is "The Bear Who Slept Through Christmas," one of the best holiday cartoons ever. Narrated by Tommy Smothers, Barbara Feldon, and Arte Johnson, with some old "Laugh In" jokes thrown in for fun, it also features the endearing, rarely played song, "Where Can I Find Christmas," not often included on any other Christmas album or CD, though I can't imagine why not, when it's so beautiful! Still waiting for the DVD of this darling, pun-filled animation.






















Most beloved from early in my memory is The Birds' Christmas Carol (1887), the story of beautiful little Carol Bird, who was born on Christmas morning as the choir boys were singing "Carol joyfully . . . Carol merrily" and, sadly, dies on Christmas night ten years later, to the faint strains of "My ain countree": "A wee birdie to its nest . . . To his ain countree."

How I loved having this book read aloud to me by my mother, or by her mother -- my Grandma Lindsey, especially Chapter Four, when the next door neighbors, "the little Ruggleses" get ready to attend the dinner party that Carol is hosting in their honor. Bath time, etiquette lessons, the feast, the presents -- it was all so much fun! And then came the sad ending.

Wiggen's best-known heroine, Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm, was a nice girl, but she never won my heart the way Carol Bird did. There are antique copies to be had, floating around on the used book market, and also a lovely reissue, illustrated exactly as the original. I have one of each, a new one from amazon and an 1892 treasure -- a gift from my mother.

I only recently discovered another Christmas story by Kate Douglas Wiggen, The Romance of a Christmas Card (1916), containing a plot about breaking into the greeting card business (something I've always wanted to do myself) and a subplot about mothers and children and childbirth. Wiggen has a lovely name for Christmas Eve, calling it " . . . the Eve of Mary, when all women are blest" ( 74). She is also amazingly astute in her description of post-partum depression, when one character advises another not to be too critical of her sister - in - law's lack of interest in her newborn twins: "Eva's not right; she's not quite responsible. There are cases where motherhood, that should be a joy, brings nothing but mental torture and perversion of instinct. Try and remember that, if it helps you any" (37). Insights such as that more than make up for any sense of datedness.



My new shelves ~ just for Christmas Books!

Recent additions to my collection include . . .

~ something new ~

Santa Lives!
Five Conclusive Arugments for the Existence of Santa Claus

by Ellis Weiner

"But while we often like to comfort or flatter ourselves
with the thought that the future is now,
the brute truth is, the future is not now.
The present is now. The future is later --
in some cases much later."
~ Ellis Weiner, from Santa Lives
A delightfully droll and witty philosophical mock - up, including The Ontological Argument, The Causal Argument, The Argument from Design, and so forth. My older son Ben gave it to me for Christmas last year because he has just been assigned to read it in his philosophy class at Purdue. I gave several friends a copy this year, along with Yiddish with Dick & Jane and The Joy of Worry, also by Weiner and equally clever!

and . . .

~ something old ~

Sleigh Bells for Windy Foot

&

Maple Sugar for Windy Foot

by Frances Frost



Thanks to my cousin Maggie for introducing me to Windy Foot last year, calling my attention to these books, and sharing her memory of reading them aloud with her mother (my Aunt Frances) every Christmas as she was growing up. Sleigh Bells is a charming story of getting ready for a rural American Christmas in the late 1940s.

Christmas Eve on the Train

"I knowed that Santa would find me out!"
When Ben and Sam attended St. Peter's School in Philadelphia, they were required to memorize and recite a poem every month. They both jumped right in, declaiming one long narrative after another right from the start. "Christmas Eve on the Train" was one of Sam's earliest choices, and one for which he was awarded the monthly declamation prize.

It was my idea that Sam give this particular poem a try because, as a child, I myself had loved to hear my Grandma Lindsey recite it. She must have learned it from the above clipping that my mother found among Grandma's papers, many years after her death. We pieced it together as best we could, though a few segments were missing.

I never knew my grandmother to actually read the poem from the clipping or from any other source -- only to recite it word for word from memory. Her spoken version always closed with the penultimate stanza, " . . . And so he came to the little maid / In an emigrant's disguise." As you can see, this is also where the above clipping (which includes neither author nor title) concludes, so perhaps that's all she ever knew.

Despite my many Christmas books and poetry anthologies, I have yet to encounter this poem anywhere, other than my grandmother's recitations; her crumbling clipping, and -- more recently -- on the internet, where I learned of the last stanza and the author's name with the aid of Google. It was extremely gratifying to realize from my search results that I am not the only one with fond childhood memories of "Christmas Eve on the Train." I can close my eyes and hear once again my grandmother's soothing voice as if it were yesterday:

Santa Claus On the Train
On a Christmas Eve an emigrant train
Sped on through the blackness of night,
And cleft the pitchy dark in twain
With the gleam of its fierce headlight.

In a crowded car, a noisome place,
Sat a mother and her child;
The woman's face bore want's wan trace,
But the little one only smiled,

And tugged and pulled at her mother's dress,
And her voice had a merry ring,
As she lisped, "Now, mamma, come and guess
What Santa Claus'll bring."

But sadly the mother shook her head,
As she thought of a happier past;
"He never can catch us here," she said.
"The train is going too fast."

"O, mamma, yes, he'll come, I say,
So swift are his little deer,
They run all over the world today; -
I'll hang my stocking up here."

She pinned her stocking to the seat,
And closed her tired eyes;
And soon she saw each longed-for sweet
In dreamland's paradise.

On a seat behind the little maid
A rough man sat apart,
But a soft light o'er his features played,
And stole into his heart.

As the cars drew up at a busy town
The rough man left the train,
But scarce had from the steps jumped down
Ere he was back again.

And a great big bundle of Christmas joys
Bulged out from his pocket wide;
He filled the stocking with sweets and toys
He laid by the dreamer's side.

At dawn the little one woke with a shout,
'Twas sweet to hear her glee;
"I knowed that Santa Claus would find me out;
He caught the train you see."

Though some from smiling may scarce refrain,
The child was surely right,
The good St. Nicholas caught the train,
And came aboard that night.

For the saint is fond of masquerade
And may fool the old and wise,
And so he came to the little maid
In an emigrant's disguise.

****************

And he dresses in many ways because
He wishes no one to know him,
For he never says, "I am Santa Claus,"
But his good deeds always show him.

by Henry C. Walsh, 1863 - 1927

I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day

Image from Harper's Weekly: "Christmas Eve, 1862"
While perusing my Christmas anthologies, I learned that "I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day" by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was written as a commentary on the American Civil War. Though I've known this song since childhood, I had never seen the lengthier version, two stanzas longer than usually printed (stanzas 3 and 4, in boldface below). Lamenting a Nation divided, these lines from 1863, also seem sadly relevant now.

As a brooding, existentialist teenager, I always hung on to that stanza about despair (# 5 below; usually #3 in the sung version), although it was never exactly clear to me how it fit into the rest of the song. Now, seeing the entire context, it makes a lot more sense:

I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet
The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good will to men!

I thought, as now the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along
The unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good will to men!

Then from each black, accursed mouth
The cannon thundered in the South
And with the sound
The carols drowned
Of peace on earth, good will to men!

It was as if an earthquake rent
The hearthstones of a continent,
And made forlorn
The households born
Of peace on earth, good will to men!

And in despair I bowed my head:
"There is no peace on earth," I said;
"For hate is strong
"And mocks the song
"Of peace on earth, good will to men!"

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
"God is not dead, nor doth He sleep!
The Wrong shall fail
The Right prevail
With peace on earth, good will to men!"

Till ringing, singing on its way,
The world revolved from night to day
A voice, a chime
A chant sublime
Of peace on earth, good will to men!

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, 1807 - 1882
most popular, beloved, and successful American poet of his day

When I shared these stanzas with my family, my Uncle Gene wrote back to say, "That's simply astounding. I had no idea of verses 3 and 4. On reading them, you can see why, maybe they were never publicized. All the same, they give more meaning to the last ones when read following the brutal war verses." My brother Dave added that after seeing "the extended play version, yes, I agree that all the stanzas together make a much more coherent picture. As a matter of fact, I would say that it was very observant of you as a young lass to have noticed the not too obvious discordance of the work without the 'extra' stanzas." Writing not long after the United States invasion of Afghanistan, Dave suggested that "To take liberties with Henry's work, one could gently alter the third stanza by replacing mouth with beast and South with East, making it more topical, albeit no better." (Thanks Dave and Uncle Gene!)



And while we're on the topic of despair, and bells, and right and wrong:

"I ask you...to adopt the principles proclaimed by yourselves,
by your revolutionary fathers, and by the old bell in Independence Hall."

by Frederick Douglass, 1818 - 1895
American abolitionist, women's suffragist, author,
editor, orator, reformer, and great statesman

from an address delivered at the Southern Loyalists' Convention
in Philadelphia, 1866