MORNING LOW

He sits there like an impatient flame in the dim light of another cloudy winter morning, watching me out of the corner of his eye as the wind ruffles his scarlet feathers. His punk-rocker crest is stuck straight up, adding to the look of restlessness.

"I don't know what you're waiting for," I say, in a conversational voice. The cardinal is perched on a limb no more than ten feet away, and I slide my glance from the bird to the river beyond, which is up maybe two feet and slightly muddy. "The feeders are filled with sunflowers seeds and cracked corn, and there's more cracked corn on the ground and the stump, 'cause I know you don't like socializing with the sparrows and finches."

The redbird gives me the sort of imperious look the patrician classes are wont to employ on uppity tradesmen who deliver their groceries. I fling out another half-scoop of cracked corn.  "There! Satisfied?"

In these final December days, as the old year wanes and the new one speeds our way, the usual quiet interim between holidays is somehow neither restive nor reflective. There are still things to do, preparations to make, a bit of shopping, a sort of low-key party at one of the newspaper offices which I need to attend a couple of hours from now. Tomorrow the tree will come down and the decorations will be packed away and stored for another year. I don't know how to explain it, but this year the holiday season seems to have gotten away from me. I'm not disappointed or sad…just emptier than normal. Why?   

Maybe I'm just tired. That old redbird isn't the only one out of sorts…. 

———————

FOR UNTO US A CHILD IS BORN!

I sing the birth was born tonight,
The Author both of life and light…

For as long as I can remember, every Christmas Eve I go outside for awhile and look up into the night sky. Some years, the snow is coming down so fast all I can see is a rush of white. Other years, it's sleet, which stings my face and eyes. A few times it's been rain—light sprinkles or a hard downpour, and I'm soaked in moments with cold water running into the neck of my shirt.

Yet more often than not, when I look up late on this twenty-fourth of December, I see stars—maybe just a few, the brightest ones if the night is hazy, or ones that appear, disappear, reappear if there are clouds and a light wind. But sometimes, like tonight, the sky is clear and filled with their gleaming points of light, like a king's ransom in diamonds strewn across the velvet-blue heavens.

It is so beautiful and I am so moved that my heart overflows. If you asked me what I'm looking for up there in the cold night sky, I would tell you I'm looking for Christmas. And I'll tell you true…no matter whether it is raining, snowing, sleeting, or clear, regardless of whether the wind is blowing or calm, or the temperature sub-zero or shirt-sleeve warm, I always find what I'm after. Because some two-thousand years ago, in a place far away, a baby was born in the night—born in love, given to die that I might have grace; a baby whose life would change the world forever.

Christmas is not just a holiday or a date on the calendar; it's certainly not simply a mood, and it's more than a spirit. Christmas is a gift, the greatest of all gifts. The older I get, the more I appreciate that fundamental truth.

To each of you, I wish you the best and merriest of Christmases ever! I hope your day is filled with love and joy and laughter, and your heart be given peace.

———————

RING OUT WILD SKY

Ring out wild bells to the wild sky

The flying cloud, the frosty light;

The year is dying in the night

Ring out wild bells and let him die.

—Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Winter began today with the passing solstice, which, here in southwestern Ohio, occurred at 12:30 a.m. EST. Yes, I know you folks on the other side of the globe changed your seasons yesterday, or on your twenty-first day of December. That's because unlike, say, the celestial event of sunrise, which moves around the globe and is governed by the horizon, an astronomical happening such as the solstice takes place everywhere in the same hemisphere at once. For us riverbank denizens. that was half-past midnight this morning.


In looking at numerous headlines and bylined coverage from various publications around the country, I see the facts of this particular solstice have apparently confused journalists and nature writers by the dozens. This is one of my pet peeves. Sad to say, confusion is typically the case for many writers attempting to cover a solstice. But these are folks you think would either know better—or at least would know how to research well enough to avoid making such incompetent public mistakes. 


The rampant blunders and misunderstandings fall into two basic categories—the actual time of the event itself, and what happens to our days following the passing of the winter solstice.


For the record—the 2011 Winter Solstice occurred December 22 at 5:30 UTC (Universal Time Coordinated) which was 12:30 p.m. here on the Atlantic coast time zone of the U.S. and 9:30 p.m. yesterday (December 21) on our Pacific coast. So for you pseudo-druids in California, St. Louis, Cleveland, and New York who got up early yesterday to don your robes and dance and chant on some dawning hilltop…you'll not be pleased to learn you did it all a day early, and I'm guessing your ignorance went uncorrected, so you probably then missed out on a second larking-about try on the real first post-solstice sunrise today. Bummer, dude. Better check out the ol' almanac a bit closer next year. 


Now, here's a word to those who've recently published pieces about how the winter solstice ushers in the season of darkness…wrong-o, bongo! You've gotten it precisely bass-ackwards. Winter's start is the beginning of sunlight's increase—the days get longer and brighter from here on out; not shorter and darker. Again, a glance at the almanac's LENGTH OF DAYLIGHT tables would keep you from penning such drivel. 


Okay, I feel better now that I've had my little rant.             


Finally, allow me to say I'm delighted today because no photo I've made recently has so well fitted with a favorite bit of verse chosen to preface the day's post. I'd already planned on using the lines from Tennyson—figuring they could work as well for a passing season as a passing year—but the wild sky, as seen when looking west across the river from the cottage, was pure, perfect serendipity. As you can see, the river is up and muddy from yesterday's rains—though from the look of the stream level, it obviously rained a lot more somewhere upstream than it did here. And in case you're wondering, this isn't a worrisome height. Moreover, I think the brown water goes dramatically well with the brooding sky and hard crosslight.  

———————

CHRISTMAS QUOTEDOWN (5)

It is within the darkness and the silence 

That the magic of Christmas starts; 

Somewhere between the glimmer of lights 

And the first breathless moment 

When children come 

Stumbling like new-born angels 

Into morning light.

It is here, between the darkness 

And the light, 

That we wait, uncertain,

Seeking the moment,

That challenges us to believe

In a freshly minted miracle

Born every Christmas Day.

——John Matthews, The Winter Solstice

The Solstice is a time of quietude, of firelight and dreaming, when seeds germinate in the cold earth and the cold notes of church bells mingle with the chimes of icicles. Rivers are stilled and the land lies waiting beneath a coverlet of snow. We watch the cold sunlight and the bright stars, maybe go for walks in the quiet land.

——[ibid.]

The Twelve Days of Christmas stand outside of "ordinary time," and celebrations focus on the return of the sun and a continuation of the eternal cycle of life.

——[ibid.]

The Yule Log itself is above all a reminder of the importance of fire in the depth of the cold and darkness of Midwinter.

——[ibid.]

————————————————————————————————————

I've collected Christmas books for years, and must have at least a couple hundred. Their contents range from anthologies of seasonal poetry, short stories, and novels, to histories of the holiday and its customs and traditions, sketches and narratives of remembered Christmases by various writers, cookbooks, even a craft book or two, though Myladylove collects the latter two categories and probably has upwards of a hundred Christmas volumes of her own.

This year, starting on the first day of December, I thought it might be fun to dip into a few of these works and share a quote or two from their pages—a few lines of poetry, a bit of prose, maybe even a recipe—on a daily basis, a sort of "Christmas Quotedown," which I'll put up in addition to my regular posts. I'll also include a photo of the book's cover, from which the day's quotes are taken—though a few, lacking a dust jacket or any sort of fancy cover design, might be decidedly non-photogenic. On the other hand, several of my favorite Christmas works are quotably rich troves, indeed, and thus might end up furnishing more than a day's worth of quotes—though I'm starting out with the notion of a different book each day. 

Along the way, I hope I select some things you enjoy. 

———————

CHRISTMAS QUOTEDOWN (6)

The bells upon the church were rung 

with a mighty jovial cheer;

For it's just that I should tell you how 

(of all days in the year)

This day of our adversity 

was blessed  Christmas morn,

And the house above the coastguard's 

was the house where I was born.

O well I saw the pleasant room, 

the pleasant faces there,

My mother's silver spectacles, 

my father's silver hair;

And well I saw the firelight, 

like a flight of homely elves,

Go dancing round the china-plates 

that stand upon the shelves.

——Robert Louis Stevenson, Christmas At Sea, from Christmas Observed, edited by Owen Dudley Edwards & Graham Richardson

"The most beautiful crime I ever committed," Flambeau would say in his highly moral old age, "was also, by a singular coincidence, my last. It was committed at Christmas. As an artist I had always attempted to provide crimes suitable to the special season or landscape…"

——G.K. Chesterton, The Flying Stars, from Christmas Observed, edited by Owen Dudley Edwards & Graham Richardson  

Christmas Day, 1661. In the morning to church; where at the door of our pew I was fain to stay, because that the sexton had not opened the door. A good sermon of Mr.Mills. Dined at home all alone, And taking occasion, from some fault in the meat, to complain of my maid's Sluttery, my wife and I fell out, and I up to my Chamber in a discontent. After dinner my wife comes up to me and all friends again; and she and I to walk upon the Leads; there Sir W. Pen called us and we went to his house and supped with him. 

——Samuel Pepys, From The Diaries, from Christmas Observed, edited by Owen Dudley Edwards & Graham Richardson 

————————————————————————————————————

I've collected Christmas books for years, and must have at least a couple hundred. Their contents range from anthologies of seasonal poetry, short stories, and novels, to histories of the holiday and its customs and traditions, sketches and narratives of remembered Christmases by various writers, cookbooks, even a craft book or two, though Myladylove collects the latter two categories and probably has upwards of a hundred Christmas volumes of her own.

This year, starting on the first day of December, I thought it might be fun to dip into a few of these works and share a quote or two from their pages—a few lines of poetry, a bit of prose, maybe even a recipe—on a daily basis, a sort of "Christmas Quotedown," which I'll put up in addition to my regular posts. I'll also include a photo of the book's cover, from which the day's quotes are taken—though a few, lacking a dust jacket or any sort of fancy cover design, might be decidedly non-photogenic. On the other hand, several of my favorite Christmas works are quotably rich troves, indeed, and thus might end up furnishing more than a day's worth of quotes—though I'm starting out with the notion of a different book each day. 

Along the way, I hope I select some things you enjoy. 

———————

CHRISTMAS QUOTEDOWN (7)

Christmas is a time for the crunch of snow, spiced wine, and tinseled trees. Christmas is a time for giving, meeting friends, and feasting. Christmas is a time for carols, family gatherings, gaudy greeting cards, and all the jollity of the seasonal spirit. Christmas is also a time for science.

Chemists are hard at work in the Christmas kitchen. Experts on thermodynamics have drafted equations to help us cook turkeys to perfection, scanners have scrutinized streaming plum puddings, and pharmacologists have traced the baroque metabolic pathways of the brain to explain why chocolates can be so addictive. 

——Roger Highfield, The Physics of Christmas

Reindeer have a curious arrangement of gadgetry on top of their heads which we call antlers and naively assume exist for the males to do battle to win females. This is absolute nonsense. The antlers are actually fractal vortex-shedding devices.

——[ibid.]

There is growing evidence that those who respect relegious traditions, and preseumably those who take Christmas seriously, can expect a healthier life.

——[ibid.]

————————————————————————————————————

I've collected Christmas books for years, and must have at least a couple hundred. Their contents range from anthologies of seasonal poetry, short stories, and novels, to histories of the holiday and its customs and traditions, sketches and narratives of remembered Christmases by various writers, cookbooks, even a craft book or two, though Myladylove collects the latter two categories and probably has upwards of a hundred Christmas volumes of her own.

This year, starting on the first day of December, I thought it might be fun to dip into a few of these works and share a quote or two from their pages—a few lines of poetry, a bit of prose, maybe even a recipe—on a daily basis, a sort of "Christmas Quotedown," which I'll put up in addition to my regular posts. I'll also include a photo of the book's cover, from which the day's quotes are taken—though a few, lacking a dust jacket or any sort of fancy cover design, might be decidedly non-photogenic. On the other hand, several of my favorite Christmas works are quotably rich troves, indeed, and thus might end up furnishing more than a day's worth of quotes—though I'm starting out with the notion of a different book each day. 

Along the way, I hope I select some things you enjoy. 

———————

MYLADYLOVE'S BIRTHDAY

Happy Birthday, Sweetie!

Love you! Hope you have a wonderful day.

CHRISTMAS QUOTEDOWN (8)

The Star of Bethlehem has been a mystery for many centuries. At Christmastime it is usually discussed around the world by scientists and nonscientists alike, all of whom are fascinated by its meaning and history.

But what was this mysterious apparition in the heavens? Will we ever know? There are opinions for all tastes: some people say the Star never existed but was added to the Bible to give significance to the birth of Jesus; others feel it was a simple astronomical event; and many Christians feel it was a miracle, a sign placed in the heavens by God to indicate the divine nature of the infant Jesus.

——Mark Kidger, The Star of Bethlehem

If the Biblical account is taken literally, then no scientific explanation is necessary or even possible; it could only be a miraculous event.

——[ibid.]

————————————————————————————————————

I've collected Christmas books for years, and must have at least a couple hundred. Their contents range from anthologies of seasonal poetry, short stories, and novels, to histories of the holiday and its customs and traditions, sketches and narratives of remembered Christmases by various writers, cookbooks, even a craft book or two, though Myladylove collects the latter two categories and probably has upwards of a hundred Christmas volumes of her own.

This year, starting on the first day of December, I thought it might be fun to dip into a few of these works and share a quote or two from their pages—a few lines of poetry, a bit of prose, maybe even a recipe—on a daily basis, a sort of "Christmas Quotedown," which I'll put up in addition to my regular posts. I'll also include a photo of the book's cover, from which the day's quotes are taken—though a few, lacking a dust jacket or any sort of fancy cover design, might be decidedly non-photogenic. On the other hand, several of my favorite Christmas works are quotably rich troves, indeed, and thus might end up furnishing more than a day's worth of quotes—though I'm starting out with the notion of a different book each day. 

Along the way, I hope I select some things you enjoy. 

———————

CHRISTMAS QUOTEDOWN (9)

It was freezing, and up aloft it got so cold that the devil kept shifting from one hoof to the other and blowing into his palms, trying to warm his cold hands at least a little. It's no wonder, however that somebody would get cold who had knocked about all day in hell, where, as we know, it not so cold as it is here in winter, and where, a chef's hat on his head and standing before a hearth like a real cook, he had been roasting sinners with as much pleasure as any woman roasts sausages at Christmas.

——Nikolai Gogol, The Night Before Christmas, from Christmas Stories

Then they all went to church, as a united family ought to do on Christmas Day, and came home to a fine old English early dinner at three o'clock—a sirloin of beef a foot-and-a-half broad, a turkey as big as an ostrich, a plum pudding bigger than the turkey, and two or three dozen mince-pies. "That's a very large bit of beef," said Mr. Jones, who had not lived much in England latterly. "It won't look so large, said the old gentleman, "when all our friends downstairs have had their say to it." "A Plum-pudding on Christmas Day can't be too big," he said again, "if the cook will but take time enough over it. I never knew a bit go to waste yet."

——Anthony Trollope, Christmas At Thompson Hall, from Christmas Stories

Vanka gave a tremulous sigh, and again stared at the window. He remembered how his grandfather always went into the forest to get the Christmas tree for his master's family, and took his grandson with him. I was a merry time! Grandfather made a noise in his throat, the forest crackled with the frost, and looking at them Vanka chortled too. Before chopping down the Christmas tree, grandfather would smoke a pipe, slowly take a punch of snuff, and laugh at frozen Vanka…

——Anton Chekhov, Vanka, from Christmas Stories

It was quiet as it can only be on a bright, frosty day. Sleptsov raised his leg high, stepped off the path and, leaving blue pits behind him in the snow, made his way among the trunks of amazingly white trees to the spot where the park dropped off toward the river. Far below, ice blocks sparkled near a hole cut in the smooth expanse of white and, on the opposite bank, very straight columns of pink smoke stood above the snowy roofs of log cabins. Sleptsov took off his karakul cap and leaned against a tree trunk. Somewhere faraway peasants were chopping wood—every blow bounced resonantly skyward—and beyond the light silver mist of trees, high above the squat isbas, the sun caught the equanimous radiance of the cross on the church. 

——Valdimar Nabokov, Christmas, from Christmas Stories

————————————————————————————————————

I've collected Christmas books for years, and must have at least a couple hundred. Their contents range from anthologies of seasonal poetry, short stories, and novels, to histories of the holiday and its customs and traditions, sketches and narratives of remembered Christmases by various writers, cookbooks, even a craft book or two, though Myladylove collects the latter two categories and probably has upwards of a hundred Christmas volumes of her own.

This year, starting on the first day of December, I thought it might be fun to dip into a few of these works and share a quote or two from their pages—a few lines of poetry, a bit of prose, maybe even a recipe—on a daily basis, a sort of "Christmas Quotedown," which I'll put up in addition to my regular posts. I'll also include a photo of the book's cover, from which the day's quotes are taken—though a few, lacking a dust jacket or any sort of fancy cover design, might be decidedly non-photogenic. On the other hand, several of my favorite Christmas works are quotably rich troves, indeed, and thus might end up furnishing more than a day's worth of quotes—though I'm starting out with the notion of a different book each day. 

Along the way, I hope I select some things you enjoy. 

———————

CHRISTMAS QUOTEDOWN (10)

When the angels appeared to the wondering shepherds, as they kept watch over their sheep, in the fields near Bethlehem, the celestial chorus sang "that glorious song of old"—"Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men." So began our most beloved religious festival—Christmas, or Christes Mass. 

——Maymie R. Krythe, All About Christmas

"Magi," a word meaning "august," was the name given to the priestly caste among the ancient Medes and Persians. These men were, in addition to "the keepers of the scared things, the learned of the people, the philosophers and servants of God," also highly esteemed as diviners and astrologists. No matter of importance took place without their being consulted."

——[ibid.]

During the sixteenth century, the English poet, George Wither, wrote his delightful Christmas poem, containing these lines:

So now is come our joyful feast

Let every man be jolly.

Each room with ivy leaves is dressed

And every post with holly.

Nowadays, in our busy modern world, we still enjoy "decking the halls." And, in doing so, we are following an ancient custom that has many interesting beliefs and legends associated with it.

——[ibid.]

————————————————————————————————————

I've collected Christmas books for years, and must have at least a couple hundred. Their contents range from anthologies of seasonal poetry, short stories, and novels, to histories of the holiday and its customs and traditions, sketches and narratives of remembered Christmases by various writers, cookbooks, even a craft book or two, though Myladylove collects the latter two categories and probably has upwards of a hundred Christmas volumes of her own.

This year, starting on the first day of December, I thought it might be fun to dip into a few of these works and share a quote or two from their pages—a few lines of poetry, a bit of prose, maybe even a recipe—on a daily basis, a sort of "Christmas Quotedown," which I'll put up in addition to my regular posts. I'll also include a photo of the book's cover, from which the day's quotes are taken—though a few, lacking a dust jacket or any sort of fancy cover design, might be decidedly non-photogenic. On the other hand, several of my favorite Christmas works are quotably rich troves, indeed, and thus might end up furnishing more than a day's worth of quotes—though I'm starting out with the notion of a different book each day. 

Along the way, I hope I select some things you enjoy. 

——————— 

CHRISTMAS QUOTEDOWN (11)

If it hadn't been so close to Christmas, I should never had had Scrubby McDonnell for a passenger. My most substantial friends advise me never to pick up fellows who beg rides along the road.

Throwing caution and caste out of the car window, I stopped. "You can ride if you'll be good," said I. He began being good by taking out of his mouth a much-chewed chew of tobacco. As the closed car windows furnished no exit, he put it in his coat pocket. In the course of many miles I found out that that was all he had had to chew, whether tobacco or anything else, for an even 24 hours.

——Walter Locke, Scrubby McDonnell's Christmas

This is a complicated world. Out of the tussle and confusion of it some of us come to the top and ride in furnace-heated automobiles, and some of us, just as anxious to be at the top and trying just as hard, slip down to the pavement. All the year around I know this sorry fact with my head; but it's only in the friendly rush of Christmas that I feel it and see the cure for it.

The power of Christmas, our great sample Christian day, to solve the Scrubby McDonnell problem is going to grow on me all these coming pre-Christmas days. I find brewing in me a radical idea. By Christmas Eve, I feel it in my bones, I shall be rising up and calling upon all the world to end the world's woes by making the spirit of Christmas the spirit of all our days.

——[ibid.]

————————————————————————————————————

I've collected Christmas books for years, and must have at least a couple hundred. Their contents range from anthologies of seasonal poetry, short stories, and novels, to histories of the holiday and its customs and traditions, sketches and narratives of remembered Christmases by various writers, cookbooks, even a craft book or two, though Myladylove collects the latter two categories and probably has upwards of a hundred Christmas volumes of her own.

This year, starting on the first day of December, I thought it might be fun to dip into a few of these works and share a quote or two from their pages—a few lines of poetry, a bit of prose, maybe even a recipe—on a daily basis, a sort of "Christmas Quotedown," which I'll put up in addition to my regular posts. I'll also include a photo of the book's cover, from which the day's quotes are taken—though a few, lacking a dust jacket or any sort of fancy cover design, might be decidedly non-photogenic. On the other hand, several of my favorite Christmas works are quotably rich troves, indeed, and thus might end up furnishing more than a day's worth of quotes—though I'm starting out with the notion of a different book each day. 

Along the way, I hope I select some things you enjoy. 

——————— 

RELUCTANTLY I GO

Fog and drizzle, damp and cold,

days like this are getting old.

Not what I need this time of year,

to fill my heart with Christmas cheer.

I want the land all snowy white,

a scene that fits the season right.

Instead I'm faced with soggy mud.

As weather goes—today's a dud!

———

Yes, it takes a lot to make me commit such doggerel. But, I have my reasons.

Dud day or not, I'm soon preparing to haul my arthritic carcass out and onto the traffic-choked freeway for at least a partial day of Christmas shopping—though I can't say I'm looking forward to the ordeal. It's dark and cloudy and sprinkling. Parking lots will be jammed and messy. Stores will be crowded. Clerks and cashiers will be harried and short-tempered. Fellow shoppers surly, ruthless, and devious.

If that isn't bad enough, Thursday is the day when area retirement homes and senior-citizen centers often decided to load buses with their ambulatory inmates and foist them off on the general public—as if the malls and big-box shopping marts were a sort of free-for-all day-care facility. Never mind that half these folks get lost making the round trip from their room to the cafeteria, or must use a cane or walker to remain upright—a mile of lookalike storefronts illogically arranged on three levels, divided by all manner of escalators, elevators, ramps and stairs are disregarded as no problem by the captors who've set them temporarily free. "Why," they say, "they'll manage to get around and find their way just fine." 

Wanna bet? 

And let's not forget that seniors sometimes get a bit, er, cranky as they age; I certainly am. But I'm not yet to the point of those cantankerous oldsters who have at some point advanced from curmudgeonly to homicidal. Give them a shopping cart and they're armed and dangerous…and those sweet little old blue-haired ladies who look like Miss Marple are the worst! They'll lacerate your shins in a heartbeat, bang you in the hipbone for a bruising you'll wear until Twelfth Night, and if you still haven't fled for your life, flatten you over like a highballing steamroller—leaving nothing but wheel tracks along your spine and little waffle marks on your ears from the white tennis shoes with the sparkly pink laces they always wear.

Nevertheless, reluctantly I go.

———————

SHOPPING TONIGHT?

Today was Myladylove's half day at work. As usual, we're rather behind on our Christmas shopping. We'd therefore planned on a serious session when she got in—one of those marathon hit-every-store-you-can-manage assaults which, with a little luck, just might have seen us finish out the remaining gifts still on our list.

But when Myladylove came home, she was feeling really bad—and showed it. Whether just a combination of doing too much recently without sufficient rest (we were up until midnight last night), sinus issues from the up-and-down weather we've been having lately, or the beginnings of a cold or a touch of flu…who knows. 

I fed her a late lunch and suggested she go bed for a few hours and see how she felt. "We can always visit a few stores later tonight if you're up to it," I said. "If not, you'll have a head start on getting well."

I'm thinking we're probably staying home. Which may be for the best, anyway, since I need to keep an eye on the Christmas tree. 

I'm concerned because when we got up at 6:30 this morning, Myladylove noticed the tree had developed a serious lean during the night. It's a big tree, somewhere around 9 feet tall, and surprisingly heavy. We managed most of the decorating the other day, stringing lights and hanging countless ornaments, but still hadn't gotten around to the mylar icicles, not to mention all the other things we stick on, under, and around the tree…plus there's doubtless another box of ornaments, yet to hang, lurking in the back corner of a closet or up in the attic. 

Tree-decorating is an evolving task the way we operate, ongoing over several days.

Now, the semi-loaded tree was listing at about a fifteen degree angle. Not good. I held the trunk and Myladylove released the catch on the bucket part of the holder into which the tree sits, where it is held in place by screw-clamps tightened down against the trunk. This bucket, in turn, is clamped into a sort toothed ratchet. A lever allows the bucket to move free so you can stand the tree plumb; when you push the lever down, the ratchet's teeth hold the bucket in place. 

Theoretically. At least that's been the case for Christmas trees in the past. Only this morning, when I had repositioned the tree where I wanted it and Myladylove set the clamp we heard a burrrr-bur-burrrrr! as the ratched clamp failed and I had to hang onto the tree to avert disaster. We tried again: burrrrrr-burrr! And a third time: buuuuurrrrrrr!  

Myladylove and I looked at each other. "What's wrong?" she asked. 

"No idea," I said. 

"What are you going to do?" 

"Dunno," I said. 

"Well," she said, "you have to do something!" 

Why oh why did I have to be the one who had to "do something?" Especially given that I had no idea how to immediately solve the problem. It was early. I hadn't had my coffee. Doesn't Santa provide elves for such emergencies? 

"Let's try it one more time," I said, not exactly rising to the occasion. But the way I figured it, unless the stand worked, all I could do was either lean the tree into the corner until inspiration struck, or continue with the status quo and become a human tree stand for the day.

Luckily, the fourth time was the charm and the ratchet-clamp held. I know because I just checked—the tree's still vertical…though, alas, Myladylove remains horizontal. 

Nope, we're definitely not going shopping.   

———————

CHRISTMAS QUOTEDOWN (12)

Miss Bugle could say no more, for the Christmas Eve secret she had held so long was now too much for her to bear and her voice began to break.

"Christmas Eve, Mr. Mole, is never a time to be alone, and I have been alone on this day too often The lights of Christmas candles surely shine brighter in the sympathetic company of others."

"They do, Miss Bugle, O, I know they do!" said the Mole with considerable sympathy and feeling.

"Well then…" she said, pushing her door open with a curious gesture of shy hopefulness and indicating that he should go ahead of her.

What he saw when he entered quite took his breath away. It was a parlour like no parlour he had ever seen. One so filled and resplendent with the Christmas spirit that all the gloom and unhappiness the Mole had recently felt fled from his heart, to be replaced by that sense of simple joy and wonder he had last felt as a child, standing before his first Christmas tree. 

——William Horwood, The Willows At Christmas

Mole's Christmas Eve was nearly done.

Yet not quite.

He still had to propose the final toast of the night. He opened his front door and raised his glass to such stars as he could see. "To the memory of my family," said he…

——[ibid.]

————————————————————————————————————

I've collected Christmas books for years, and must have at least a couple hundred. Their contents range from anthologies of seasonal poetry, short stories, and novels, to histories of the holiday and its customs and traditions, sketches and narratives of remembered Christmases by various writers, cookbooks, even a craft book or two, though Myladylove collects the latter two categories and probably has upwards of a hundred Christmas volumes of her own.

This year, starting on the first day of December, I thought it might be fun to dip into a few of these works and share a quote or two from their pages—a few lines of poetry, a bit of prose, maybe even a recipe—on a daily basis, a sort of "Christmas Quotedown," which I'll put up in addition to my regular posts. I'll also include a photo of the book's cover, from which the day's quotes are taken—though a few, lacking a dust jacket or any sort of fancy cover design, might be decidedly non-photogenic. On the other hand, several of my favorite Christmas works are quotably rich troves, indeed, and thus might end up furnishing more than a day's worth of quotes—though I'm starting out with the notion of a different book each day. 

Along the way, I hope I select some things you enjoy. 

——————— 

CHRISTMAS QUOTEDOWN (13)

December saw the first of the great blizzards of the year. The wind howling down out of the Canadian wilds a few few hundred miles to the north had screamed over frozen Lake Michigan and hit Hohman, laying on the town great drifts of snow and long, story-high icicles, and sub-zero temperatures where the air cracked and sang. Streetcar wires creaked under caked ice and kids plodded to school through forty-five-mile-an-hour gales, tilting forward like tiny furred radiator ornaments, moving stiffly over the barren, clattering ground.

Preparing to go to school was about like getting ready for extended Deep-Sea Diving. Longjohns, corduroy knickers, checkered flannel Lumberjack shirt, four sweaters, fleece-lined leatherette sheepskin coat, helmet, goggles, mittens with leatherette gauntlets and a large red star with an Indian Chief's face in the middle, three pairs of sox, high-tops, overshoes, and a sixteen-foot scarf wound spirally from left to right until only the faint glint of two eyes peering out of a mound of moving clothing told you that a kid was in the neighborhood. 

There was no question of staying home. It never entered anyone's mind. It was a hardier time, and Miss Bodkin was a hardier teacher than the present breed. Cold was something that was accepted, like air, clouds, and parents; a fact of Nature, and as such could not be used in any fraudulent scheme to stay out of school.

My mother would simply throw her shoulder against the front door, pushing back the advancing drifts and stone ice, the wind raking the living-room rug with angry fury for an instant, and we would be launched, one after the other, my brother and I, like astronauts into unfriendly Arctic space. The door clanged shut behind us and that was it. It was make school or die.

——Jean Shepherd, A Christmas Story

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I've collected Christmas books for years, and must have at least a couple hundred. Their contents range from anthologies of seasonal poetry, short stories, and novels, to histories of the holiday and its customs and traditions, sketches and narratives of remembered Christmases by various writers, cookbooks, even a craft book or two, though Myladylove collects the latter two categories and probably has upwards of a hundred Christmas volumes of her own.

This year, starting on the first day of December, I thought it might be fun to dip into a few of these works and share a quote or two from their pages—a few lines of poetry, a bit of prose, maybe even a recipe—on a daily basis, a sort of "Christmas Quotedown," which I'll put up in addition to my regular posts. I'll also include a photo of the book's cover, from which the day's quotes are taken—though a few, lacking a dust jacket or any sort of fancy cover design, might be decidedly non-photogenic. On the other hand, several of my favorite Christmas works are quotably rich troves, indeed, and thus might end up furnishing more than a day's worth of quotes—though I'm starting out with the notion of a different book each day. 

Along the way, I hope I select some things you enjoy. 

——————— 

CHRISTMAS QUOTEDOWN (14)

Christmas—how many images the word calls up: we think of carol-singers and holly-decked churches where people hymn in time-honoured strains the Birth of the Divine Child; of frost and snow, and, in contrast, of warm hearths and homes bright with light and colour, very fortresses against the cold; of feasting and revelry, of greetings and gifts exchanged; and lastly of vaguely superstitious customs, relics of long ago, performed perhaps out of respect for use and wont, or merely in jest, or with a deliberate attempt to throw ourselves back into the past, to re-enter for a moment the mental childhood of the race. These are a few of 19the pictures that rise pell-mell in the minds of English folk at the mention of Christmas; how many other scenes would come before us if we could realize what the festival means to men of other nations. Yet even these will suggest what hardly needs saying, that Christmas is something far more complex than a Church holy-day alone, that the celebration of the Birth of Jesus, deep and touching as is its appeal to those who hold the faith of the Incarnation, is but one of many elements that have entered into the great winter festival.

——Clement A. Miles, Christmas Customs and Traditions

When and where did the keeping of Christmas begin? Many details of its early history remain in uncertainty, but it is fairly clear that the earliest celebration of the Birth of Christ on December 25 took place at Rome about the middle of the fourth century, and that the observance of the day spread from the western to the eastern Church, which had before been wont to keep January 6 as a joint commemoration of the Nativity and the Baptism of the Redeemer.

The first mention of a Nativity feast on December 25 is found in a Roman document known as the Philocalian Calendar, dating from the year 354, but embodying an older document evidently belonging to the year 336. It is uncertain to which date the Nativity reference belongs; but further back than 336 at all events the festival cannot be traced.

——[ibid.]

The log placed on the fire on the Vigil of the Nativity no longer forms an important part of the English Christmas. Yet within the memory of many it was a very essential element in the celebration of the festival, not merely as giving out welcome warmth in the midwinter cold, but as possessing occult, magical properties.…The English customs can hardly be better introduced than in Herrick's words:

“Come, bring, with a noise,

My merry, merry boys,

The Christmas Log to the firing:

While my good Dame she Bids ye all be free,

And drink to your hearts’ desiring.

With the last year's Brand Light the new Block, and

For good success in his spending,

On your psaltries play, That sweet luck may

Come while the log is a-teending.” 

——[ibid.]

————————————————————————————————————

I've collected Christmas books for years, and must have at least a couple hundred. Their contents range from anthologies of seasonal poetry, short stories, and novels, to histories of the holiday and its customs and traditions, sketches and narratives of remembered Christmases by various writers, cookbooks, even a craft book or two, though Myladylove collects the latter two categories and probably has upwards of a hundred Christmas volumes of her own.

This year, starting on the first day of December, I thought it might be fun to dip into a few of these works and share a quote or two from their pages—a few lines of poetry, a bit of prose, maybe even a recipe—on a daily basis, a sort of "Christmas Quotedown," which I'll put up in addition to my regular posts. I'll also include a photo of the book's cover, from which the day's quotes are taken—though a few, lacking a dust jacket or any sort of fancy cover design, might be decidedly non-photogenic. On the other hand, several of my favorite Christmas works are quotably rich troves, indeed, and thus might end up furnishing more than a day's worth of quotes—though I'm starting out with the notion of a different book each day. 

Along the way, I hope I select some things you enjoy. 

———————

CHRISTMAS QUOTEDOWN (15)

The finest Christmas gift is not the one that costs the most money, but the one that carries the most love.

But how seldom Christmas comes—only once a year; and how soon it is over—a night and a day! Surely that need not and ought not to be the whole of Christmas—only a single day of generosity, ransomed from the dull servitude of a selfish year—only a single night of merry-making, celebrated in the slave-quarters of a selfish race! If every gift is the token of a personal thought, a friendly feeling, an unselfish interest in the joy of others, then the thought, the feeling, the interest, may remain after the gift is made.

The little present, or the rare and long-wished-for gift (it matters not whether the vessel be of gold, or silver, or iron, or wood, or clay, or just a small bit of birch bark folded into a cup), may carry a message something like this:

"I am thinking of you to-day, because it is Christmas, and I wish you happiness. And to-morrow, because it will be the day after Christmas, I shall still wish you happiness; and so on, clear through the year. I may not be able to tell you about it every day, because I may be far away; or because both of us may be very busy; or perhaps because I cannot even afford to pay the postage on so many letters, or find the time to write them. But that makes no difference. The thought and the wish will be here just the same. In my work and in the business of life, I mean to try not to be unfair to you or injure you in any way. In my pleasure, if we can be together, I would like to share the fun with you. Whatever joy or success comes to you will make me glad. Without pretense, and in plain words, good-will to you is what I mean, in the Spirit of Christmas."

—Henry Van Dyke, The Spirit of Christmas

*     *     *

It is a good thing to observe Christmas day. The mere marking of times and seasons, when men agree to stop work and make merry together, is a wise and wholesome custom. It helps one to feel the supremacy of the common life over the individual life. It reminds a man to set his own little watch, now and then, by the great clock of humanity which runs on sun time.

But there is a better thing than the observance of Christmas day, and that is, keeping Christmas.

Are you willing to forget what you have done for other people, and to remember what other people have done for you; to ignore what the world owes you, and to think what you owe the world; to put your rights in the background, and your duties in the middle distance, and your chances to do a little more than your duty in the foreground; to see that your fellow-men are just as real as you are, and try to look behind their faces to their hearts, hungry for joy; to own that probably the only good reason for your existence is not what you are going to get out of life, but what you are going to give to life; to close your book of complaints against the management of the universe, and look around you for a place where you can sow a few seeds of happiness—are you willing to do these things even for a day? Then you can keep Christmas.

Are you willing to stoop down and consider the needs and the desires of little children; to remember the weakness and loneliness of people who are growing old; to stop asking how much your friends love you, and ask yourself whether you love them enough; to bear in mind the things that other people have to bear on their hearts; to try to understand what those who live in the same house with you really want, without waiting for them to tell you; to trim your lamp so that it will give more light and less smoke, and to carry it in front so that your shadow will fall behind you; to make a grave for your ugly thoughts, and a garden for your kindly feelings, with the gate open—are you willing to do these things even for a day? Then you can keep Christmas.

Are you willing to believe that love is the strongest thing in the world—stronger than hate, stronger than evil, stronger than death—and that the blessed life which began in Bethlehem nineteen hundred years ago is the image and brightness of the Eternal Love? Then you can keep Christmas.

And if you keep it for a day, why not always?

——[ibid.]

————————————————————————————————————

I've collected Christmas books for years, and must have at least a couple hundred. Their contents range from anthologies of seasonal poetry, short stories, and novels, to histories of the holiday and its customs and traditions, sketches and narratives of remembered Christmases by various writers, cookbooks, even a craft book or two, though Myladylove collects the latter two categories and probably has upwards of a hundred Christmas volumes of her own.

This year, starting on the first day of December, I thought it might be fun to dip into a few of these works and share a quote or two from their pages—a few lines of poetry, a bit of prose, maybe even a recipe—on a daily basis, a sort of "Christmas Quotedown," which I'll put up in addition to my regular posts. I'll also include a photo of the book's cover, from which the day's quotes are taken—though a few, lacking a dust jacket or any sort of fancy cover design, might be decidedly non-photogenic. On the other hand, several of my favorite Christmas works are quotably rich troves, indeed, and thus might end up furnishing more than a day's worth of quotes—though I'm starting out with the notion of a different book each day. 

Along the way, I hope I select some things you enjoy. 

———————