Rudolph Day, February 2012

"Rudolph Day" is a way of keeping the Christmas spirit alive all year long. You can read a Christmas book, work on a Christmas craft project, listen to Christmas music or watch a Christmas movie.

Here are three humorous Christmas videos to set the mood:

Cartoon “White Christmas”

Santa’s Stuck Up the Chimney

Funny "Jingle Bells"


Pagan Christmas, Christian Rätsch and Claudia Müller-Ebeling
If you are looking for a "unique" Christmas book, you wouldn't have to look much further than this volume. Described as "an ethnobotany of Christmas," it traces the background and the use of all the plants we think of as traditional to the holiday—mistletoe, holly, fir trees, poinsettias, etc. However, it chronicles all the plants over the years having been traditionally associated with the holiday, including the white-spotted mushrooms (the fly agaric) so commonly duplicated as ornaments on European trees, yews, and all the fragrant herbs and spices, i.e. rosemary, bay, ginger, anise, etc., most of which trace back to pagan antecedents and some to drug use to obtain "visions." For that reason, I strongly suggest this book is definitely not for children, as there are reference to sexual practices as well. However, as a book for adults I did find it quite entertaining, reading about customs from the past, some which even dated back to near-prehistoric times. And, indeed, many of the images we think of as "Christmassy," the Scandinavian "julebok" and the Julenissen, St. Nicholas' white horse, the smokers of Germany, the colors red and white, hark back to far older solstice and Yule celebrations. As a plus the book is illustrated with not only photos of the plants, but liberally illustrated with Christmas imagery that goes back to early Victorian chromolithographs, of delightfully pagan-based postcards, advertisements, and greeting cards that were sold freely in Christian countries. Just a very neat book, but not for everyone.

"Shrove Tuesday" from The Book of Days

The Book of Days, printed in the 19th century, is a fascinating (if occasionally appalling) part almanac/part daybook/part history. You can find the complete book in two parts on Google Books and there is even a website devoted to it. Here is author Chambers' listing for what we call today "Mardi Gras" (and, judging by some of the cruel practices listed therein, the participants may have been just as drunken). Life was indeed violent and unflinching back then.


Shrove Tuesday derives its name from the ancient practice, in the Church of Rome, of confessing sins, and being shrived or shrove, i.e. obtaining absolution, on this day. Being the day prior to the beginning of Lent, it may occur on any one between the 2nd of February and the 8th of March. In Scotland, it is called Fasten's E'en, but is little regarded in that Presbyterian country. The character of the day as a popular festival is mirthful: it is a season of carnival-like jollity and drollery—' Welcome, merry Shrovetide!' truly sings Master Silence.

The merriment began, strictly speaking, the day before, being what was called Collop Monday, from the practice of eating collops of salted meat and eggs on that day. Then did the boys begin their Shrovetide perambulations in quest of little treats which their senior neighbours used to have in store for them—singing:

'Shrovetide is nigh at hand,
And I be come a shroving;
Pray, dame, something,
An apple or a dumpling.'

When Shrove Tuesday dawned, the bells were set a ringing, and everybody abandoned himself to amusement and good humour. All through the day, there was a preparing and devouring of pancakes, as if some profoundly important religious principle were involved in it. The pancake and Shrove Tuesday are inextricably associated in the popular mind and in old literature. Before being eaten, there was always a great deal of contention among the eaters, to see which could most adroitly toss them in the pan.

Shakspeare makes his clown in All's Well that Ends Well speak of something being 'as fit as a pancake for Shrove Tuesday.' It will be recollected that the parishioners of the Vicar of Wakefield 'religiously ate pancakes at Shrovetide.' Hear also our quaint old friend, the Water Poet—'Shrove Tuesday, at whose entrance in the morning all the whole kingdom is in quiet, but by that time the clock strikes eleven, which (by the help of a knavish sexton) is commonly before nine, there is a bell rung called Pancake Bell, the sound whereof makes thousands of people distracted, and forgetful either of manners or humanity. Then there is a thing called wheaten flour, which the cooks do mingle with water, eggs, spice, and other tragical, magical enchantments, and then they put it by little and little into a frying-pan of boiling suet, where it makes a confused dismal hissing (like the Lernian snakes in the reeds of Acheron), until at last, by the skill of the cook, it is transformed into the form of a flip-jack, called a pancake, which ominous incantation the ignorant people do devour very greedily.'

It was customary to present the first pancake to the greatest slut or lie-a-bed of the party, 'which commonly falls to the dog's share at last, for no one will own it their due.' Some allusion is probably made to the latter custom in a couplet placed opposite Shrove Tuesday in Poor Robin's Almanack for 1677:

'Pancakes are eat by greedy gut,
And Hob and Madge run for the slut.'

In the time of Elizabeth, it was a practice at Eton for the cook to fasten a pancake to a crow (the ancient equivalent of the knocker) upon the school door.

At Westminster School, the following custom is observed to this day:—At 11 o'clock a.m. a verger of the Abbey, in Ins gown, bearing a silver baton, emerges from the college kitchen, followed by the cook of the school, in his white apron, jacket, and cap, and carrying a pancake. On arriving at the school-room door, he announces himself, 'The cook;' and having entered the school-room, he advances to the bar which separates the upper school from the lower one, twirls the pancake in the pan, and then tosses it over the bar into the upper school, among a crowd of boys, who scramble for the pancake; and he who gets it unbroken, and carries it to the deanery, demands the honorarium of a guinea (sometimes two guineas), from the Abbey funds, though the custom is not mentioned in the Abbey statutes: the cook also receives two guineas for his performance.

Among the revels which marked the day, football seems in most places to have been conspicuous. The London apprentices enjoyed it in Finsbury Fields. At Teddington, it was conducted with such animation that careful householders had to protect their windows with hurdles and bushes. There is perhaps no part of the United Kingdom where this Shrovetide sport is kept up with so much energy as at the village of Scone, near Perth, in Scotland. The men of the parish assemble at the cross, the married on one side and the bachelors on the other; a ball is thrown up, and they play from two o'clock till sunset. A person who witnessed the sport in the latter part of the last century, thus describes it: 'The game was this: he who at any time got the ball into his hands, ran with it till overtaken by one of the opposite party; and then, if ho could shake himself loose from those on the opposite side who seized him, he ran on; if not, he threw the ball from him, unless it was wrested from him by the other party, but no party was allowed to kick it. The object of the married men was to hang it, that is, to put it three times into a small hole on the moor, which was the dool, or limit, on the one hand: that of the bachelors was to drown it, or dip it three times in a deep place in the river, the limit on the other: the party who could effect either of these objects won the game; if neither one, the ball was cut into equal parts at sunset. In the course of the play, there was usually some violence between the parties; but it is a proverb in this part of the country', that "A' is fair at the ba' o' Scone."'

Taylor, the Water Poet, alludes to the custom of a fellow carrying about' an ensign made of a piece of a baker's mawkin fixed upon a broomstaff,' and making orations of nonsense to the people. Perhaps this custom may have been of a similar nature and design to one practised in France on Ash Wednesday. The people there 'carry an effigy, similar to our Guy Fawkes, round the adjacent villages, and collect money for his funeral, as this day, according to their creed, is the burial of good living. After sundry absurd mummeries, me corpse is deposited in the earth.'* In the latter part of the last century, a curious custom of a similar nature still survived in Kent. A group of girls engaged themselves at one part of a village in burning an uncouth image, which they called a holly boy, and which they had stolen from the boys while the boys were to 5o found in another part of the village burning a like effigy, which they called the ivy girl, and which they had stolen from the girls; the ceremony being in both cases accompanied by loud huzzas. These are fashions, we humbly opine, smacking of a very early and probably pagan origin. At Bromfield, in Cumberland, there used to be a still more remarkable custom. The scholars of the free school of that parish assumed a right, from old use and wont, to bar out the master, and keep him out for three days. During the period of this expulsion, the doors were strongly barricaded within j and the boys, who defended it like a besieged city, were armed in general with guns made of the hollow twigs of the elder, or bore-tree. The master, meanwhile, made various efforts, by force and stratagem, to regain his lost authority. If ho succeeded, heavy tasks were imposed, and the business of the school was resumed and submitted to; but it more commonly happened that all his efforts were unavailing. In this case, after three days' siege, terms of capitulation were proposed by the master and accepted by the boys. The terms always included permission to enjoy a full allowance of Shrovetide sports.

In days not very long gone by, the inhumane sport of throwing at cocks was practised at Shrovetide, and nowhere was it more certain to be seen than at the grammar-schools. The poor animal was tied to a stake by a short cord, and the unthinking men and boys who were to throw at it, took their station at the distance of about twenty yards. Where the cock belonged to some one disposed to make it a matter of business, twopence was paid for three shies at it, the missile used being a broomstick. The sport was continued till the poor creature was killed outright by the blows. Such tumult and outrage attended this inhuman sport a century ago, that, according to a writer in the Gentleman's Magazine, it was sometimes dangerous to be near the place where it was practised. Hens were also the subjects of popular amusement at this festival. It was customary in Cornwall to take any one which had not laid eggs before Shrove Tuesday, and lay it on a barn-floor to be thrashed to death. A man hit at her with a flail; and if he succeeded in killing her therewith, he got her for his pains. It was customary for a fellow to get a hon tied to his back, with some horse-bells hung beside it. A number of other fellows, blindfolded, with boughs in their hands, followed him by the sound of the bells, endeavouring to get a stroke at the bird. This gave occasion to much merriment, for sometimes the man was hit instead of the hen, and sometimes the assailants hit each other instead of either. At tho conclusion, the hen was boiled with bacon, and added to the usual pancake feast. Cock-fights were also common on this day. Strange to say, they were in many instances the sanctioned sport of public schools, the master receiving on tho occasion a small tax from the boys under the name of a cock-penny. Perhaps this last practice took its rise in the circumstance of the master supplying the cocks, which seems to have been the custom in some places in a remote age. Such cockfights regularly took place on Fastens E'en in many parts of Scotland till the middle of the eighteenth century, the master presiding at tho battle, and enjoying tho perquisite of all tho runaway cocks, which were technically called fugies. Nay, As late as 1790, the minister of Applecross, in Ross-shire, in the account of his parish, states the schoolmaster's income as composed of two hundred merits, with la. 6d. and 2s. 6d. per quarter from each scholar, and the cock-fight dues, which are equal to one quarter's payment for each scholar. Cock-fighting is now legally a misdemeanour, and punishable by penalty.

The other Shrovetide observances were chiefly of a local nature. The old plays make us aware of a licence which the London 'prentices took on this occasion to assail houses of dubious repute, and cart the unfortunate inmates through the city. This seems to hare been done partly under favour of a privilege which the common people assumed at this time of breaking down doors for sport, and of which we have perhaps some remains, in a practice which still exists in some remote districts, of throwing broken crockery and other rubbish at doors. In Dorsetshire and Wiltshire, if not in other counties, the latter practice is called Lent Crocking. The boys go round in small parties,headed by a leader, 'who goes up and knocks at the door, leaving his followers behind him, armed with a good stock of potsherds—the collected relics of the washing-pans, jugs, dishes, and plates, that have become the victims of concussion in the hands of unlucky or careless housewives for the past year. When the door is opened, the hero,—who is perhaps a farmer's boy, with a pair of black eyes sparkling under the tattered brim of his brown milking-hat,—hangs down his head, and, with one corner of his mouth turned up into an irrepressible smile, pronounces the following lines:

A-shrovin, a-shrovin,
I be come a-shrovin;
A piece of bread, a piece of cheese,
A bit of your fat bacon,
Or a dish of dough-nuts,
All of your own makin!

A-shrovin, a-shrovin,
I be come a-shrovin,
Nice meat in a pie,
My mouth is very dry!
I wish a wuz zoo well-a-wet
I'de zing the louder for a nut!

Chorus—A-shrovin, a-shrovin,
We be come a-shrovin!

Sometimes he gets a bit of bread and cheese, and at some houses he is told to be gone; in which latter case, he calls up his followers to send their missiles in a rattling broadside against the door. It is rather remarkable that, in Prussia, and perhaps other parts of central Europe, the throwing of broken crockery at doors is a regular practice at marriages. Lord Malmesbury, who in 1791 married a princess of that country as proxy for the Duke of York, tells us, that the morning after the ceremonial, a great heap of such rubbish was found at her royal highness's door.

OLD GRAMMAR-SCHOOL CUSTOMS.
Mr R. W. Blencowe, in editing certain extracts from the journal of Walter Gale, schoolmaster at Mayfield, in the Sussex Archaeological Collections, tells us that the salary of the Mayfield schoolmaster was only £16 a-year, which was subsequently increased by the bequest of a house and garden, which let for £18 a-year. There were none of those perquisites so common in old grammar-schools, by which the scanty fortunes of the masters were increased, and the boys instructed in the humanities, as in the Middle School at Manchester, where the master provided the cocks, for which he was liberally paid, and which were to be buried up to their necks to be shied at by the boys on Shrove Tuesday, and at the feast of St Nicholas, as at Wyke, near Ashford. No Mr Graham had bequeathed a silver bell to Mayfield, as he had done to the school at Wresy in 1601, to be fought for annually, when two of the boys, who had been chosen as captains, and who were followed by their partisans, distinguished by blue and red ribbons, marched in procession to the village-green, where each produced his cocks; and when the fight was won, the bell was suspended to the hat of the victor, to be transmitted from one successful captain to another. There were no potation pence, when there were deep drinkings, sometimes for the benefit of the clerk of the parish, when it was called clerk's ale, and more often for the schoolmaster, and in the words of some old statutes, 'for the solace of the neighbourhood:' potations which Agnes Mellers, avowess, the widow of a wealthy bell-founder of Nottingham, endeavoured, in some degree, to restrain when she founded the grammar-school in that town in 1513, by declaring that the schoolmaster and usher of her school should not make use of any potations, cock-fightings, or drinkings, with his or their wives, hostess, or hostesses, more than twice a year. There were no 'delectations' for the scholars, such as the barring out of the schoolmaster, which Sir John Deane, who founded the grammar-school at Wilton, near Northbeach, to prevent all quarrels between the teacher and the taught, determined should take place only twice a year, a week before Christmas and Easter, 'as the custom was in other great schools.' No unhappy ram was provided by the butcher, as used to be the case at Eton in days long gone by, to be pursued and knocked on the head by the boys, till on one occasion, the poor animal, being sorely pressed, swam across the Thames, and, reeling into the marketplace at Windsor, followed by its persecutors, did such mischief, that this sport was stopped, and instead thereof it was hamstrung, after the speech on Election Saturday, and clubbed to death. None of these humanising influences were at work at Mayfield: there was not even the customary charge of 5s. to each boy for rods.

No such rules as those in force at the free grammar-school at Cuckfield prevailed at Mayfield. They were not taught 'on every working day one of the eight pearls of reason, with the word according to the same, that is to say, Nomen with Amo, Pronomen with Amor, to be said by heart; nor as being a modern and a thoroughly Protestant school, were they called upon before breakfast each Friday to listen to a little piece of the Pater Noster, or Ave Maria, the Credo, or the verses of the Mariners, or the Ten Commandments, or the Five Evils, or some other proper saying in Latin meet for babies.' Still less, as in the case of the grammar-school at Stockport, did any founder will 'that some cunning priest, with all his scholars, should, on Wednesday and Friday of every week, come to the church to the grave where the bodies of his father and mother lay buried, and there say the psalm of De Profundi, after the Salisbury use, and pray especially for his soul, and for tho souls of his father and mother, and for all Christian souls.' Neither did the trustees, that they might sow the seeds of ambition in the minds of the scholars, ordain, as was done at Tunbridge and at Lewisham, 'that the best scholars and the best writers should wear some pretty garland on their heads, with silver pens well fastened there unto, and thus walk to church and back again for at least a month.' A ceremony which in these days would infallibly secure for them all sorts of scoffings, and probably a broken head.

Happy Valentine's Day

Candles, Groundhogs, and Other Denizens of This Date

There are many names for February 2!


Americans know it as "Groundhog Day" for the odd custom of using the "groundhog" (a.k.a. the woodchuck) to predict the coming of spring. According to the tale, if the groundhog sees his shadow, we will have six more weeks of winter; however, if it is cloudy and there is no shadow, spring is in the offing.

This custom dates back to European folklore, and initally involved a badger. However, the rhyme which goes with the tale is even older. There are several versions, but they all boil down to:

‘If Candlemas day be sunny and bright,
winter will have another flight;
if Candlemas day be cloudy with rain;
winter is gone and won't come again."

The "Candlemas" of the rhyme is the day within the Liturgical Year in which all candles are blessed for the year. The Feast Day being celebrated is the Presentation of Jesus at the Temple or the Purification of the Virgin. It was the custom in those days to present male children at the Temple 40 days after their birth. Since the Liturgical Calendar gives the birthdate of Jesus as December 25, then the date for this event would be February 2.

There are no set customs for Candlemas; however this blog talks about a charming Candlemas tea, and of course, according to the old Robert Herrick verse, all Christmas decorations must be down by this date.

CEREMONIES FOR CANDLEMAS EVE
by Robert Herrick

DOWN with the rosemary and bays,
     Down with the misletoe ;
Instead of holly, now up-raise
     The greener box (for show).

The holly hitherto did sway ;
     Let box now domineer
Until the dancing Easter day,
     Or Easter's eve appear.

Then youthful box which now hath grace
     Your houses to renew ;
Grown old, surrender must his place
     Unto the crisped yew.

When yew is out, then birch comes in,
     And many flowers beside ;
Both of a fresh and fragrant kin
     To honour Whitsuntide.

Green rushes, then, and sweetest bents,
     With cooler oaken boughs,
Come in for comely ornaments
     To re-adorn the house.

Thus times do shift; each thing his turn does hold;
New things succeed, as former things grow old.

If the idea of having Christmas decorations up until February horrifies you, do remember that Christmas decorating was simply sprays of holly, rosemary, and bay leaves around the room, perhaps brightened with a bit of ribbon. In those colder days in homes with no central heat, these evergreens would last pretty well until February 2!

Not to mention that Herrick gives a good list of what would be called today "natural home decorations" through Whitsuntide (Pentecost).

In pre-Christian and non-Christian societies, the holiday was celebrated as Imbolc or Brigid's Day.

Here's the February 2 listing from Chambers' 19th century classic The Book of Days (this whole, fascinating book can be found on Google Books, and has its own website www.bookofdays.com).

And just a few more notes on Groundhog Day via StormFax.

Rudolph Day, January 2012

"Rudolph Day" is a way of keeping the Christmas spirit alive all year long. You can read a Christmas book, work on a Christmas craft project, listen to Christmas music or watch a Christmas movie.

Here's a few Christmas blogs to get you going:

Deck the Halls of Home With Joy

Karen's Christmas Cottage Blog

For music fans: A Christmas Yuleblog


I learned last fall that the Guideposts people had published their last "Ideals" edition at Christmas this year. The "Ideals" seasonal publications go back some years. If you find older editions you will note that, although the writing has remained warm and inspirational, the illustrations which accompanied them were often badly colored, overly chromatic, or just insipid. The newest issues have been beautifully illustrated with both sentimental paintings and gorgeous photography, and one of the joys of each fall was buying the defunct Thanksgiving edition for its stunning fall photography. Now the Christmas issue, too, is gone.

But Ideals left us with one last treat, a trade paper compilation called The Ideals Treasury of Christmas, which comprises two earlier volumes, Home for Christmas and The Greatest Gift. Both are crammed with homey reminisces, essays by noted writers such as Madeleine L'Engle and Faith Baldwin, nostalgic illustrations and warm photographs of cozy interiors, snowy scenes, bright decorations and nostalgic settings. Heartfelt verses, sheet music of loved Christmas carols, and recipes complete this crammed volume best read in a comfy chair with a hot drink beside you. Ever-so-recommended for setting a holiday mood.

Beauty, Brightly Burning

I was still tidying up from this year's Christmas clean-up this morning. After breakfast I brought the vase with its vivid autumn leaves and flowers back upstairs to put in the hallway (where the Rudolph tree is at Christmas) and arranged the other little things around it: the little tray Andy Stokes brought me back from Italy on which I keep Mother's rosary, another little dish where I keep disposable batteries, a china sheep which holds fall picks, a little Norman Rockwell book, and a resin fall basket on which perches a chickadee. Then I brought up the box that has been holding the mantel items since late November: the fall angels in sepia tones, the Lord and Lady mugs James bought so long ago at the Ren Faire, a little autumn plaque I made and a maple leaf with a verse from the Bible, Mother's clock in the center, and on each side, a little fall house from Lemax's autumn collection, the Maple Sugar Shack, with boys raking and the dog popping its head from the leaf pile in front, and a deer lurking beside the well, under the autumn trees in the rear, and what I think is Pine Lodge (I can't find it on Lemax's page). I love it because you can look in the front window and see a fireplace and furnishings, and there's quilts hung outside on the rail and an owl on the roof. This one has a mailbox, dad raking, and son loading pumpkins into an old pickup, with a cardinal in the rear sitting on the axe near the woodpile. The basket of leaves is back in front of the fireplace as well, and Rusty the deer has his autumn collar back on. There is a winter basket on the opposite side, and winter decorations hanging from under the mantel, where it looks a little bare without the Christmas cards hung up.

When I got through I decided I wanted to check out the Blu-Ray version of Rick Steves' European Christmas that James got me for Christmas. I didn't think anything could be better than the widescreen DVD, but...wow. Deeper, richer, much more lovely. I put the television color on "dynamic" and just enjoyed the beautiful vistas, the lovely blue light of the twilight Austrian sleigh ride and the mountain return to Gimmelwald, the bright candles everywhere, and the multicolor decorations of all the cities.

Putting the Christmas Tree to Bed

I've managed to take the other decorations down in the past week, during lunch or after work—it's really surprising what you can get done in fifteen minutes at the time, as it's so much easier taking down than putting up! I packed up the manger last night and there was nothing left but to tackle the Christmas tree this afternoon. James was at work, and would have been at his club meeting had he not been at work, so I put on some Christmas things, All Creatures Great and Small's "Merry Gentlemen" and The Good Life's "Silly, But It's Fun," and then the Christmas episode of To The Manor Born, starting up "Silly" again to finish up.

I start off by pulling the icicles off the tree and stuffing them into a disposable bag. I used to save the tinsel, using 80 percent of it again the following year, when it was the thicker mylar, but this is utterly impossible to get off the tree and re-hang on the cardboard insert that comes in the tinsel box. It's so prone to static electricity that before I had pulled it off a dozen branches I had strands clinging to my pants.

Once I "de-tinsel" the front, I start taking off all the ornaments in the front and as far on each side as I can reach. The sets of glass "baubles," as the British call them, go in their individual boxes, the individual ones are carefully packed in small boxes, and the plastic ones (all the Hallmarks and Carletons), get laid flat in gallon ziplock bags. (People who put their Hallmark ornaments back in the original box, or wrap their ornaments in newspaper or tissue would be horrified; we simply don't have the room.) Once I get the front finished I can take the tree by its "trunk" and duckwalk it forward out of the corner so I can repeat the procedure on the back. Then "Little Blaze" (the Woolworths star) comes off and goes back in its box, and the boxes and bags get laid or placed in the storage box like pieces in a puzzle. Every year it's like magic how it all fits back in there.

And the tree is ready for James to take downstairs. I can then clean the corner, put the winter decorations up on the divider, and then return the glider rocker to its proper place.

(This year I actually pulled certain ornaments from the tree and put them aside. On the way home last week, James had a "scathingly brilliant idea." Later in the year we'll keep you posted if the idea comes to fruition...)

So I sat down with Schuyler to watch the rest of "Silly, But It's Fun," and then "Merry Gentlemen" again. I love this episode, not just the lovely old-fashioned Christmas prep: James and Helen writing Christmas cards at the table near the fire with carolers singing outside, the men gathering holly in the woods and cutting their own tree, the C7 and C6 bulbs on the not-shaved Christmas tree, the little mince pies sitting in the kitchen (one of these little tarts should be eaten each day of the twelve days of Christmas for good luck). Or not just the funny bits with Siegfried frightening a snooping Tristan and Siegfried using the big trunk to subtly hint that a Christmas hamper is wanted, and the cake-tasting scene, although all those add to the charm.

It's the set I love, too, the beautiful Skeldale house set, with the dark woodwork, the dark panel doors, the vintage wallpaper, the electric lights in candolier wall sconces, and the solid, dark, carved furniture...it reminds me of my grandfather's house, especially at Christmas, when I would creep upstairs from the celebration in the basement to pad into the darkened dining room with its Edwardian furniture, faded wallpaper, wood floor, and glowing Christmas tree sitting before the front window, sparkling with old-fashioned lead tinsel over clear WWII vintage ornaments, plastic items from the 1950s, and Woolworths balls of more recent vintage, and the fat multicolor of the "big bulbs." It was always so magical. When I am at my lowest, I relive that image and wish I could step through some type of temporal door and be there again.

I'd even put up with algebra and eighth-grade bullying for the chance...

Good Old-Fashioned Post-Christmas Depression

As they said on Remember WENN, "December without Christmas is like...January."

And it's certainly January: a humid, warmish, rainy, grey day combined with post-holiday depression. Which will be followed by Monday. Oh. Joy.

So we had the usual Sunday trip to the grocery stores: twofers at Publix and the rest at Kroger. The bananas were green in both places; I'll settle for applesauce. Really, what is the use in selling all green bananas? I can see some green bananas, so that you can buy some that will ripen at the end of the week, but have some ripe ones, too.

After we had the groceries put away, we decided to go out to cheer ourselves up while also getting gasoline for the car. We stopped at Barnes & Noble to check out the magazines—lovely! a new British Country Living already! Found some clearance items to put away.

On our way out of the shopping center we stopped at their Hallmark shop. All the Christmas items were 75 percent off, which made many of the expensive ornaments more affordable. James got the very last Indiana Jones ornament and the very last Spock ornament, the "Mirror, Mirror" ornament, another "Nautilus" because ours is broken, and the Romulan ship. I got Santa's bakery and the animals in the manger one, and all the peppermint bark they had left (three small packages). On the way home we were musing...we pretty much have enough ornaments, between real life and science fiction, to have a space tree (the "Enterprise," the GI Joe astronaut, Explorer I, etc.), and then James said "...and on a black tree"...maybe with a silver garland for the Milky Way and silver ornaments for moons...and white lights...

Oh, Lord...here we go again.

All Partied Out

Sometimes the final part of the party prep is the hardest. We were up at nine to go to Costco for the chicken wings and more mini egg-rolls. From there we came home, James started the gravy for the meatballs and then put them in the crock pot to get warm (they were straight from the freezer). Then he went off to the hobby shop for about an hour since he won't get to go next week due to work. I spent the two hours he was away vacuuming, putting up the stuff on the coffee table, and putting the dining room table in place (we move it back so you can get more handily into the kitchen with a lot of people milling around).

Once James got home we had to get the "plastic silverware," plates and cups down from the closet, get down the serving plates and bowls, and then start warming up the empanadas, chicken wings, and egg rolls, plus dump the little smokies in barbecue sauce in the little crock pot and thaw the meat-and-cheese spirals.

We were actually finished before the first guest arrived! Sue was then treated to the obligatory "barking of the dog," and next thing we knew the guests were coming thick and fast.

We had the usual swell time: lots of talking, munching, gift swapping, the usual football game on the television, and to add to the tumult, thunder followed by rain. Alice, Sue, Phyllis, Aubrey, and Isabel went downstairs to play The Big Bang Theory game and Jessie and her friend went in the spare room to watch a movie (Aubrey and Isabel later joined them after the game was over). The Butlers had a previous engagement, but did stop over for a while on the way there, so we had eighteen up and down at one point.

The best news of the evening came from Juanita and David—they are engaged! Juanita has been a widow for over ten years, so we're thrilled that she's got a new, nice guy in her life. And David even likes this crazy bunch, so that's always positive.

The crowd was finally reduced to a few telling "stupid pet stories" and "what we used to do when we were young and stupid" tales before the last guest left for home. We got most of the disposables thrown out, I got the spare room set to rights and the chocolate spots off the carpet (LOL), and most of the kitchen table cleared off before we sat, exhausted, at the computer and talked to Jen and Emma for a while.

And then I went around the house and pulled all the timers for the Christmas lights (except the tree; it can stay lighted as long as it's up), and put the hospitality candles in place of the candoliers in the front window. Christmas is officially over.

Now all that remains is to take it down. Zowee...

Epiphany

The Bible tells us two versions of the Christmas story. One is the familiar version from St. Luke, which almost everyone knows from its being quoted by Linus in A Charlie Brown Christmas. This contains the birth of Jesus, Mary's laying the Christ child in the manger, the angels and the shepherds.

It is from St. Matthew that the other familiar part of the story comes to pass. Here are the Wise Men (the "Magi," which in those days meant "magicians" or more probably astrologers who studied the stars) who follow the star, who are detoured by King Herod, who finally find the Christ child, and who "depart home in a different direction" without giving information to the king.

From these two pieces of scripture we get the image that is in every nativity set, and even in things like Rankin-Bass' Little Drummer Boy: the shepherds and the "Kings" all at the stable at once, the learned visitors offering gifts while sheep mill about. But the Bible doesn't even make mention of a stable, just a manger, no ox, no ass (these come from another Biblical passage) and there is no indication that the two different groups of worshipers met. Indeed, St. Matthew even mentions that the Magi have come to a house to meet the child. Nor does the Bible mention how many Wise Men—three are listed only because of the three symbolic gifts they bring: gold for kingship, frankincense for priesthood, and myrrh for death. And they are certainly not stated to be Kings.

Nevertheless, Epiphany commemorates the visit of the Wise Men to the young Jesus, and is one of the reasons gifts are given at Christmas. In some cultures, Christmas is strictly a religious observance, and gifts are given only at Epiphany, to commemorate the event, especially in Spanish-speaking countries. However, with the popularization of Christmas as a gift-giving holiday, there are often now two gift-giving days.

The Italians and the Russians have another character who figures in Epiphany gift giving. The story has several versions, but the basic one is that the Wise Men stop enroute to ask an old woman for directions, telling her of the great miracle. She is busy cleaning house and does not want to bother with them. In some versions she is quite brusque with them. Later, she feels badly about having treated them so shabbily, and is also curious about the Christ child. So she gathers gifts for the baby and follows the Magi. However, she never finds them, and goes from house to house, looking for the miraculous child. Not finding Him, she still leaves a gift behind for each child in the house.

In Italy this old woman, often referred to as a "strega" (witch), is called La Befana (Befana being a version of "Epiphania"). In Russia she is known as Baboushka.

Well, I've felt a bit like La Befana all day! I've been cleaning for our party, starting downstairs. The library had been vacuumed recently, but I gave it another going over, and then cleaned the bathroom. This is just in case the younger folks at the party get bored with us old geezers comparing how many days we have till retirement (or openly envying Anne and Betty, who have already retired) and wish to retire themselves, to play a game or just shoot the breeze. I also vacuumed the downstairs hall and the stairs to the foyer, then got the cheap little Cyberhome DVD we have in the spare room going with the television in case the girls want to watch a DVD. From there I cleaned the bedrooms, and also finished cleaning the hall bathroom, which is the company bathroom. Willow had her bath last night (a half-hour task that is more exhausting than vacuuming) and I had to collect the hair left around the drain screen and then tackle the potty. Later vacuumed the dining room and part of the living room, put the seat cover back on James' Laz-Y-Boy (Willow sleeps in it and it was well-furred), then took a deep breath and vacuumed the foyer (again) and the rest of the stairs. Still have to clean off the sofa and the coffee table, but that pretty much involves putting all the magazines in a crate and sticking them in the bedroom. :-)

Twelfth Night

There's a bit of a controversy on which day Twelfth Night actually is. Some state that Christmas Day is the First Day of Christmas, and thus Twelfth Night is January 5, leaving Epiphany as its very own holiday. Other philosophies state that Christmas is its very own day, with the twelve days starting on St. Stephen's Day (Boxing Day), which makes Epiphany also Twelfth Night. I subscribe to the former philosophy.

I spent the day playing Christmas LP albums. In the morning I worked, and in the afternoon I started preparing the house for our Twelfth Night party on Saturday. This involves lots of vacuuming and cleaning of bathrooms, mostly, but today I washed all the floors upstairs as well as the foyer, plus cleaned off the cart in the kitchen and continued loading the dishwasher. The music was a great help and made me jollier than I was most of the Christmas season.

In medieval and Renaissance times, Twelfth Night was the night for games and feasting. Traditionally a cake was baked. Again, there are different thoughts on what goes into it. Originally it was a bean and a pea. The man who found the bean became the king of the revels and the woman who found the pea was the queen (how they assured a man found a bean and a woman a pea I'm not sure; perhaps there were two cakes). The French still celebrate with a "King Cake" on Twelfth Night.

Another idea has various (non-melting) fortune-telling charms which go into the cake. A ring means you will be married, a baby means you will have a child, a coin means you will have money, etc.

TWELFTH NIGHT: OR, KING AND QUEEN.
Robert Herrick

NOW, now the mirth comes
With the cake full of plums,
Where bean's the king of the sport here ;
Beside we must know,
The pea also
Must revel, as queen, in the court here.

Begin then to choose,
This night as ye use,
Who shall for the present delight here,
Be a king by the lot,
And who shall not
Be Twelfth-day queen for the night here.

Which known, let us make
Joy-sops with the cake ;
And let not a man then be seen here,
Who unurg'd will not drink
To the base from the brink
A health to the king and queen here.

Next crown a bowl full
With gentle lamb's wool :
Add sugar, nutmeg, and ginger,
With store of ale too ;
And thus ye must do
To make the wassail a swinger.

Give then to the king
And queen wassailing :
And though with ale ye be whet here,
Yet part from hence
As free from offence
As when ye innocent met here.

Not Raining but No Parade

New Year's Day mornings on Sundays are always odd.

It's been a tradition since its inception that the Tournament of Roses Parade is transferred to Monday, January 2, when the New Year is on a Sunday. So it seems a particularly empty morning for the first day of January.

We'd planned to go to the movies this afternoon, but we had coupons at BJs that would run out on Tuesday, and several of the coupons were for things we wanted for our Twelfth Night party. So we drove up to Woodstock while listening to "Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me," under a gradually lowering sky. (It rained while we were in BJs, but otherwise the predicted precipitation was a washout. [Yeah, that pun was intended.]) We stocked up on a few things (including some Q-Tips it turns out we didn't need) along with party supplies, then came home. We had a late lunch while watching a Shaun the Sheep DVD and then HGTV's RV Show 2012 (which was evidently filmed much earlier, as it was high summer in the Hershey, Pennsylvania, setting!). We also watched a Burt Wolf special about New Year's traditions—an unusual program, as you usually see specials at this time of year about Christmas traditions, but never about New Year.

I realized I hadn't watched one of my favorite Christmas stories this season, the Little House on the Prairie episode "Christmas at Plum Creek," so I put that on, followed by Rudolph's Shiny New Year. By then it was time for dinner. We had yummy pork roast with four-color rice on the side, and a pumpkin souffle for dessert. On the fly we decided to go to the movies anyhow...since we had free tickets, it didn't matter if we went to the matinee or more expensive evening performance. So we arrived in good time to get nice center seats for The Adventures of Tintin.

This yarn is pure roller coaster adventure. There's minimal character development and very little explanation, but super CGI and almost nonstop action from beginning to end. Tintin's little dog Snowy is both intelligent and super agile, but most of the time he just acts like a dog, providing several amusing scenes. There's no time to catch your breath until the last scene takes place (conveniently setting up a sequel) and while there's no real redeeming social value, it's also a brilliantly colored, seat-of-your-pants odyssey. Listen hard: there are several throwaway "adults only" jokes that will go completely over kids' heads.

Back home to relax. We discovered we have a necessary errand tomorrow: James has a headlight out. So we'll have to go to Wally World or an auto supply store to get a new one tomorrow.

Happy Sylvester!

In reading Joanna Bogle's A Book of Feasts and Seasons, she mentions being in Germany on New Year's Eve and hearing no mention of that term. Instead, they greeted each other with "Happy Sylvester!"

Sylvester was a Pope, and later became a Saint, and his Saint's day is December 31. Since I had a little budgie named Sylvester many years ago, I like the mention of the name.

James and I have both been a bit under the weather today: I was up during the night and he's had problems today. Nothing contagious, thankfully.

About noon we dragged ourselves out of the house, first to Goodwill to bring a box of donations, and then the library to do the same. The check-out area was filled with delightful old-fashioned decorations like paper chains of reindeer heads (embellished with glitter, the antlers excellently done) and snowflakes, and also red-and-green circle paper chains like you see in vintage photographs. There were also chenille snowflakes and three-dimensional paper ones. It was all very simple but pretty. So that got done (and, oh, yeah, later on I did get the new stickers on the car license plates—legal for 2012).

Then we went to the hobby shop for about an hour. I finished Christmas is Murder, a very lackluster mystery set in a British bread-and-breakfast, the chief sleuth being a Scottish barrister. Very flat characters.

We wished all a Happy New Year, then drove two miles to Eastlake Shopping Center to have a late lunch at the Panera Bread. I filled up on soup and a grilled cheese sandwich, and had an apple left over. They have an area near the front that is like a "snug," with upholstered chairs and a loveseat near a gas fireplace open on both sides, and we sat in front of the fire to eat. It was very warm out, in the low 60s, and I was glad the fire was turned down low!

I realized this morning we didn't have anything for New Year's dinner, so I suggested to James that we go in the nearby Kroger to find some ham. Well, since we were there anyway we did the weekend shopping and also scored: not only the beef vegetable soup James liked so well at the Johnson Ferry Kroger, but a pork roast! We find these only intermittently at the Whitlock Road Kroger and grab them when we can. Ham? Who needs a ham if you can have yummy pork roast? James bought black-eyed peas, of course, and I also got some cucumbers for a salad and some French bread.

I have football on the television this afternoon. I can't say I'm watching it, but I like the sound of football around New Year and on Thanksgiving. It reminds me of long-ago holidays when part of the afternoon's visiting might be tiptoeing upstairs in my Grandpa's house, a place where time had stopped: a fifties stove the newest thing in the kitchen, a scrupulously pressed checkered tablecloth seen year after year, a dining room with stately old furniture from the turn of the last century, and in the living room, which still had its aged, cigarette-smoke stained surface and light sconces that looked like candles, an uncle or two would be sitting watching a football game on an aged television in a wooden console. (Well, they said they were watching, anyway. Usually we would find them, heads tilted back on vintage antimacassars, sound asleep.) Or later the guys gathered around the television at my cousins Eileen and Buddy's house. Warm fuzzy memories making me want to follow the uncles' example. Heck, Schuyler is already asleep!

"...Fast Away the Old Year Passes..."

Goodness! How two weeks has flown by!

In the past two days I've been absorbing as much Christmas as possible, to armor myself against the constant horror of the coming summer. It's been cold and brisk, although a bit warmer today, alternately sunny and overcast. With Christmas music in the background, I've amused myself by listening to BBC radio—oh, such a blessing as the Internet to give me the gift of the BBC without having to buy a costly shortwave radio and listen to at odd hours and miss all the best things! They had a special featuring James Galway and his wife on BBC Radio Ulster, and all sorts of good things, like treats crammed into a stocking, better than all the Kardashians and rap singers and BieberGaga clones put together.

Today I have been watching Christmassy things saved to DVD: a Lassie episode, "The Little Christmas Tree"; Christmas: Behind the Traditions; The City Mouse and the Country Mouse, The Best of the Andy Williams Christmas Shows, The Little Match Girl with Keshia Knight-Pulliam, and now A Pops Holiday Special. I didn't even see a broadcast of this year's Boston Pops concert—was there one? (If there was, GPB and WPBA probably didn't pick it up in favor of showing the fourteen thousandth showing of Suze Orman and Wayne Dyer.

I've also been able to help James set up his new computer some. We've had some tough sledging against Windows 7's peculiarities. For instance, we loaded Eudora e-mail after copying his mailbox files and their tables of contents. By loading these old files and "toc" files into the Eudora folder, he would just pick up where he left off.

Except Win7 doesn't load the mailbox folders into the Eudora folder. Instead it creates them in a special user "roaming" folder...which is a hidden file. So first we had to find the folders, then find how to access the hidden files, while all the time Windows argued with James about that being an administrator job. You git, he is the administrator. Really, Microsoft's reasoning just gets stupider with each version.

Work has been slow, so I've also had the gift of James for the last two afternoons. He wasn't feeling well yesterday and contented himself with some chicken soup and working on the computer. Today he's figuring out how to get some music files off the old computer.

[Later: We had a twofer coupon for my birthday at Fresh2Order, so we went there for supper. I had the chicken vegetable; delicious and filling as always. We stopped briefly at MicroCenter to price some hardware, then took this year's drive through Life University for their annual "Lights of Life" display. Nearly all of their lights seem to have been replaced by LEDs; the effect is brilliant on particular characters, like the Santa-hat wearing dragon in the middle of the pond and "Santa's Flying School" (the reindeer climb a ramp and then parachute down), but the nativity and some of the Victorian figures really need a softer light. Perhaps they can make LEDs like that someday.]

Looking for Bargains on the Third Day of Christmas

Wish I could figure out what makes my phone turn on at night! It's a rude awakening indeed. Of course, I apparently missed the thunder.

When I got up it was still drippy and grey outside, but the rain was clearing away nicely, leaving a chill, cloudy day in the 40s with a brisk wind. I dubbed off a couple of Christmas specials (the new Prep & Landing, the Ice Age story, and The Real Story of Christmas), then got dressed and went out bargain hunting. Found a gift for next year at Barnes & Noble, then went to Bed, Bath & Beyond to use a couple of coupons about to run out. Got two very nice rolls of Christmas paper for a dollar each, plus some gift bags, and replaced something I had bought for James, then gave away; also some string, some Plinks, and a final Misto for the canola oil.

Next I hit Michaels. Bought another gift, a bag of bows, a winter basket, and all they had left of the small, square Christmas ornament cross-stitch kits (like the angel I made last month). I don't particularly like the designs, but the square frames are hard to find. I have books of small patterns (not even particularly Christmas patterns) that I can use with the frames, Aida cloth, and backing instead.

Then I went across the parking lot to Cost Plus World Market. I found Pumpkin Spice Scone mix for 50 cents each, and Peppermint Chocolate Chip Scone Mix for half price.

My last stop was Family Dollar, but just junk there.

The mail had run by the time I got home, and discovered two more Christmas cards, and yet another one returned! I am trying to record a few Christmas things off the BBC, but with James' old computer not accessible and the new one not properly set up yet, I am resorting to my own computer. I have no idea how these will sound, although the sound coming from the BBC is fine to listen to. Not only are there drop-outs in the recording sometimes, but when I play them back, the sound always sounds funny...at least the music. It appears to be muffled sometimes, and even drags like the batteries are running out on a cassette player. Can't imagine why.

A Late Gift for Boxing Day

James had today off, half of which we wasted by sleeping late. (We're just storing up sleep for the next day we have to work. ) Then we went over to MicroCenter. James has been toying with the idea of a new computer, and we had looked at some after Thanksgiving. He is rapidly running out of room on his hard drive, even though we have cleaned it off numerous times. The computer is also very slow, and he hopes, if he needs to have surgery on his foot (that has yet to be determined), that he could work here at home. Unfortunately, when we went back a couple of weeks later, the two we looked at were gone.

Today all the units they had were more expensive than those we had looked at, but the salesman told us about a sale on a Gateway: James could get a Windows 7 professional upgrade, a graphics card, and 6GB of memory with this particular computer and have it come out less than the least expensive one we looked at. But he hadn't wanted to spend quite that much. So we got the clerk's card and went on to Fry's, which was having a one-day sale. But all their desktops were much more expensive.

So we left Fry's and made a brief stop at a nearby Hallmark store to see what they had at 40 percent off. I bought hooks and adapters, and a pretty little angel with birds figurine, some Hanukkah cards, and a roll of wrapping paper. We also stopped at Trader Joe's for sausage, chicken salad, and sandwich meats. I was bad and bought some popcorn. I'll have to eat it sparingly as it makes me ill.

Then we stopped back at MicroCenter and bought the computer. James has been setting it up ever since. He first put in the graphics card and memory, then upgraded to Win7 Professional and loaded Firefox. We had to get Win7Pro because this is a 64-bit machine and we needed an emulator to run our 32-bit programs. So we didn't watch the Christmas Doctor Who tonight, but a couple of Feasts and Seasons, the special Italian Christmas, and two episodes of Lassie.

Santa Rings His Christmas Bells

The House Without a Christmas Tree ended just after midnight. By then I was about to burst.

You see, I had wangled a special gift for James. When the Nook Color readers came out, there was particular interest from the Android community because the units can be hacked. (The salespeople in Barnes & Noble will even talk about it right out.) You could either root the unit itself to turn it into an Android tablet, or get a bootable miniSD card which would start the unit as a tablet. A friend of ours' brother-in-law had chosen the latter option, and we were rather intrigued, one of the reasons we bought a Nook in the first place, but we hadn't done anything about it.

Since the Nook tablet came out, we have been both casting covetous looks at it, but it's a totally unnecessary expense. So I went back to e-Bay and hunted around for people selling miniSD Android boot cards. One person had a flawless rating and his prices were very reasonable (he didn't charge much more for a formatted card than the card costs by itself). So I ordered two, and they finally came on Tuesday. I wanted to try mine out that afternoon, but James came home early, and then he was off on Wednesday. So I didn't get to try out the gadget until Thursday, but the directions were very clear and I got everything up and working within an hour, and I even tested it out on Friday going out to Panera Bread. By then I was reduced to giggling to myself and tossing out veiled references on Facebook, including an obscure post about sampling some gingerbread (the operating system on the card is referred to as "Gingerbread," as the Android developers name their different versions after desserts—we have "Froyo" [frozen yogurt] on our phones and the newest tablet software is "Honeycomb," to be followed by "Ice Cream Sandwich").

So once it was after midnight, we had gifts. James got through his in turn: a wireless mouse with some shortbread, a book 50 Battles That Changed the World, a new cover for his Nook, the Flying Wild Alaska DVD set, and the Blu-Ray of World War II in HD, and finally the card, which was taped to the back of a Scottish door sign.

(I had a lovely group of gifts from him as well: the Scrabble "Book Lovers" edition, a Rick Steves gift set of Blu-Ray of European Christmas and the companion book and CD, plus a "Travel Tips" DVD, a compass, and a microfiber travel towel, Ken Jennings' book Maphead (about geography geeks), the newest Revels Christmas CD, and a nostalgia book called Christmas Wishes, crammed with old advertising and other Christmas media.)

Well, we ended up being up until three a.m. because James ran into a minor snag. Oh, the card worked for him perfectly, but to have access to the Android market he needs to sign into the tablet operating system with his Google I.D. that was set up for the cell phones. Except he hasn't used the Google account since we bought the phones two years ago, so he has no idea what the password is, even though he has several convoluted ones he usually uses and he tried them all. We finally asked Google to help us, and they have an even more convoluted password retrieval system. James had to fill out a long form, and this morning they asked for 30 cents to confirm that the request was coming from a real person who wasn't being frivolous. [eyes roll]

So I ended up only getting about six hours sleep, which included waking up being cold because my fan was on medium instead of being on low, and the fleece over the comforter had slipped off. So my eyes have been rather sore today. I was up at 9:40, and walked the dog out in the pouring rain—last year we had snow, this year it was cold rain, hardly a fair trade, but at least it wasn't warm! James didn't get up until eleven, and then I went out to get a newspaper, and later he made more brownies for Christmas dinner as well as a corn pudding. Eventually I had to take some ibuprofin and give my head a rest before we got dressed, gathered the food and the gifts, and headed out to the Butlers' house about 3:30.

It was a nice little gathering: us, the Lucyshyns at the last minute, as Alex had emergency surgery last week, Charles, the Kiernans, the Boroses, and all four Butlers plus Colin's college friend Jessica. All the food was yummy: a ham, some turkey breast and a pot roast, two kinds of potatoes, sweet potato souffle, rolls and biscuits, stuffing, and the corn pudding, plus three pies, the brownies, a cake, and some mint fudge for dessert. When we'd eaten our fill we had gifts: I got a pretty mug filled with chocolates and the animal book Unlikely Friendships and James got Tom Clancy's new book and a book about war dogs. A very nice day with friends which ended about nine, when we headed home to give Willow a walk and then watch A Christmas Story and "The Best Christmas" episode of The Waltons. Willow got a special treat, too, her very first taste of the dog ice cream "Frosty Paws."

Over the River and Through the Woods

We did go to Grandmother's house (well, Schuyler and Willow's grandmother), but our sleigh looked more like a PT Cruiser. Felt like it, too. :-)

We were up at nine, James walked Willow, we packed up the desserts we were taking, I gave Schuyler some millet and Willow some cookies to find. Ordinarily we take the truck down to Warner Robins, but since we had a big box of gifts we didn't want them rattling in the bed of the truck, even if we covered it up with a trash bag. So the gifts went into the back, the desserts in the back seat, and off we went, listening to Christmas carols via my Droid.

Traffic was light except for a mystery jam just north of the I-475 cutoff. We arrived about 12:15 and went out to eat at Olive Garden a few minutes later. There was James' mom, his sister Candy, her daughter Nicki down from New Jersey for the holiday, his youngest sister Sabra, and her fella Lee. We had a great lunch, with a very overworked waiter, and then returned to the house to talk more, open gifts, have the dessert we brought with us (two pies and some Mexican brownies), watch the football games (since apparently the network changed horses in the middle of a stream), and chuckle over the dogs, except for poor Trouble, whose rear legs are now badly askew from arthritis. And he's a few months younger than Willow.

We left just about sunset. I had downloaded a Christmas episode of "The Splendid Table" and of "Travel With Rick Steves," and we listened to those on the way home. We were both tired by then, and it was a long, dark drive with not a ton of traffic, but more than we expected, but thankfully uneventful. Unfortunately it wasn't uneventful for someone headed southbound just as I-85 joined the downtown connector; there was an accident there that blocked the entire six lanes. I hope no one was seriously hurt.

We came home and had something to eat (soup in my case, sandwich in James'), gathered the critters around us, and watched Mercy Mission with Scott Bakula and Robert Loggia. The film, about the pilot of a small plane lost over the Pacific and helped by the captain and crew of an Air New Zealand flight, takes place on Christmas Eve and we usually watch it before Christmas. Now I am enjoying one of my two favorite Christmas movies, The House Without a Christmas Tree. I love this story—if not the DVD release (they tried to ramp up the color and there are faint reddish streaks over many of the scenes). It all seems so real, and the background reminds me of relatives' homes from my childhood. I do notice one anachronism, though: the drugstore Christmas tree has miniature bulbs, which weren't introduced into the US until the 1950s and this takes place in 1946. (I do like the way they subtly indicate that Gloria Cott is a "poor kid," in three days of school scenes, Addie and her classmates have three changes of clothing, and Gloria wears the same outfit all three days.)