Christmas Day

I almost wished for the pageant to go on with the Herdmans in charge to see what else they would do that was different. Maybe the Wise Men would tell Mary about their problems with Herod, and she would tell them to go back and lie their heads off. Or Joseph might go with them and get rid of Herod once and for all. I was so busy planning new ways to save the baby Jesus that I didn’t notice Imogene at first. When I did, I almost dropped my hymn book on a baby angel. Imogene Herdman was crying. In the candlelight her face was all shiny with tears and she didn’t even bother to wipe them away. She just sat there—awful old Imogene—in her crookedy veil, crying and crying and crying. I guess Christmas just came over her all at once, like a case of chills and fever. And so she was crying.

Well. It was the best Christmas Pageant we ever had. Everybody said so, but nobody seemed to know why. When it was over, people stood around the lobby of the church talking about it. There was something special—they couldn’t put their finger on what.

Now, whenever I think of the Christmas story, Mary is always going to look a lot like Imogene Herdman—sort of nervous and bewildered, but ready to clobber anyone who lays a hand on her baby. And the Wise Men are always going to be Leroy and his brothers, bearing ham.

When we came out of the church that night it was cold and clear, with crunchy snow underfoot and bright, bright stars overhead. And I thought about the Angel of the Lord—Gladys with her skinny legs and her dirty sneakers sticking out from under her robe, yelling at all of us, everywhere: “Hey! Unto you a child is born!”

Christmas Eve

You are probably familiar with Christina Rossetti's "Christmastide" (a.k.a "Love Came Down at Christmas"), but she wrote a whole collection of Christmas poems.  This is "Christmas Eve."

Christmas hath a darkness
Brighter than the blazing noon,
Christmas hath a chillness
Warmer than the heat of June,
Christmas hath a beauty
Lovelier than the world can show:
For Christmas bringeth Jesus,
Brought for us so low.

Earth, strike up your music,
Birds that sing and bells that ring;
Heaven hath answ’ring music
For all Angels soon to sing:
Earth, put on your whitest
Bridal robe of spotless snow:
For Christmas bringeth Jesus,
Brought for us so low.

Adoration of the Shepherds, Rembrandt, 1646

The second day before Christmas

Merry Christmas Adam!  Adam comes right before Eve, of course.

"Jeg er så glad hver julekveld," by Marie Wexelsen, 1859

I am so glad each Christmas Eve,
The night of Jesus' birth!
Then like the sun the Star shone forth
And angels sang on earth.

The little Child in Bethlehem,
He was a King indeed!
For He came down from heaven above
To help a world in need.

He dwells again in heaven's realm,
The Son of God today;
And still He loves His little ones
And hears them when they pray.

I am so glad on Christmas Eve!
His praises then I sing;
He opens then for every child
The palace of the King.

When mother trims the Christmas tree
Which fills the room with light,
She tells me of the wondrous Star
That made the dark world bright.

She says the Star is shining still,
And never will grow dim;
And if it shines upon my way,
It leads me up to Him.

And so I love each Christmas Eve
And I love Jesus, too;
And that He loves me every day
I know so well is true.

The third day before Christmas

I owe everything to George Bailey...
Help him, dear Father.

Joseph, Jesus and Mary.
Help my friend, Mr. Bailey.

Help my son, George, tonight.

He never thinks about himself, God,
that's why he's in trouble.

George is a good guy.
Give him a break, God...

I love him, dear Lord.
Watch over him tonight...

Please, God,
something's the matter with Daddy...

Please bring Daddy back.

...

Clarence! Clarence! Clarence! Help me, Clarence.

Get me back. Get me back. I don't care what happens to me. Get me back to my wife and kids. Help me, Clarence, please.

Please! I want to live again. I want to live again. I want to live again.

Please, God, let me live again.

The fourth day before Christmas

This is a less-known Danish Christmas carol that I love.  The English translation is not very literal, but is equally lovely.

I especially love the verse that begins "Nu kom han," which says (in my terrible, Google-Translate-and-a-Danish-English-dictionary translation), "Now he came, patriarch's hope, with words of flame and heaven's baptism, and the child now reveals the frame that David dimly saw and sang."

"Det kimer nu til julefest"

Det kimer nu til julefest,
det kimer for den høje gæst,
som steg til lave hytter ned
med nytårsgaver: fryd og fred.

O, kommer med til Davids by,
hvor engle sjunger under sky,
o, ganger med på marken ud,
hvor hyrder hører nyt fra Gud!

Og lad os gå med stille sind
som hyrderne til barnet ind,
med glædestårer takke Gud
for miskundhed og nådesbud!

O Jesus, verden vid og lang
til vugge var dig dog for trang,
for ringe, om med guld tilredt
og perlestukken, silkebredt.

Men verdens ære, magt og guld
for dig er ikkun støv og muld,
i krybben lagt, i klude svøbt,
et himmelsk liv du har mig købt.

Velan, min sjæl, så vær nu glad,
og hold din jul i Davids stad,
ja, pris din Gud i allen stund
med liflig sang af hjertens grund!

Ja, sjunge hver, som sjunge kan:
Nu tændtes lys i skyggers land,
og ret som midnatshanen gol,
blev Jakobs stjerne til en sol!

Nu kom han, patriarkers håb,
med flammeord og himmeldåb,
og barnet tyder nu i vang,
hvad David dunkelt så og sang.

Kom, Jesus, vær min hyttegæst,
hold selv i os din julefest,
da skal med Davidsharpens klang
dig takke højt vor nytårssang!

The happy Christmas comes once more,
The heavenly Guest is at the door,
The blessèd words the shepherds thrill,
The joyous tidings, “Peace, good will.”

This world, though wide and far outspread,
Could scarcely find for You a bed.
Your cradle was a manger stall,
No pearl nor silk nor kingly hall.

O let us go with quiet mind,
The gentle Babe with shepherds find,
To gaze on Him Who gladdens them,
The loveliest flower of Jesse’s stem.

The lowly Savior meekly lies,
Laid off the splendor of the skies;
No crown bedecks His forehead fair,
No pearl, nor gem, nor silk is there.

O wake, our hearts, in gladness sing,
And keep our Christmas with our King,
Till living song, from loving souls,
Like sound of mighty water rolls.

O holy Child, Thy manger gleams
Till earth and heaven glow with its beams,
Till midnight noon’s broad light hath won,
And Jacob’s star outshines the sun.

Thou patriarchs’ joy, Thou prophets’ song,
Thou heavenly Dayspring, looked for long,
Thou Son of Man, incarnate Word,
Great David’s Son, great David’s Lord.

Come, Jesus, glorious heavenly Guest,
Keep Thine own Christmas in our breast,
Then David’s harp strings, hushed so long,
Shall swell our jubilee of song.

The fifth day before Christmas

Charlie: Linus is right; I won’t let all this commercialism ruin my Christmas. I’ll take this little tree home, and I’ll decorate it, and I’ll show them it really will work in our play.
[Charlie hangs an ornament on the tree, and it bends]
Charlie: I killed it! Everything I touch gets ruined!
Linus: I never thought it was such a bad little tree. It’s not bad at all, really. Maybe it just needs a little love.
Lucy: Charlie Brown is a blockhead, but he did get a nice tree.
Charlie: What’s going on here?
Everyone: Merry Christmas, Charlie Brown!

The sixth day before Christmas

I finished the last Christmas gift today, and it's wrapped and under the tree. Whew!

Yesterday, some friends of ours got married—we couldn't attend, unfortunately, having already left for Christmas vacation, but in their honor, here are two Christmas-related wedding selections.  The first is from L.M. Montgomery's less-well-known series about Emily Starr.  It's a bit more grown-up than the Ann series, and I love it even better.  This is from the final book of the trilogy, Emily's Quest:

"I suppose you wouldn't have him because he didn't propose romantically," said Aunt Elizabeth contemptuously.

"No. I think my real reason was that I felt sure he was the kind of man who would give his wife a vacuum cleaner for a Christmas present," vowed Emily.

And here's the wedding scene in my favorite Christmas movie, Love Actually:

The seventh day before Christmas

I'm being called for yet another game of Alhambra (an excellent game, by the way, somewhere in between Puerto Rico and Settlers), so I'll post and run.  In a somewhat related note, I enjoyed the new Dawn Treader movie, but it was quite different from the book in some ways.  If you're a purist, you may want to skip it.

Some of the pictures of Father Christmas in our world make him look only funny and jolly. But now that the children actually stood looking at him they didn't find it quite like that. He was so big, and so glad, and so real, that they all became quite still. They felt very glad, but also solemn.

-C.S. Lewis, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.

The eighth day before Christmas

I'm probably somewhere over Kansas right now, so here's a Christmas classic read by Bob Dylan.

The ninth day before Christmas

There was cold weather all through Christmas vacation.... Teddy Watson hung around the upper end of the pond where the brook flowed in, seeing how far he could go on the thin ice before he fell through. When he found that out he climbed out of the water and went home. It was only up to his knees, so it wasn't very exciting, but there was a lot of mud, and that made it more interesting.

From The Trouble with Jenny's Ear, by Oliver Butterworth

The tenth day before Christmas

Soap on a rope

 Today is my wedding anniversary, so in honor of the union of me and That Guy, I thought I would post something we both love.

Namely, Jungle Jam and Friends: The Radio Show's Christmas special "Three Wise Men and a Baby."

Now, if you grew up the way I did, you may have spent your Saturday mornings listening to Adventures in Odyssey.  Our radio station cycled through a bunch of other (mostly terrible) Christian radio productions to fill out the Saturday morning line-up, and the best of them—in fact, the only show that ever met or surpassed the quality, wit, and humor of Odyssey—was Jungle Jam.  It's still played on quite a few stations, but there have been no new episodes since 2006; it makes me a little sad. But the website, fancymonkey.com, sells many of the episodes, including "Golden Rocks and the Tree Pears," "It's a Wonderful--Knife?" and my favorite title ever "Eine Kleine Nacht Münkey." Jungle Jam is bested only by MathNet in the terrible allusive puns category.

"Three Wise Men and a Baby" was the best of the best.  My family acquired the cassette tape at some point, and we would listen to it over and over during the Christmas season.  In fact, in high school I used to pop it in whenever I was at home alone, regardless of the season.  It's a pretty standard children's Christmas pageant presentation of the story, but, oh boy, it's seriously hilarious, in the style of Shrek (only clean) or Veggie Tales.

For example:

Kid 1: What's taxes?
Kid 2: Yeah, what is that?
Narrator: Hm. Well, it's kinda like this.
Kid 3: I'm from the government.  How much money you got?
Kid 4: A dollar.
Kid 3: Give it to me.
Narrator: That's pretty much how it works.

As it happens, That Guy's family also knows the story well, and their church put it on as the Christmas pageant on one occasion.  Mum and Pops have a really terrible video cassette recording of the performance, with That Guy and His Brother as two of the three wise men.  Which is awesome, because the three wise men are the best.

Gaspar: All right, think, think. What should we bring the King for his birthday?
Melchior: I’ve got the perfect gift. I’m bringing gold.
G: Very good, very good. However, I, too, have the perfect gift. I’m bringing myrrh.
M: Oh, excellent, excellent. Such a wise choice.
G: Thank you. Now, Binky, what are you bringing?
Binky: Mmmm. I don’t know. I was thinking... a tie?
G&M: A tie?
B: A toaster?
G: How do we know you’re really a wise man?
B: Soap-on-a-rope?
M: Can you even spell wise man?
B: Oh, I know! I’ve got it! Frankincense!
G&M: Frankincense!
M: That’s more like it.
G: Now there’s a gift for a king.
M: Indeed, you are a wise man.
B: Although soap-on-a-rope isn’t bad.
G: You’re new at this, aren’t you?

I got a great laugh out of my sister last week when, in the middle of a discussion of Christmas gifts, I mentioned that "soap-on-a-rope isn't bad."  Frankly I could go on and on about this: the shepherds...

Angel: FEAR NOT!
Shepherds: AHHHHHHH!
Angel: I said, FEAR NOT.
Shepherds: AHHHHHHH!
Angel: What part of FEAR NOT are you not understanding?  Never mind, listen up.

Shep. 1: But how 'bout those angels?
All shepherds: AHHHHHHHHH!!

Shep. 1: Have you ever wondered how much time it would take to walk this whole herd of sheep around the world in a straight line, backwards?
Shep. 2: Not backwards, no.
Shep. 1: Ninety-seven years, six months, two weeks, two days, four hours, and 32 seconds.
Shep. 2: Is that good weather or bad?
Shep. 1: Good.
Shep. 2: Oh, good, well, of course.  That's the easy one.

...Herod,...

Herod: I notice you didn't bring me any gifts.
Gaspar: Sire?
H:  Gifts for the king.  Does the name "King Herod" mean anything to you?
G: King.
Melchior: Hmm.
G: King.
H: King Herod.
Binky: King Herod.
H: King?
G, M & B: Hmm.
G: I knew a Kevin Herod once.
M: I don't know.
G: Sorry.
H: I'll let it go this time.

...and Gruffy the Bear:

Gruffy: Of course, how could I forget.  It's that whole fat guy with the beard and the red-nosed moose thing. Yeah, sure, anybody know that.  'Tis the season!  Fa la la la la!
Narrator: Well—
Gr: What does he say again? "Hey, hey, hey!"
Narr.: Uh, I believe it's "ho, ho, ho."
Gr: Nah, I think it's "hey, hey, hey."

Seriously, on and on. If you're traveling anywhere in a car this season, you should probably download the mp3.  The script is funny, but the performance is hilarious, and "Three Wise Men" is one of the few things that has not yet found its way to YouTube.

The eleventh day before Christmas

Love came down at Christmas,
Love all lovely, love divine;
Love was born at Christmas,
Star and angels gave the sign.

Worship we the Godhead,
Love incarnate, love divine;
Worship we our Jesus:
But wherewith for sacred sign?

Love shall be our token,
Love be yours and love be mine,
Love to God and to all men,
Love for plea and gift and sign.

-Love Came Down at Christmas, Christina Rossetti



I love how everybody falls over whenever an angel appears!

The twelfth day before Christmas

I just realized I didn't identify yesterday's post, which was, of course, from Anne of Green Gables.  I can't imagine that anyone reading this blog wouldn't know it, but there it is, just in case.

For today: as I brought up before, Shakespeare mentions Christmas only a few times in his plays.  One of them is in Taming of the Shrew, in which Christopher Sly asks if a "comonty" is like a Christmas game.  The other two are in Love's Labors Lost; a "Christmas comedy" is mentioned again, and when the Duke and his friends are deciding to devote themselves to study, one of them says that "At Christmas I no more desire a rose/Than wish a snow in May’s new-fangled mirth"—he does all things in their season.

Of course, there is Twelfth Night, which has very little to do with Twelfth Night.

However, there is one other reference to Christmas that often slips by without notice, because the poet doesn't use the word.  Hamlet is a Christmas play.  The date of the play is unknown—most scholars place it between mid-1599 and July 1602 (when there is record of performance). It makes me wonder if Hamlet was a Christmas entertainment for 1600 or 1601.

This is Marcellus speaking in Act 1, scene 1, immediately after the ghost departs with the crowing of the rooster:

Some say that ever 'gainst that season comes
Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated,
This bird of dawning singeth all night long;
And then, they say, no spirit dare stir abroad,
The nights are wholesome, then no planets strike,
No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm,
So hallow'd and so gracious is the time.

Via flickr, from user shindigo

The thirteenth day before Christmas

I hope you've finished your Christmas shopping by now!  I just have some things left to mail, but otherwise I'm finished, thank goodness.  Here's a selection about one of my favorite literary Christmas gifts.

"Merry Christmas, Marilla! Merry Christmas, Matthew! Isn't it a lovely Christmas? I'm so glad it's white. Any other kind of Christmas doesn't seem real, does it? I don't like green Christmases. They're not green—they're just nasty faded browns and grays. What makes people call them green? Why—why—Matthew, is that for me? Oh, Matthew!"

Matthew had sheepishly unfolded the dress from its paper swathings and held it out with a deprecatory glance at Marilla, who feigned to be contemptuously filling the teapot, but nevertheless watched the scene out of the corner of her eye with a rather interested air.

Anne took the dress and looked at it in reverent silence. Oh, how pretty it was—a lovely soft brown gloria with all the gloss of silk; a skirt with dainty frills and shirrings; a waist elaborately pintucked in the most fashionable way, with a little ruffle of filmy lace at the neck. But the sleeves—they were the crowning glory! Long elbow cuffs, and above them two beautiful puffs divided by rows of shirring and bows of brown-silk ribbon.

"That's a Christmas present for you, Anne," said Matthew shyly. "Why—why—Anne, don't you like it? Well now—well now."

The fourteenth day before Christmas

Lo, how a Rose e’er blooming from tender stem hath sprung!
Of Jesse’s lineage coming, as men of old have sung.
It came, a floweret bright, amid the cold of winter,
When half spent was the night.

Isaiah ’twas foretold it, the Rose I have in mind;
With Mary we behold it, the virgin mother kind.
To show God’s love aright, she bore to men a Savior,
When half spent was the night.

The shepherds heard the story proclaimed by angels bright,
How Christ, the Lord of glory was born on earth this night.
To Bethlehem they sped and in the manger found Him,
As angel heralds said.

This Flower, whose fragrance tender with sweetness fills the air,
Dispels with glorious splendor the darkness everywhere;
True Man, yet very God, from sin and death He saves us,
And lightens every load.

O Savior, Child of Mary, who felt our human woe,
O Savior, King of glory, who dost our weakness know;
Bring us at length we pray, to the bright courts of Heaven,
And to the endless day!

The fifteenth day before Christmas

In the singing of Christmas carols, verses often get omitted.  For example, the last two verses of "Hark! the Herald Angels Sing": even if they are sung, the first part of 3 and the second half of 4 usually get squished together to make one verse.  Not that you can blame the editor!  The second half of 3 is remarkably unmusical.  Power/restore and join/thine? Wesley, what were you thinking?

Come, Desire of nations, come,
Fix in us Thy humble home;
Rise, the woman’s conqu’ring Seed,
Bruise in us the serpent’s head.
Now display Thy saving power,
Ruined nature now restore;
Now in mystic union join
Thine to ours, and ours to Thine.

Adam’s likeness, Lord, efface,
Stamp Thine image in its place:
Second Adam from above,
Reinstate us in Thy love.
Let us Thee, though lost, regain,
Thee, the Life, the inner man:
O, to all Thyself impart,
Formed in each believing heart.

One of my favorite carols, "I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day," is one of these truncated carols, but for a good reason.  Henry Wadsworth Longfellow wrote the carol shortly after the death of his wife.  His son had just been shot while fighting in the Civil War.  Verses 1, 2, 3, 6, and 7 are the ones you will typically hear or find printed in modern hymnals.  Verses 4 and 5—especially four—are a little too historical to make much sense.

I love both stanzas anyway.  Verse 6 (which is usually verse 4) always feels sudden to me.  The speaker is happy, he likes the bells, then BAM! he's so depressed.  The middle stanzas explain it all, and Longfellow's sadness at the war in his nation and the effect it's had on his family.  The broken "hearth-stones of a continent" is a great image.

I understand, however, that singing about cannons and the war between the states doesn't put anyone in the Christmas spirit.

Here's Longfellow's text:

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!

And thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along
The unbroken song
Of 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!

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 hearth-stones 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."

You would think that if anyone were willing to sing about the South on a Christmas album, it would be Johnny Cash, but you would be wrong.  Here's his wacky, completely inappropriate, shuffle-swing version of the carol.  What happened to the despair?

The sixteenth day before Christmas

Before I ever read Dicken's A Christmas Carol, I knew the story backwards and forwards.  When I was growing up, my home town put on a progressive performance of the story every year.  Shops around the courthouse square would host a scene of the play, and the audience would go from place to place, seeing the show piece by piece. Other shops would host musicians or serve hot cider and cookies, and the owner of the photography studio would roast chestnuts on the corner in front of his storefront, with a fire inside a big metal drum.

Other community members would dress in Victorian fashion and wander about the square, adding to the Dickensian atmosphere.  I loved to see the rat-catcher, a man dressed in rags and fingerless gloves, who would sneak up on the unsuspecting and thrust a handful of giant rubber rats at their noses.

It wasn't great art, but it did bring everyone out together on crisp December nights.  And as a result, my mental image of the Ghost of Christmas Past is of a man in a raggedy brown beard, a green velveteen robe, and an advent wreath on his head, surrounded by plastic food and fake ivy and standing in the newspaper office between the glass-fronted conference room and the Toys for Tots Christmas tree.

Here's the real deal:

It was his own room. There was no doubt about that. But it had undergone a surprising transformation. The walls and ceiling were so hung with living green, that it looked a perfect grove; from every part of which, bright gleaming berries glistened. The crisp leaves of holly, mistletoe, and ivy reflected back the light, as if so many little mirrors had been scattered there; and such a mighty blaze went roaring up the chimney, as that dull petrifaction of a hearth had never known in Scrooge's time, or Marley's, or for many and many a winter season gone. Heaped up on the floor, to form a kind of throne, were turkeys, geese, game, poultry, brawn, great joints of meat, sucking-pigs, long wreaths of sausages, mince-pies, plum-puddings, barrels of oysters, red-hot chestnuts, cherry-cheeked apples, juicy oranges, luscious pears, immense twelfth-cakes, and seething bowls of punch, that made the chamber dim with their delicious steam. In easy state upon this couch, there sat a jolly Giant, glorious to see:, who bore a glowing torch, in shape not unlike Plenty's horn, and held it up, high up, to shed its light on Scrooge, as he came peeping round the door.

"Come in!" exclaimed the Ghost. "Come in, and know me better, man."

Scrooge entered timidly, and hung his head before this Spirit. He was not the dogged Scrooge he had been; and though the Spirit's eyes were clear and kind, he did not like to meet them.

"I am the Ghost of Christmas Present," said the Spirit. "Look upon me."

Scrooge reverently did so. It was clothed in one simple green robe, or mantle, bordered with white fur. This garment hung so loosely on the figure, that its capacious breast was bare, as if disdaining to be warded or concealed by any artifice. Its feet, observable beneath the ample folds of the garment, were also bare; and on its head it wore no other covering than a holly wreath, set here and there with shining icicles. Its dark brown curls were long and free; free as its genial face, its sparkling eye, its open hand, its cheery voice, its unconstrained demeanour, and its joyful air. Girded round its middle was an antique scabbard; but no sword was in it, and the ancient sheath was eaten up with rust.

The seventeenth day before Christmas

One of my favorite Christmas recordings is "Now it is Christmas Again" by Garrison Keillor.  The title comes from a traditional Swedish Christmas song, "Nu är det jul igen."  There's also a painting of the same name by Carl Larsson, a Swedish artist.

The song itself goes like this:

Nu är jul igen

och nu är jul igen,

och julen vara skall till påska.

Så är det påsk igen

och så är det påsk igen

och påsken vara skall till jul'a.

Det var inte sant'

och det var inte sant

för däremellan kommer fasta.

Frankly, it sounds more impressive in Swedish.  Here's a translation:

Now it's Yule again,
And now it's Yule again,
And Yule will last until Easter:

Then it's Easter again,
And then it's Easter again,
And Easter lasts until Yule.

That's not true
And that's not true
For in between comes fasting.

To go along with that profound description of the Christmas season, here's a lovely arrangement of the song being performed at a St. Lucia's Day celebration.

Just a little extra...

One of the blogs I follow is called "Vintage Kids' Books My Kid Loves," and, as you would expect, the blogger there has been posting some Christmas selections.  Today, she wrote about a set of books that I loved as a child but had completely forgotten, the Christmas Nutshell Library.  Check it out!

The eighteenth day before Christmas

Last night, I had rehearsal for the church-Christmas-sing, and since that involves NOISE!, SING!, and FEAST! (excuse my grammar, please), I thought this was appropriate.  In addition, the Grinch has the greatest evil-genius smile ever, so that's worth looking at, I think.

All the Who girls and boys would wake bright and early. They'd rush for their toys!

And then! Oh, the noise! Oh, the Noise! Noise! Noise! Noise!

That's one thing he hated! The NOISE! NOISE! NOISE! NOISE! 

Then the Whos, young and old, would sit down to a feast.

 And they'd feast! And they'd feast! 
And they'd FEAST! FEAST! FEAST! FEAST!

They would feast on Who-pudding, and rare Who-roast beast

Which was something the Grinch couldn't stand in the least! 

 

And THEN They'd do something he liked least of all!

Every Who down in Who-ville, the tall and the small,

Would stand close together, with Christmas bells ringing.

They'd stand hand-in-hand. And the Whos would start singing! 

They'd sing! And they'd sing!  
And they'd SING! SING! SING! SING! 

And the more the Grinch thought of this Who-Christmas-Sing,

The more the Grinch thought, "I must stop this whole thing!"

"Why, for fifty-three years I've put up with it now!"

"I MUST stop this Christmas from coming!  ...But HOW?"

 

Then he got an idea! An awful idea!

THE GRINCH GOT A WONDERFUL, AWFUL IDEA!  

The nineteenth day before Christmas

"Annunciation," by John Donne 

Salvation to all that will is nigh;
That All, which always is all everywhere,
Which cannot sin, and yet all sins must bear,
Which cannot die, yet cannot choose but die,
Lo, faithful virgin, yields Himself to lie
In prison, in thy womb; and though He there
Can take no sin, nor thou give, yet He will wear,
Taken from thence, flesh, which death's force may try.
Ere by the spheres time was created, thou
Wast in His mind, who is thy Son and Brother;
Whom thou conceivst, conceived; yea thou art now
Thy Maker's maker, and thy Father's mother;
Thou hast light in dark, and shutst in little room,
Immensity cloistered in thy dear womb.

From the St. Paul's manuscript, c. 1620, via Digital Donne

The twentieth day before Christmas

Whoops, I'm late!  Due to the snow, the church ladies' Christmas tea was postponed one day, which cut into my Sunday blogging time.  Here's a bit more about winter weather, in honor of my ten-degree wait at the bus stop this morning, from Garrison Keillor:

Growing up in a place that has winter, you learn to avoid self-pity. Winter is not a personal experience; everybody is as cold as you, so you shouldn't complain about it too much. You learn this as a kid, coming home crying from the cold, and Mother looks down and says, ‘It's only a little frostbite. You're okay.' And thus you learn to be okay. What's done is done. Get over it. Drink your coffee. It's not the best you'll ever get, but it's good enough.

In other news, though I love cold weather, something I love even better was walking out of the Christmas Tea last night to find my car parked and warming in the garage, thanks to Pastor and his valet-parking Christmas elves.

The twenty-first day before Christmas

We're supposed to get a whole lot of snow today, so here's Katy and the Big Snow.  Nearly everyone knows Katy's "big brother" Mike the Steam Shovel, but I like Katy better.

The story continues:

A strong wind came up and drifts began to form. ... The snow reached the first story windows ... the second story windows ... and then it stopped.

One by one the truck snow plows broke down. ... The roads were blocked. ... No traffic could move. ... The schools, the stores, the factories were closed. ... The railroad station and airport were snowed in. ... The mail couldn't go through. ... The Police couldn't protect the city. ... The telephone and power lines were down. ... There was a break in the water main. ... The doctor couldn't get his patient to the hospital. ... The Fire Department was helpless. ... Everyone and everything was stopped ... but ...

KATY.

This is one of my favorite children's book illustrations.  Click to enlarge!

The twenty-second day before Christmas

I grew up smack in the middle of the area that Laura Ingalls Wilder wrote about.  In fact, my hometown is about equidistant from Pepin, WI, (Little House in the Big Woods) and De Smet, SD (Silver Lake, Happy Golden Years, etc.).  Mom read the whole series aloud to my sisters and me, and we went to the Plum Creek pageant on a couple of occasions.

You can visit the location of the Ingalls' dugout on the bank of Plum Creek, but nowadays it's just a hole in the ground.  The land along the creek is wooded now, but if you've ever been to a southern Minnesota plain in the winter, it's easy to imagine Pa, caught in a blizzard on his way back from town, only a few yards from home but unable to find it in the white-out.  Pa makes it back, but most of the Christmas gifts don't: 

Then he went to the big buffalo coat and he took out of one of its pockets a flat, square edge can of bright tin. He asked, "What do you think I have brought you for Christmas dinner?"

They could not guess.

"Oysters!" said Pa. "Nice, fresh oysters! They were frozen solid when I got them, and they are frozen solid yet. Better put them in the lean-to, Caroline, so they will stay that way till tomorrow."

Laura touched the can. It was cold as ice.

"I ate up the oyster crackers, and I ate up the Christmas candy, but by jinks," said Pa, "I brought the oysters home!"

Just in case you've never seen a white-out, here's a photo:

Those slightly darker streaks are trees.

The twenty-third day before Christmas

"Christmas Eve at Mr. Wardle's" by Robert Seymour from The Pickwick Papers, Vol. 1, in The Works of Charles Dickens in 34 Volumes, New York: Scribner, 1898

Everyone is familiar with Dicken's Christmas Carol, but here is the Christmas from Pickwick:

We write these words now, many miles distant from the spot at which, year after year, we met on that day, a merry and joyous circle. Many of the hearts that throbbed so gaily then, have ceased to beat; many of the looks that shone so brightly then, have ceased to glow; the hands we grasped, have grown cold; the eyes we sought, have hid their lustre in the grave; and yet the old house, the room, the merry voices and smiling faces, the jest, the laugh, the most minute and trivial circumstances connected with those happy meetings, crowd upon our mind at each recurrence of the season, as if the last assemblage had been but yesterday!

Happy, happy Christmas, that can win us back to the delusions of our childish days; that can recall to the old man the pleasures of his youth; that can transport the sailor and the traveller, thousands of miles away, back to his own fireside and his quiet home!

As a child, I lived near most of my relatives from both Mom and Dad's families, so we saw everyone at Christmas.  Christmas Eve was at our house after the candlelight service, with Dad's family: usually Grandma and Grandpa, an aunt, two uncles, six cousins, and four cousins-once-removed, plus various other cousins, in-laws, and guests from year to year. 

Not a Christmas photo, but this is paternal Grandpa with Twin Sister and me

 Christmas morning was for our presents at home.  Poor Mom and Dad got to clean up the family party late into the night, only to have Twin Sister and I leap into their bed with an armful of jingle-belled Christmas stockings at 7 a.m.  

This is what Christmas morning looks like in the modern era.

Christmas dinner was with Mom's parents in the next town over, and if everyone came, we would have Grandma and Grandpa, two aunts, two uncles, six cousins, homemade ice cream and a whole lotta peanuts-in-the-shell.  Also, the giant snow pile in the parking lot across the street.

Christmas at maternal Grandma and Grandpa's with three of the cousins

The traditional Christmas morning still happens about every other year—without the 7 a.m. part and with the addition of the three sons-in-law.

The other Christmas gatherings have not lasted.  Some of it is because, as Dickens says "the eyes we sought, have hid their lustre in the grave."  Some of it is just because of growing up, belonging to different families, and living far from home.  But the memories "crowd upon my mind" at this time of year, and I miss the days when we would put Mannheim Steamroller on the stereo and tear around the house with our hair in foam curlers, waiting for the moment when Uncle Bob, our beardless Santa Claus, would appear with three giant bags of toys for the family, while Mom tried to gather us into the kitchen to set the tables and finished the cheese-wrapped olives and the bacon-wrapped dates. 

This is a year in which my immediate family will be scattered to the four winds for the holiday, and I won't see a single one of the cousins. So in memory of "the delusions of our childish days" and just to mix my sources:

God bless us, every one!

Illustration by George T. Tobin, in A Christmas Carol, New York: Stokes, 1899

The twenty-fourth day before Christmas

Hey!

In honor of the first day of December, here's the beginning of the best Christmas book ever, The Best Christmas Pageant Ever. Dad read this one aloud to us every year, while Big Sister claimed to HATE it (though not as much as she disliked Uncle Mistletoe. I'll save that one for another day).  We would all start laughing pages in advance of the funny parts, and Dad would have to pass the book around the dinner table to whomever could still breathe.

The Herdmans were absolutely the worst kids in the history of the world. They lied, and stole, and smoked cigars (even the girls), and talked dirty, and hit little kids, and cussed their teachers, and took the name of the Lord in vain, and set fire to Fred Shoemaker's old broken-down tool-shed.

And because I just can't resist, here are a couple of other favorite passages.

There was also a sign in the yard that said "Beware Of The Cat."

New kids always laughed about that till they got a look at the cat. It was the meanest looking animal I ever saw. It had one short leg and a broken tall and one missing eye, and the mailman wouldn't deliver anything to the Herdmans because of it.

"I don't think it's a regular cat at all," the mailman told my father. I think those kids went up in the hills and caught themselves a bobcat."

"Oh, I don't think you can tame a wild bobcat," my father said.

"I'm sure you can't," said the mailman. "They'd never try to tame it; they'd just try to make it wilder than it was to begin with."

Have you ever done a Google image search for "cat on a length of chain"?  Don't bother.  Flickr, on the other hand:

This cat is way too pretty, of course.

And then there's Alice:

"I don't think it's very nice to say Mary was pregnant," Alice Wendleken whispered to me.

"But she was," I pointed out. In a way, though, I agreed with her. It sounded too ordinary. Anybody could be pregnant. "Great with child" sounded better for Mary.

"I'm not supposed to talk about people being pregnant." Alice folded her hands in her lap and pinched her lips together. "I'd better tell my mother."

"Tell her what?"

"That your mother is talking about things like that in church. My mother might not want me to be here."

I was pretty sure she would do it. She wanted to be Mary, and she was mad at Mother. ...Mrs. Wendleken didn't even want cats to have kittens or birds to lay eggs, and she wouldn't let Alice play with anybody who had two rabbits.

She's just so... Alice-y.