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Category Archives: Uncategorized
Ben Franklin’s Resolutions
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George Washington’s Resolutions
When I think of resolutions my English major mind turns to two examples from American literature, George Washington’s 110 Rules of Civility & Decent Behavior in Company and Conversation and Ben Franklin’s List of Virtues to Live By. If you’re interested in Washington’s 110 Rules (and who wouldn’t be?) you can read the whole list at http://www.foundationsmag.com/civility.html. I’ll deal with Franklin’s in another post. By the time I get to my own resolutions the year will be over.
By age sixteen, Washington had copied out by hand, 110 Rules of Civility & Decent Behavior in Company and Conversation. They are based on a set of rules composed by French Jesuits in 1595. Presumably they were copied out as part of an exercise in penmanship assigned by young Washington’s schoolmaster. The first English translation of the French rules appeared in 1640. I picked out a few that interested me to publish here:
#2 When in Company, put not your Hands to any Part of the Body, not usually Discovered. I’m sure my daughter Amy, the fourth grade teacher, has a more modern and direct way to say this to her students. I’ll check and get back to you on how she handles this.
#6: Sleep not when others Speak, Sit not when others stand, Speak not when you Should hold your Peace, walk not on when others Stop. The best compliment I ever got was from a teaching colleague. One day she said, “I’ve noticed that whenever someone talks to you, you stop and listen.” I don’t always do that but I thought that an awfully nice thing to say about a behavior I wasn’t aware of. I suppose I must think it polite.
# 13: Kill no Vermin as Fleas, lice ticks &c in the Sight of Others, if you See any filth or thick Spittle put your foot Dexterously upon it if it be upon the Cloths of your Companions, Put it off privately, and if it be upon your own Cloths return Thanks to him who puts it off. Who wants to live in the eighteenth century? Raise your hand! Anyone? Anyone?
#24 Do not laugh too loud or too much at any Public Spectacle. So let me get this straight. Some guy slips on a banana peel on the sidewalk in front of me and I’m not supposed to “laugh too loud or too much?” I don’t think so…
#37 In speaking to men of Quality do not lean nor Look them full in the Face, nor approach too near them at lest Keep a full Pace from them. you know, all I have to do is make a quick visit to the Quality Store and I won’t have this pesky problem of my social inferiors getting in my face or standing too close. I hate it when that happens…
#38 In visiting the Sick, do not Presently play the Physician if you be not Knowing therein. You know, the AMA doesn’t dig that, either…
#53: Run not in the Streets, neither go too slowly nor with Mouth open go not Shaking your Arms kick not the earth with R feet, go not upon the Toes, nor in a Dancing fashion. You know, he has described exactly how I like to roll, and I’ll be darned if I’m going to let Geo. Washington spoil my fun!
#56: Associate yourself with Men of good Quality if you Esteem your own Reputation; for ‘is better to be alone than in bad Company. Now this is some good advice. (Just expand it to “Men and Women” and you’ll have it.) Kids, are you listening?
#57: In walking up and Down in a House, only with One in Company if he be Greater than yourself, at the first give him the Right hand and Stop not till he does and be not the first that turns, and when you do turn let it be with your face towards him, if he be a Man of Great Quality, walk not with him Cheek by Joul but Somewhat behind him; but yet in Such a Manner that he may easily Speak to you. And I thought social conventions are complicated these days!
#95: Put not your meat to your Mouth with your Knife in your hand neither Spit forth the Stones of any fruit Pie upon a Dish nor Cast anything under the table. OK, I’ll try to do better.
#100: Cleanse not your teeth with the table cloth napkin, fork, or knife; but if others do it, let it be done without a peep to them. You heard the man: no peeping at the table.
#110: Labor to keep alive in your breast that little spark of celestial fire called conscience. You know,G.W. knew what he was talking about.
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Death Be Not Proud
It seems that we have been going through a season of deaths and serious illnesses among people we know, some sudden and unexpected, some expected but deeply felt nonetheless. This blog is for Stewart and Scott and Steve and Emily’s dad who either passed away recently or are at death’s door and for their families and loved ones. Becky and I pray for peace, feeling the love and support of family and friends and hope and healing for all those who suffer this pain.
At the same time, there have been joys, healings and fortuitous events among people we know. Our young friend Matt returned home from his second tour of Afghanistan this past week. His wife is expecting their first child. We rejoice with those who have had births in their family and with those who are anticipating such a happy event. There have been miraculous healings and other answers to prayers.
So, for those who grieve and for those who suffer, this poem by John Donne from the seventeenth century. This sonnet is very dense, but Biscuit City readers are intelligent as well as good-looking so I know you will appreciate Dr. Donne’s effort:
Death Be Not Proud
DEATH be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not so,
For, those, whom thou think’st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee,
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,
Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,
And better then thy stroake; why swell’st thou then;
One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.
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A Small Reflection
The New Year is of course a time to look forward, to think about the possibilities of the year to come, and to wish our fellow travelers on this journey we share health, happiness and prosperity in the coming twelve months.
The turning of the year is also a time to look back, to reflect on what has gone before and to remember. Many people find themselves at least reflective at this time of year as they look backward, and some find themselves melancholy or wistful as they think of those who are no longer with us. The absence of loved ones whether they are removed by distance or broken relationships or by death is deeply felt as families contemplate empty seats at the holiday table.
I was thinking about all this late yesterday afternoon while I was raking up another batch of holly prunings from the Great Pruning Event of 2011at my house, and putting them into trash cans for curbside yard waste pickup courtesy of our tax dollars and the City of Manassas. As I was putting the clippings in the cans, it started raining. The temperature was about 60 degrees on the first day of the year, so I kept working.
I was instantly reminded that my mother used to garden in the rain, and I had to smile. I would see her in the garden, hopping between rows, bent over pulling weeds out and flinging them into the air, getting soaked to the skin in the warm August air. “Gardening in the rain is the way to do it,” she would exclaim. I told her she was crazy. We were close like that.
I figured out later that the weeds were easier to pull from the wet soil, plants that were put in received a good drink of water, and the rain cooled the hot humid summer air. So there was a method to her madness after all.
She always said, “I thought you would be my gardener,” and there was some disappointment in her voice. I generally shrugged and said I wasn’t very good at growing things. I didn’t have the interest or the patience and my parents and Becky’s provided us with all the vegetables, flowers, roses, shrubs and other plants we ever needed.
I tried to grow some plants, but most died like my Japanese maple tree that I nurtured for ten years to a height of about eighteen inches. It burned up in the heat this past summer. I was hoping it would grow to about four feet and have fiery red leaves in the fall. It won’t ever do that.
I have thought of my mother more this holiday season than I have for the four-plus years since she died. I know it’s not unusual to think of those who have passed on at Christmas, but for some reason the holidays came and went in earlier years and I wasn’t bothered that much. This year I have thought of her often and remember her well, all the things she said (like “This too shall pass” when I wanted to do something particularly stupid in my teens) and all we did. We were very close, and I miss her badly.
She has been gone, as I have said, for just over four years, but in reality she started fading into Alzheimer’s about 2001. One of the last coherent conversations I had with her was when she called me to tell me that my brother the airline pilot was safe on the ground in Chicago after the 9/11 attacks. So she started leaving us about ten years ago. Maybe that’s why her absence struck me particularly hard this year.
I was recalling others that we know who lost a parent or loved one around Christmas time. The month of December 2002 was a particularly hard one for several people in our church. Tom Harris, a prince of a fellow and not that old, died the week before Christmas of complications from surgery. Onie Libeau’s mother Margarite (nicknamed “Jimmy” by her father because he wanted a boy and she was the third of five girls) passed at age 94 at Lakewood Manor near Richmond. Becky and I went to that service, but we had to split up when Tom’s service fell at the same time as the funeral for Kathi Crowder’s mother in Falls Church. Becky played for Tom’s and I went to represent the church and our family at Kathi’s mom’s service.
Kathi read a poem at her mom’s service that has stayed with me called “I’m Spending Christmas with Jesus this Year.”
I see the countless Christmas trees
Around the world below,
With tiny lights like heaven’s stars
Reflecting in the snow.
Around the world below,
With tiny lights like heaven’s stars
Reflecting in the snow.
The sight is so spectacular
Please wipe away that tear
For I’m spending Christmas
With Jesus Christ this year.
Please wipe away that tear
For I’m spending Christmas
With Jesus Christ this year.
I hear the many Christmas songs
That people hold so dear
But earthly music can’t compare
With the Christmas choir up here.
That people hold so dear
But earthly music can’t compare
With the Christmas choir up here.
I have no words to tell you
The joy their voices bring
For it’s beyond description
To hear the angels sing.
The joy their voices bring
For it’s beyond description
To hear the angels sing.
I know how much you miss me,
Trust God and have no fear
For I’m spending Christmas
With Jesus Christ this year.
Trust God and have no fear
For I’m spending Christmas
With Jesus Christ this year.
I can’t tell you of the splendor
Or the peace here in this place.
Can you imagine Christmas
With our Savior, face to face?
Or the peace here in this place.
Can you imagine Christmas
With our Savior, face to face?
May God uplift your spirit
As I tell Him of your love
Then pray for one another
As you lift your eyes above.
Then pray for one another
As you lift your eyes above.
So let your hearts be joyful
And let your spirits sing
For I’m spending Christmas in Heaven
And I’m walking with the king!
And let your spirits sing
For I’m spending Christmas in Heaven
And I’m walking with the king!
Of course, all three services were for believers. Paul wrote in 1 Thessalonians 4:13 so long ago, “Brothers, we do not want you to be ignorant about those who fall asleep, or to grieve like the rest of men, who have no hope.” We have that great hope in the Resurrection and so the sting and separation of death is lessened. Kathi said her dad wanted to celebrate Christmas that year and they did, in the valley of the shadow. She said they laughed and they cried, but were sustained by faith and hope.
I suspect I have been going through a rough patch this year about my mom, possibly because I went through much of her and my dad’s household effects when he moved into assisted living this fall. There were so many associations of the items with our past as a family, and so many utensils and dishes that she used and household items she had picked out to give us a comfortable home. Going through them and either giving them away or throwing away what no one could use took its toll on me, but I was lifted by two discoveries in among all the possessions.
One was contained in a train case that was part of a pristine Lady Baltimore luggage set that I didn’t even know she had. It was stored in the attic of the house my dad still owns. In the case was a clipping from the high school newspaper I worked on junior and senior years. She had saved the part of the paper that had an article about my participation as an “It’s Academic” team alternate and on the reverse side, a silly editorial I wrote about Santa visiting my high school. I took this clipping as her way of still encouraging me, as she always did but this time from beyond the grave, and urging me to continue writing, some 48 years after the paper was published.
The second item I discovered was in the last box I went through, located in a shed. The box contained mostly dishes, and it had been stacked on some other boxes. When the earthquake struck this past August, the box fell and shattered the dishes in it. I contemplated just tossing the whole box away, but something, almost an audible voice, told me I should go through it. I did and found at the bottom an elegant tiny silver egg cup that looks like nothing more than a chalice. I imagine it as a small replica of the Holy Grail.
I have that egg cup on the shelf above the computer where I sit writing this piece. It is a link to a good woman, a master gardener, and a mother and wife who loved us all and found a way to tell us that she is all right, tending the gardens of Paradise, and that we will be reunited with her some day. This, I believe, is part of the message and hope of Christmas and of New Year’s as we move into an unknown future sustained by hope, girded by courage, comforted by love, and bathed in the peace that passes understanding.
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Resolutions
I know, it’s a little late to be writing about resolutions for the new year. Some people have already made their resolutions and given up on them but I’ve been thinking about them nonetheless. I go back and forth about having resolutions since, like so many other people, they get lost in the shuffle, But I think I have some attainables this year. (Attainables? Where did that word come from? It sounds like “Lunchables,” those horrid ersatz food packs for kids. Ugh.)
One of my favorite recent movies is As Good as It Gets in which Jack Nicholson plays Melvin Udall, a brilliant misanthropic writer who, as Becky would say, never has an unuttered thought. He delivers some breathtakingly awful observations and comments (this is not a film to watch with your family–sorry, kids, adults only) and seems set in his racist, misogynist, homophobic (and whatever other pejorative adjectives you got) ways until he meets Carol Connelley (played to the vulnerable hilt by Helen Hunt), a single mother who is a waitress. In an incredibly awkward scene, he has taken her to dinner and she is sitting there terrified of what he will say next. He tells her he has a compliment for her, something about taking his pills, and she does not understand how that is a compliment. He thinks some more and finally tells her, “You make me want to be a better man.”
I think this is one of the great lines from the movies, and I was thinking of it in regard to an episode that happened to me long ago and far away. I was in fourth grade, and we were privileged to have as our teacher, Mrs. M., a kindly lady who played piano beautifully and sang like an angel. We learned so much music from her. Mrs. M. had contracted polio as a child and walked with a crutch. We were soliticious of her, remarkably so for fourth graders, who my daughter Amy assures me after over a decade in the classroom with them, are not always sensitive and caring. We carried books for her and guarded her as she went up and down the steps in those pre-ADA days. I think I’ve written that when she had to have an operation related to her condition in October of that year, the whole class cried all day. When she came back, the class spontaneously invented the group hug. We were so happy to see her.
When we came back from Christmas vacation, which I remember as lasting about two weeks, although a child’s sense of time is not always accurate, Mrs. M. asked each of us to write down one resolution for the year. She would keep them and let us have them at the end of the year so we could see what progress we had made.
I thought long and hard as I thought about my resolution, chewing the barrel of my well-chewed pencil as I pondered what would make a good attainable resolution and yet still impress the class and Mrs. M. Be kinder to my brother? Nah, there were some things not worth giving up. Obey my parents cheerfully? The “cheerful” part was the rub. “Be a kinder gentler person?” Sounded political somehow.
I finally decided to drop back a level in abstraction and wrote, “My resolution for 1957 is to be a better person.” I thought that I was such a good person to begin with and so this was an exceptionally attainable goal with little to no work required on my part. Mrs. M. would be impressed with it and it would also be guaranteed to win the approval of my classmates. It was a classic win-win-win situation.
Mrs. M. collected our resolutions and then read them one by one to the class. We were used to her reading our writings to the class or having us read them. She was always gentle and encouraging about our writing.
Most of my classmates’ resolutions were what I considered lame: “I want to do better in math,” “I want to remember my lunch money more often,” and “I want to have fewer nose bleeds.” At each of these Mrs. M. looked at the author, smiled and said something like, “I just know you will reach your goal.” Then she got to me. I remember what she said, word for word to this day:
“Danny (this is my given name and one I went by until I went to college. It’s a long story how I was called that for another time), I see that your resolution is to be a better person. I’m sure that if you work very hard at that you can improve yourself in a few areas.”
I sat there, stunned. She did not say, “Danny, you’re such a wonderful person that you’ve already achieved this goal. I give it an “A,” and you may have the rest of the day off.” In my imaginings my classmates cheered and stomped their feet and then took me on their shoulders and carried me around the room.
Instead they laughed. For some reason they found the idea that I could improve myself humorous. My cheeks burned with embarassment as I understood how follish I had been to imagine that I couldn’t be improved on. Mercifully, it was then time for recess and we all went outside. My buddies and I played some basketball but occasionally one of them would look at me and grin. What could I say? I deserved it.
I don’t blame Mrs. M. or my classmates for this episode. It was all my own doing. And maybe that’s why for a long time I didn’t make New Year’s resolutions.
I’ll do another post next week about my resolutions for next year. Recalling this has been exhausting, and I’m going to go lie down for a while.
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Christmas Concert Review
The following is a review by Woodbridge writer Nancy Kyme of the Manassas Chorale’s “Tidings of Joy” Christmas Concert presented at 5 PM on December 17, 2011 . Nancy attended the concert with her husband John. I’m publishing it here because the local media haven’t, and so I have appointed Biscuit City as a local medium.
Nancy wrote,
Congratulations to the Manassas Chorale on their two successful Christmas concerts this past Saturday afternoon and evening. The group put on an amazing display of talent and dedication, producing beautiful music throughout for the appreciative audience. The arrangements were unique and enchanting, producing the best Christmas music I have heard in years. (Artistic Director) Becky Verner is a real Prince William treasure.
All the songs were marvelous, especially the twelve brilliant mini-concerts making up “A Musicological Journey through the Twelve Days of Christmas.” I love Vivaldi, Strauss, Wagner, and they were all there. The early chants were rich, and the historical perspective provided by the piece satisfying. My mind was swept along through each genre and evoked venue, supplying images of all the European places I’ve toured from monasteries to cathedrals and medieval courts, to elaborate castles like Versailles. Music is usually the missing element when touring such historical places. I believe laughter bubbled out of the listeners during the song as they realized such complex beauty was enhancing the tired Christmas equivalent of “Hundred Bottles of Beer on the Wall”. Such a creative dichotomy!
“Silent Night” at the end was especially beautiful. I had my eyes closed to savor it and so, the bells were a pleasant surprise.
I could go on and on, but suffice it to say for the two full hours, I had a smile on my face. From our cat bird seat we could see the entire audience was equally entranced by these superb performances.
Bravo to the Manassas Chorale, to its director Becky Verner, the accompanist Jon Laird and all the members of the orchestra! Thank you for an early Christmas present to all of us!
Nancy Kyme is the author of Memory Lake: The Forever Friendships of Summer available locally and also on Amazon.com ( http://www.amazon.com/Memory-Lake-Forever-Friendships-Summer/dp/1936467054/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1325673381&sr=8-1)
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Nicknames, Pen Names, and Mental Names
I love language and all the tricks that it can be taught. I particularly enjoy nicknames that people go by. I’m not talking about the ugly hurtful schoolyard nicknames that kids used to give each other like Fatty and Stupid. I hope those days are far behind us, although from all accounts they’re not and that’s a shame. Bullying hurts and bullying can kill.
I’m thinking more of the affectionate nicknames given by friends to each other. My favorite example is my nickname given to me by our former pastor Jim Vaught, minister and counselor extraordinaire. He hadn’t known me long when he started calling me “Lt. Dan” after the Gary Sinise character in Forrest Gump. Lt. Dan was Forrest’s immediate superior and while Gump infuriated him, that was all right because everything infuriated Lt. Dan. With his anger and his foul mouth he’s not exactly everybody’s role model, although he does come to terms with his life and losses by the end of the story. So, I enjoy being called “Lt. Dan” although I never got close to the military, which was a good thing for both me and for the military. I even have a baseball cap with ”Lt. Dan” on it and I’ve gotten some good comments from that. My brother was a second lieutenant in the army, but he was Lt. Ron.
A few months back I felt the need for a pen name since I had become persona non grata with the publication I used to write for, so in order to place some news stories about the Manassas Chorale, Becky suggested using the formal form of my first name, “Daniel” (which is not my legal name—it’s a long story and not a very good one so I’ll skip it) and my middle name, “Harrison.” I used it on the news stories this past year, but everything that was published was listed as “Gathered from staff reports.” Not that I care, and in fact, I have been casting around for a more obscure pen name and have come up with “Harrison Bergeron,” which is the title (and title character’s name) of a Kurt Vonnegut short story. So watch for Harrison in a publication near you.
The funniest pen name I have seen, though, belongs to Nancy Kyme, a local novelist (whose first book, Memory Lake, is incredible and eminently worth reading) who goes by Molly Bolt. I just about fall over laughing when I think about this pen name because noms de plume are generally pretentious and euphonious, like Walter Scott or Mark Twain or George Orwell or George Eliot. My novelist friend, however, has chosen a name that is a piece of hardware. It’s a joke I find hilarious.
I also assign people what I call “mental names,” which are ways of describing their character and behavior, generally in not very flattering ways. There was a teacher I worked with who consistently made inappropriate comments to the young women on the faculty. I witnessed a few of these charming encounters and a couple of times asked the women why they didn’t just slug him and get it over with. They shrugged their shoulders and said something like that was what you had to expect sometimes. They didn’t want to go so far as to file a harassment lawsuit, and because they were sharp young women who could dish it back as well as Mr. Turkeyhead could give it out, it was fun to watch them squelch Mr. Big Stuff. He said something to a nice young English teacher one morning when we were on locker duty before school. She gave him a look that could blister paint and said, “Charming.” I would have burst into tears had she said that to me, but he barely slowed down.
I like to think that I might have helped tamp him down a bit, and that was with a mental name that escaped. I called this guy “Smooth Operator” after the O’Jays’ song because he was anything but. Anyhow, I was standing in the locker area one morning talking with one of the lady teachers when Smooth Operator heaved over the horizon. Because Heather had her back to him, I whispered, “Smooth Operator alert.” She knew immediately who I was referring to and dissolved into laughter. She didn’t have to say anything back to S.O. that day because it’s hard to harass someone who is doubled over with laughter. And she spread the name around. I think it got back to our obnoxious friend. He stopped saying inappropriate things and even stopped walking through the locker areas at class change. The word was in that case mightier than the jerk.
So you might try giving yourself a nick name or a pen name or a mental name or ask someone to do it for you. Have some fun with it—reserve tables at restaurants in your pen name or use it for air travel…oh, wait, maybe not. “Harrison Bergeron” is taken, as is “Molly Bolt,” although I bet “Extension Ladder” and “Socket Wrench” are still available. Just go wild and see what happens.
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A Small Reflection
The New Year is of course a time to look forward, to think about the possibilities of the year to come, and to wish our fellow travelers on this journey we share health, happiness and prosperity in the coming twelve months.
The turning of the year is also a time to look back, to reflect on what has gone before and to remember. Many people find themselves at least reflective at this time of year as they look backward, and some find themselves melancholy or wistful as they think of those who are no longer with us. The absence of loved ones whether they are removed by distance or broken relationships or by death is deeply felt as families contemplate empty seats at the holiday table.
I was thinking about all this late yesterday afternoon while I was raking up another batch of holly prunings from the Great Pruning Event of 2011at my house, and putting them into trash cans for curbside yard waste pickup courtesy of our tax dollars and the City of Manassas. As I was putting the clippings in the cans, it started raining. The temperature was about 60 degrees on the first day of the year, so I kept working.
I was instantly reminded that my mother used to garden in the rain, and I had to smile. I would see her in the garden, hopping between rows, bent over pulling weeds out and flinging them into the air, getting soaked to the skin in the warm August air. “Gardening in the rain is the way to do it,” she would exclaim. I told her she was crazy. We were close like that.
I figured out later that the weeds were easier to pull from the wet soil, plants that were put in received a good drink of water, and the rain cooled the hot humid summer air. So there was a method to her madness after all.
She always said, “I thought you would be my gardener,” and there was some disappointment in her voice. I generally shrugged and said I wasn’t very good at growing things. I didn’t have the interest or the patience and my parents and Becky’s provided us with all the vegetables, flowers, roses, shrubs and other plants we ever needed.
I tried to grow some plants, but most died like my Japanese maple tree that I nurtured for ten years to a height of about eighteen inches. It burned up in the heat this past summer. I was hoping it would grow to about four feet and have fiery red leaves in the fall. It won’t ever do that.
I have thought of my mother more this holiday season than I have for the four-plus years since she died. I know it’s not unusual to think of those who have passed on at Christmas, but for some reason the holidays came and went in earlier years and I wasn’t bothered that much. This year I have thought of her often and remember her well, all the things she said (like “This too shall pass” when I wanted to do something particularly stupid in my teens) and all we did. We were very close, and I miss her badly.
She has been gone, as I have said, for just over four years, but in reality she started fading into Alzheimer’s about 2001. One of the last coherent conversations I had with her was when she called me to tell me that my brother the airline pilot was safe on the ground in Chicago after the 9/11 attacks. So she started leaving us about ten years ago. Maybe that’s why her absence struck me particularly hard this year.
I was recalling others that we know who lost a parent or loved one around Christmas time. The month of December 2002 was a particularly hard one for several people in our church. Tom Harris, a prince of a fellow and not that old, died on Christmas Day of complications from surgery. Onie Libeau’s mother Margarite (nicknamed “Jimmy” by her father because he wanted a boy and she was the third of five girls) passed at age 94 at Lakewood Manor near Richmond. Becky and I went to that service, but we had to split up when Tom’s service fell at the same time as the funeral for Kathi Crowder’s mother in Falls Church. Becky played for Tom’s and I went to represent the church and our family at Kathi’s mom’s service.
Kathi read a poem at her mom’s service that has stayed with me called “I’m Spending Christmas with Jesus this Year.”
I see the countless Christmas trees
Around the world below,
With tiny lights like heaven’s stars
Reflecting in the snow.
Around the world below,
With tiny lights like heaven’s stars
Reflecting in the snow.
The sight is so spectacular
Please wipe away that tear
For I’m spending Christmas
With Jesus Christ this year.
Please wipe away that tear
For I’m spending Christmas
With Jesus Christ this year.
I hear the many Christmas songs
That people hold so dear
But earthly music can’t compare
With the Christmas choir up here.
That people hold so dear
But earthly music can’t compare
With the Christmas choir up here.
I have no words to tell you
The joy their voices bring
For it’s beyond description
To hear the angels sing.
The joy their voices bring
For it’s beyond description
To hear the angels sing.
I know how much you miss me,
Trust God and have no fear
For I’m spending Christmas
With Jesus Christ this year.
Trust God and have no fear
For I’m spending Christmas
With Jesus Christ this year.
I can’t tell you of the splendor
Or the peace here in this place.
Can you imagine Christmas
With our Savior, face to face?
Or the peace here in this place.
Can you imagine Christmas
With our Savior, face to face?
May God uplift your spirit
As I tell Him of your love
Then pray for one another
As you lift your eyes above.
Then pray for one another
As you lift your eyes above.
So let your hearts be joyful
And let your spirits sing
For I’m spending Christmas in Heaven
And I’m walking with the king!
And let your spirits sing
For I’m spending Christmas in Heaven
And I’m walking with the king!
Of course, all three services were for believers. Paul wrote in 1 Thessalonians 4:13 so long ago, “Brothers, we do not want you to be ignorant about those who fall asleep, or to grieve like the rest of men, who have no hope.” We have that great hope in the Resurrection and so the sting and separation of death is lessened. Kathi said her dad wanted to celebrate Christmas that year and they did, in the valley of the shadow. She said they laughed and they cried, but were sustained by faith and hope.
I suspect I have been going through a rough patch this year about my mom, possibly because I went through much of her and my dad’s household effects when he moved into assisted living this fall. There were so many associations of the items with our past as a family, and so many utensils and dishes that she used and household items she had picked out to give us a comfortable home. Going through them and either giving them away or throwing away what no one could use took its toll on me, but I was lifted by two discoveries in among all the possessions.
One was contained in a train case that was part of a pristine Lady Baltimore luggage set that I didn’t even know she had. It was stored in the attic of the house my dad still owns. In the case was a clipping from the high school newspaper I worked on junior and senior years. She had saved the part of the paper that had an article about my participation as an “It’s Academic” team alternate and on the reverse side, a silly editorial I wrote about Santa visiting my high school. I took this clipping as her way of still encouraging me, as she always did but this time from beyond the grave, and urging me to continue writing, some 48 years after the paper was published.
The second item I discovered was in the last box I went through, located in a shed. The box contained mostly dishes, and it had been stacked on some other boxes. When the earthquake struck this past August, the box fell and shattered the dishes in it. I contemplated just tossing the whole box away, but something, almost an audible voice, told me I should go through it. I did and found at the bottom an elegant tiny silver egg cup that looks like nothing more than a chalice. I imagine it as a small replica of the Holy Grail.
I have that egg cup on the shelf above the computer where I sit writing this piece. It is a link to a good woman, a master gardener, and a mother and wife who loved us all and found a way to tell us that she is all right, tending the gardens of Paradise, and that we will be reunited with her some day. This, I believe, is part of the message and hope of Christmas and of New Year’s as we move into an unknown future sustained by hope, girded by courage, comforted by love, and bathed in the peace that passes understanding.
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Some Words and a Poem for the Next to Last Day of the Year
- One of my favorite old school poets is Alfred, Lord Tennyson, who had a cool name and wrote some serious verse. Tennyson was Poet Laureate during Queen Victoria’s reign in England and wrote such poems as “The Lady of Shalott,” “Ulysses,” the magnum opus In Memoriam A.H.H. (written for his sister’s fiancé who died at the age of 22,) “The Charge of the Light Brigade,” Idylls of the King, and “Crossing the Bar,” a favorite of my mother’s which we had read at her funeral. Unfortunately, Tennyson is quite out of fashion among academics so I never studied him in my coursework. I could have taken a class in Victorian verse but at my tender age didn’t have the appreciation for that period in literature that I do now. So I skipped from the Romantics to the Realists, as did most of my compères. (I know, we were a cheeky lot.) And so, here’s to you, Alfred and all your mad verse! In “Ring Out, Wild Bells!” some of the wishes and conditions ring as true today as they were in 1850.
Ring Out Wild Bells
- 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.
- Ring out the old, ring in the new,
- Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
- The year is going, let him go;
- Ring out the false, ring in the true.
- Ring out the grief that saps the mind,
- For those that here we see no more,
- Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
- Ring in redress to all mankind.
- Ring out a slowly dying cause,
- And ancient forms of party strife;
- Ring in the nobler modes of life,
- With sweeter manners, purer laws.
- Ring out the want, the care, the sin,
- The faithless coldness of the times;
- Ring out, ring out thy mournful rhymes,
- But ring the fuller minstrel in.
- Ring out false pride in place and blood,
- The civic slander and the spite;
- Ring in the love of truth and right,
- Ring in the common love of good.
- Ring out old shapes of foul disease,
- Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
- Ring out the thousand wars of old,
- Ring in the thousand years of peace.
- Ring in the valiant man and free,
- The larger heart the kindlier hand;
- Ring out the darkness of the land,
- Ring in the Christ that is to be.
Amen.A happy and prosperous New Year, everyone. God bless you all.
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“Another Auld Lang Syne” Unit Quiz
(Just for Alyssa, who loves this song and knows all about it.)
(Actually, JK, she can’t stand it. I do like it, in spite of having some fun with it. Dan Fogelberg left us too soon. I love “Run for the Roses”, “Heart Hotels” and especially “Leader of the Band.” For a balance to this foolisheness, I hope you visit the Dan Fogelberg Website at http://danfogelberg.com/.)
“Another Old Lang Syne”
1. Where did the speaker meet his “old love?”
2. Was she actually old or did he mean “former?” Why didn’t he say “former?”
3. When did this occur and what was the weather like?
4. Where did he encounter her? Do you find that disturbing?
5. How did he get her attention? Was this a “good” touch or a “bad” touch?
6. Did she recognize him at first? How did she react?
7. Why did they “laugh until (they) cried?” What does this show about their sense of humor?
8. Where did they take her groceries? What happened to them there? Were you surprised by that?
9. As they stood there, why were they embarrassed? What happened to the conversation as a result?
10. Don’t you just hate it when that happens?
11. How did they have a “drink or two?”
12. How classy was that?
13. What two toasts did they drink?
14. Were they able to reach behind the emptiness? Why or why not? Would you have been able to reach behind the emptiness yourself?
15. Who had she married?
16. How did he keep her? (“In a pumpkin shell” is not an acceptable answer.)
17. Would she have liked to have said she loved the man? Why didn’t she?
18. Had the years been a friend to her?
19. What color were her eyes?
20. What conflicting emotions did the singer see in her eyes?
21. Can you tell the difference between doubt and gratitude in someone’s eyes? Why or why not?
22. Where had she seen him?
23. What exactly was a record store, anyhow/? Are you sure?
24. Do you think he was doing well?
25. Characterize the audience and the traveling. Do not use bad words, if possible.
26. Do you think the traveling was “hell” because he had to play at venues with goofy names like Jiffy Lube Live?
27. What did they relive in their eloquence? Grammatically, exactly how does the phrase “reliving in our eloquence” work? (I can’t make any sense of it.)
28. So how did this all end?
29. How did she end their time together? Do you think that was sweet?
30. What did he watch her do?
31. So he had a flashback to when he was in school. Why do you think this happened?
32. What did he feel? Why? (I don’t know why either. I guess I’m dense.)
33. What happened to the meteorological conditions as he turned to make his back home? Was this symbolic like in a Hemingway short story? Of what? How do you know?
34. Why is this song titled with the name of a song associated with New Year’s when it happens on Christmas Eve? What’s up with that?
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Biscuit City 
