Merry Christmas!

 From time to time I mention that I’m proud to “be of Irish extraction.” Here’s one reason why:

The Littlest Christmas Tree

By Amy Peterson

The littlest Christmas tree
lived in a meadow of green
among a family
of tall evergreens.
He learned how to whisper
the evergreen song
with the slightest of wind
that came gently along.

He watched as the birds
made a home out of twigs
and couldn’t wait till
he, too, was big.
For all of the trees
offered a home,
the maple, the pine, and the oak,
who’s so strong.

“I hate being little,”
the little tree said,
“I can’t even turn colors
like the maple turns red.
I can’t help the animals
like the mighty old oak.
He shelters them all
in his wide mighty cloak.”

The older tree said,
“Why, little tree, you don’t know?
The story of a mighty king
from the land with no snow?”
Little tree questioned,
“A land with no snow?”
“Yes!” said old tree,
“A very old story,
from so long ago.”

“A star appeared,
giving great light
over a manger
on long winter’s night.
A baby was born,
a king of all kings,
and with him comes love
over all things.”

“He lived in a country
all covered in sand,
and laid down his life
to save all of man.”

Little tree thought of the gift
given by him,
then the big tree said with the
happiest grin,
“We’re not just trees,
but a reminder of that day.
There’s a much bigger part
of a role that we play!”

“For on Christmas Eve,
my life I’ll lay down,
in exchange for a happier,
loving ground.
And as I stand dying,
they’ll adorn me in trim.
This all will be done
in memory of him.”

“Among a warm fire,
with family and friends,
in the sweet songs of Christmas,
I’ll find my great end.
Then ever so gently,
He’ll come down to see
and take me to heaven,
Jesus and me.”

“So you see, little tree,
we are not like the oak
who shelters all things
beneath his great cloak.
Nor are we like the maple
in fall,
whose colors leave many
standing in awe.”

“The gift that we give
is ourselves, limb for limb,
the greatest of honor,
in memory of him.”

The little tree bowed
his head down and cried
and thought of the king
who willingly died.
For what kind of gift
can anyone give than to lay down your life
when you wanted to live?

A swelling of pride
came over the tree.
Can all of this happen
Because of just me?
Can I really bring honor?
By adorning a home?
By reminding mankind
that he’s never alone?

With this thought, little tree
began singing with glee.
Happy and proud
to be a true Christmas tree.

You can still hear them singing
even the smallest in height,
singing of Christmas
and that one holy night.

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Welcome Yule

Druids celebrate today as Alban Arthan.

Joni Mitchell has written beautifully about an aspect of the solstice cycle in The Circle Game.

May the coming year fill your life with warmth and love, beauty and wisdom, and peace.

winter’s “bluebirds” of happiness

Photo by J. Harrington

The Shortest Day by Susan Cooper

    And so the Shortest Day came and the year died

    And everywhere down the centuries of the snow-white world

    Came people singing, dancing,

    To drive the dark away.

    They lighted candles in the winter trees;

    They hung their homes with evergreen;

    They burned beseeching fires all night long

    To keep the year alive.

    And when the new year’s sunshine blazed awake

    They shouted, reveling.

    Through all the frosty ages you can hear them

    Echoing behind us—listen!

    All the long echoes, sing the same delight,

    This Shortest Day,

    As promise wakens in the sleeping land:

    They carol, feast, give thanks,

    And dearly love their friends,

    And hope for peace.

    And now so do we, here, now,

    This year and every year.

    Welcome, Yule!

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The shape of time

More and more acorns are dropping from the bur oaks, and being joined on the ground by ripened fruits and berries. Signs of impending autumn increase by the week. “And the seasons they go round and round,” as Joni Mitchell tells us in her wonderful lyrics to The Circle Game. Six months from now, some of us will be praying for a prompt end to winter, but first we have to harvest and store the products of the current growing season. Those who make it through the winter will be able to plant again next spring. The circle continues, though we age as it does. Is our passage through time a straight line? Do we pass through our own seasons as we age? Is there another universe to which we will pass at the end of our time on earth?

bur oak acorn

Photo by J. Harrington

Einstein tells us that space-time is a continuum. I have as much trouble picturing what that means as I do picturing an oak when I look at an acorn or a butterfly when I look at a chrysalis. If a continuum never ends, what was there before the big bang? If the universe is all that exists, into what is it expanding? Can we ask “how big is a light-year?” Or, do we need to stick with how far light travels in a year? Got a headache yet?

I got pulled into thinking about these kinds of questions when I tried to follow a simple direction this morning, “travel sunwise.” My first thought was: Is that clockwise or counterclockwise? Then, I was on to the sun rises in the east and sets in the west, but that’s not actually the sun moving, that’s the earth spinning on her axis. The seasons are caused by the earth’s orbit around the sun, neither days nor seasons are clockwise or counter. See how all of this circles around like a game?

By now you may be feeling as I did the first time I realized that Joni Mitchell’s lyrics from Woodstock aren't simply a metaphor, they're also literally true.

We are stardust
We are golden
And we've got to get ourselves
Back to the garden

I hope you’ve enjoyed this brief excursion through space-time as much as I have. Now, let’s put on our gloves and get back to work. We have a garden (earth) to tend. It’s time to shape up.

Squaring the Circle

By Philip Fried

It’s a little-known fact that God’s headgear — 

A magician’s collapsible silk top hat,

When viewed from Earth, from the bottom up — 

Is, sub specie aeternitatis,

A pluperfect halo, both circle and square,

And a premonition of this truth

Spurred on an ancient philosopher,

Anaxagoras, to make numerous vain

Attempts to approximate the circle

Of his concerns with the square of the cell

He was jailed in for impiety.

Doomed calculations which God acknowledged

By doffing then pancaking his topper.

He was still bareheaded millennia later,

When he learned of von Lindemann’s proof that pi

Is not the root of a polynomial

With rational coefficients, hence

Squaring the circle’s impossible.

God un-collapsed, re-donned his hat!

But — it was 1882,

Progress was a juggernaut

And the public had no patience for “proof.”

From below, God’s gesture looked like a signal

For all hat- and cap-wearing men,

Proper in their headgear, for nations,

Well-stocked with helmets for delicate brainwork,

To take up “the compass and straightedge”

And prepare for a singular all-out attack

On this seductive conundrum, so men 

Enlisted en masse in Geometry’s army,

Tossing up and away all hats

Of cloth, opaque haloes, hurray!

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resources for hope and happiness

 This morning I tumbled into a wonderful resource that I want to share. The essay, Doorways to Our Childhood Selves, introduced me to the global oneness project: Stories and lessons for growing minds which, in turn, brought me to the short film Water Flows Together. The  fact that a web site like this one exists gives me more hope for the future than most anything I’ve seen in months. I suspect there may be more treasures of which I’m unaware, but now I’ll be more on the lookout for them and happy to share my discoveries here.

local waters flow together

Photo by J. Harrington

In fact, I’ve another treasure I want to share, this one is a book of poems by Ted Kooser and Connie Wanek, illustrated by Richard Jones, titled Marshmallow Clouds. It seems I missed the review last March that was published in the Star Tribune.

In their new book, "Marshmallow Clouds: Two Poets at Play Among Figures of Speech," Kooser and acclaimed fellow poet Connie Wanek offer 30 poems to inspire readers ages 10 and up to relish this magic in the seemingly quotidian. Organized by the elements of Fire, Water, Air and Earth, these poems encourage the notion that, "as if it were a favorite cat or dog, playing with your imagination can keep it healthy and happy," as Kooser writes in their afterword.

Similar to an earlier collaboration, Braided Creek, between Kooser and Jim Harrison, the poems are not identified by poet. I think that helps me pay attention to what’s been written rather  than trying to second guess what the poet means.

Childhood Stories

By Matthew Rohrer

They learned to turn off the gravity in an auditorium

and we all rose into the air,

the same room where they demonstrated

pow-wows and prestidigitation.

 

But not everyone believed it.

That was the most important lesson

I learned—that a truck driven by a dog

could roll down a hill at dusk

and roll right off a dock into a lake

and sink, and if no one believes you

then what is the point

of telling them wonderful things?

 

I walked home from the pow-wow

on an early winter night in amazement:

they let me buy the toy tomahawk!

As soon as I got home I was going

to hit my sister with it, but I didn’t know this.

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🎃🦇🎃 On Oíche Shamhna 👻🦇👻

This is a good time of year to honor my Irish ancestry and let the history of the day speak for itself.

Samhain Merges With Halloween

Neither new holiday [All Saints Day, All Souls Day] did away with the pagan aspects of the celebration. October 31 became known as All Hallows Eve, or Halloween, and contained much of the traditional pagan practices before being adopted in 19th-century America through Irish immigrants bringing their traditions across the ocean.

 

Samhain prayer to ancestors:

This is the night when the gateway between

our world and the spirit world is thinnest.

Tonight is a night to call out those who came before.

Tonight I honor my ancestors.

Spirits of my fathers and mothers, I call to you,

and welcome you to join me for this night.

You watch over me always,

protecting and guiding me,

and tonight I thank you.

Your blood runs in my veins,

your spirit is in my heart,

your memories are in my soul.

With the gift of remembrance.

I remember all of you.

You are dead but never forgotten,

and you live on within me,

and within those who are yet to come.

 

magical beings in flight through the veil

Photo by J. Harrington

Samhain prayer for children:

Samhain is here, cold is the earth,

as we celebrate the cycle of death and rebirth.

Tonight we speak to those through the veil,

the lines between worlds are thin and frail.

Ghosts and spirits in the night,

magical beings rising in flight,

owls hooting up in a moonlit tree,

I don't fear you and you don't fear me.

As the sun goes down, far to the west,

my ancestors watch over me as I rest.

They keep me safe and without fear,

on the night of Samhain, the Witches' New Year.

Samhain
By Annie Finch
(The Celtic Halloween)

In the season leaves should love,
since it gives them leave to move
through the wind, towards the ground
they were watching while they hung,
legend says there is a seam
stitching darkness like a name.

Now when dying grasses veil
earth from the sky in one last pale
wave, as autumn dies to bring
winter back, and then the spring,
we who die ourselves can peel
back another kind of veil

that hangs among us like thick smoke.
Tonight at last I feel it shake.
I feel the nights stretching away
thousands long behind the days
till they reach the darkness where
all of me is ancestor.

I move my hand and feel a touch
move with me, and when I brush
my own mind across another,
I am with my mother's mother.
Sure as footsteps in my waiting
self, I find her, and she brings

arms that carry answers for me,
intimate, a waiting bounty.
"Carry me." She leaves this trail
through a shudder of the veil,
and leaves, like amber where she stays,
a gift for her perpetual gaze.

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Soon Solstice and Christmas and New Year, oh my!

Five days from today, on December 22, we will gain 2 seconds of daylight. By Christmas we will have gained 17 seconds. Based on our experience, there’s a lag of several weeks between increased day length and increased temperatures. Sometime after mid-January the normal high temperature should increase from 23℉ to 24℉. Normal daytime highs will creep above freezing late in February. That helps put things in perspective for me and gives me a sense of hope. On the other hand, the coldest, darkest days of winter still lie ahead of us. What better times to practice being kind to our fellow humans?

The Better Half just placed beside my chair our copy of J.R.R. Tolkien’s Letters from Father Christmas. I’ll be reading and sharing some of them for the next week or so, since the children in our family, regardless of age, are fans of Tolkien and the Lord of the Rings and Christmas is a time of magic and fantasy. If we’re good and lucky, we’ll have enough Christmas magic to carry us through February, by which time we can almost see the hints of spring. (I know, no matter how much I live in the present, the promise of future times intrudes. If this seems curious to you, try reading Wallace Stevens Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird.)

Christmas Tide

Eliza Cook - 1818-1889

                    
          When the merry spring time weaves
          Its peeping bloom and dewy leaves;
          When the primrose opes its eye,
          And the young moth flutters by;
          When the plaintive turtle dove
          Pours its notes of peace and love;
And the clear sun flings its glory bright and wide—
          Yet, my soul will own
          More joy in winter's frown,
And wake with warmer flush at Christmas tide.

          The summer beams may shine
          On the rich and curling vine,
          And the noon-tide rays light up
          The tulip's dazzling cup:
          But the pearly misletoe
          And the holly-berries' glow
Are not even by the boasted rose outvied;
          For the happy hearts beneath
          The green and coral wreath
Love the garlands that are twined at Christmas tide.

          Let the autumn days produce
          Yellow corn and purple juice,
          And Nature's feast be spread
          In the fruitage ripe and red;
          ’Tis grateful to behold
          Gushing grapes and fields of gold,
When cheeks are brown'd and red lips deeper dyed:
          But give, oh! give to me
          The winter night of glee,
The mirth and plenty seen at Christmas tide.

          The northern gust may howl,
          The rolling storm-cloud scowl,
          King Frost may make a slave
          Of the river's rapid wave,
          The snow-drift choke the path,
          Or the hail-shower spend its wrath;
But the sternest blast right bravely is defied,
          While limbs and spirits bound
          To the merry minstrel sound,
And social wood-fires blaze at Christmas tide.

          The song, the laugh, the shout,
          Shall mock the storm without;
          And sparkling wine-foam rise
          ’Neath still more sparkling eyes;
          The forms that rarely meet
          Then hand to hand shall greet,
And soul pledge soul that leagues too long divide.
          Mirth, friendship, love, and light
          Shall crown the winter night,
And every glad voice welcome Christmas tide.

          But while joy's echo falls 
          In gay and plenteous halls,
          Let the poor and lowly share
          The warmth, the sports, the fare;
          For the one of humble lot
          Must not shiver in his cot,
But claim a bounteous meed from wealth and pride.
          Shed kindly blessings round,
          Till no aching heart be found;
And then all hail to merry Christmas tide!

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Looking toward Alban Hefin (Summer Solstice)

The longest day of the year (in the Northern Hemisphere) is but ten days away. Locally it occurs at 10:32 pm CDT. Father's Day for US is also but ten days away, although it begins at 12:00 am on June 20.

oak tree, sacred to the Druids

Photo by J. Harrington

Although we treat the Summer Solstice as the beginning of astronomical Summer, I believe the Celtic perspective is more appropriate since it considers the Solstice as mid-summer. A day or two after the Solstice, the sun's power, and the length of the days in the Northern Hemisphere begin to wane. Interpreting the seasons along these lines, if mid-Summer occurs on the Solstice, then Summer begins with the Spring Equinox and ends with the Autumnal Equinox, and the other half of the year is Winter. Somehow, with  the climate and weather changes we've been experiencing, and the growing volatility of weather patterns, focusing on two seasons, without looking for specific periods of Spring and Fall, seems to offer a better fit. Minnesota has rarely done a good job with Spring (cold, wet, often frozen with a one or two day transition to temperatures in the mid-80's and up) and has begun to have similar problems with Autumn.

If, as many scientists and poets tell US,  we need to live in closer relationship with the earth to protect the source of our atmosphere, climate, water and food, we could begin to consider taking a closer look at Druidry as one path that could lead us to such a better relationship. Although the Celts and Druids consider the Summer Solstice as mid-Summer, they celebrate eight key times of the year. I raise the idea that a supplement to the Judeo-Christian tradition of "subduing the earth" may be beneficial because we are currently exceeding the planetary boundaries of about one-third of the earth's systems. Business as usual offers little hope that we will be able to correct overshoot or adapt to the effects of boundary breakdowns.

A Celtic Miscellany

By Thomas McCarthy

Magic rain magic mist magic dew magic hail

Magic darkness magic sea magic waves magic

River magic fountain magic well magic spring

That bursts forth when a magic spear pierces

Rock magic oak tree magic ash magic lime tree

Magic bough magic yew magic hawthorn magic

Tree to make you young again magic tree to

Prevent hunger magic thorn magic ivy magic

Fern magic blossom, mistletoe and mandrake

Magic wild grasses magic wheat magic breath

Magic blood magic feather magic dung magic

Piss magic mantle magic trousers magic veil

Magic hat magic chain magic sword magic

Shield magic hearth magic bench magic door

Magic cry of a deer or cry of a magic deer;

Seven as a magic number magic the human

Head for divination magic also the head of

A dog, magic too vessels that burst in the fire

To uncover disobedience magic the river

That rises to drown liars magic the stone

That causes silence magic the deep lake

That causes forgetfulness magic the hazelnut

That makes a lover foolish magic the stone

That banishes sorrow magic the charm bought

Cheaply in the form of small poetry books,

Or nine the magic number and the magic

Number seven again and the magic twelve also

And green as that magic color violet as magic

Red as magic black as magic white as magic

Purple also as a magic hue and also red again;

Magic also the felling of two oak trees in a wood

And the magic wand used by the Druids to

Find your beloved carried away by fairies—

And, when all else fails, magic the new-fangled

Blessings of Christians swarming into our oak

Wood now, making even the disappeared speak.

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Four-score and zero years ago...

 Happy 80th Mr. Zimmerman. (Dylan, himself, is ageless.)

• Bob Dylan at 80: in praise of a mighty and unbowed singer-songwriter


• 80 things you should know about Bob Dylan on his 80th birthday


• My favourite Dylan song – by Mick Jagger, Marianne Faithfull, Tom Jones, Judy Collins and more


• Beyond Mr Tambourine Man: 80 Bob Dylan songs everyone should know


• All aboard the Bob Dylan express! How Rolling Thunder revved round America


• Martin Creed: Why I love Bob Dylan


• Bob Dylan at 80 – a little Minnesota town celebrates its famous son


• Happy 80th birthday to Bob Dylan, rock’s most prescient, timeless voice


• Bob Dylan: 80 things you may not know about him on his 80th birthday

 

Forever Young

WRITTEN BY: BOB DYLAN

May God bless and keep you always
May your wishes all come true
May you always do for others
And let others do for you
May you build a ladder to the stars
And climb on every rung
May you stay forever young
Forever young, forever young
May you stay forever young

May you grow up to be righteous
May you grow up to be true
May you always know the truth
And see the lights surrounding you
May you always be courageous
Stand upright and be strong
May you stay forever young
Forever young, forever young
May you stay forever young

May your hands always be busy
May your feet always be swift
May you have a strong foundation
When the winds of changes shift
May your heart always be joyful
May your song always be sung
May you stay forever young
Forever young, forever young
May you stay forever young

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A Christmas wish for the New Year

Christmas is, and should be, a celebration of and for children. Sharing Christmas with our two children and new grandchild made Christmas this year extra special. Our son rarely gets to see his three month old niece and it was clear from his body language that he thinks she's someone extra special.

children are the essence of Christmas

Photo by J. Harrington

Christmas is, or should be, a time when wishes come true. There's also a cautionary old saying about "Be careful what you wish for, you may get it." Somehow, this year, we missed sharing with any of you a packet of Christmas wishes that we have for all of you . On this day after Christmas, as the old year closes and a new one opens, with deepest thanks to Robert Zimmerman, we offer these wishes for each of you and all of us for at least the next year.

Forever Young

Written by: Bob Dylan 

May God bless and keep you always
May your wishes all come true
May you always do for others
And let others do for you
May you build a ladder to the stars
And climb on every rung
May you stay forever young
Forever young, forever young
May you stay forever young

May you grow up to be righteous
May you grow up to be true
May you always know the truth
And see the lights surrounding you
May you always be courageous
Stand upright and be strong
May you stay forever young
Forever young, forever young
May you stay forever young

May your hands always be busy
May your feet always be swift
May you have a strong foundation
When the winds of changes shift
May your heart always be joyful
May your song always be sung
May you stay forever young
Forever young, forever young
May you stay forever young

Copyright © 1973 by Ram's Horn Music; renewed 2001 by Ram’s Horn Music

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A better day than many

Today's weather, from late morning on, was near perfect. The Better Half served as navigator while we poked around some nooks and crannies (and access points) of a trout stream's watershed about and hour and a half south of here. We found several that we hadn't know about and that look promising. Several others looked interesting but there didn't seem to be safe parking areas near the bridges. The road shoulders promptly dropped off into moderately steep ditches.

not the stream we explored today, but a lot like it

Photo by J. Harrington

We both enjoyed traipsing through the mostly rural farm country. The navigator managed to get us part way home on a county road that doesn't appear on the state highway map we were using. If I remember, tomorrow I'll check the DeLorme atlas. About twenty years ago, I used to fish the midsections of the stream regularly. Rarely did I explore the upper reaches of the water. That's where we wandered today. A few more days like today and I may begin to return to what used to pass for my mellow self.

In honor of our successful excursion, today's poem is about the finer, more magical aspects of trout fishing. Try it if you haven't. The same can be said about poetry, especially by such s Mr. Yeats. (Here's a secret, The Waterboys have put these words to music.)

The Song of Wandering Aengus

By William Butler Yeats

I went out to the hazel wood,

Because a fire was in my head,

And cut and peeled a hazel wand,

And hooked a berry to a thread;

And when white moths were on the wing,

And moth-like stars were flickering out,

I dropped the berry in a stream

And caught a little silver trout.

When I had laid it on the floor

I went to blow the fire a-flame,

But something rustled on the floor,

And someone called me by my name:

It had become a glimmering girl

With apple blossom in her hair

Who called me by my name and ran

And faded through the brightening air.

Though I am old with wandering

Through hollow lands and hilly lands,

I will find out where she has gone,

And kiss her lips and take her hands;

And walk among long dappled grass,

And pluck till time and times are done,

The silver apples of the moon,

The golden apples of the sun.

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More signs of Spring #phenology

I am remiss by a couple of days reporting that a couple of branches on the forsythia in the back yard have blossoms. That bush gets way more sun than the ones in front which are partially shaded by a tall pine and have started leaf out but no flowers yet.

In another sign of the season, outside window washing started today. The upstairs (deck) and downstairs (screen porch / patio) walkout doors got the proverbial "lick and a promise" today. That activity was prompted by the dogs rediscovering how transparent the screen door is as they crashed through it to chase a squirrel that was on the deck starting to nibble on the leaves of the healthiest of the beach plum plants. Both dogs have been sent  to their rooms for a time out while walkout windows were washed and reinstallation of the screen door was accomplished. The reinstallation was significantly aided and abetted by my Better Half. I was too busy looking for the temper I had lost to be well focused on the details of putting the screen (and my equanimity) back on track.

SiSi at 1, seven  years ago

Photo by J. Harrington

One of the house-wreckers, my SiSi, had been celebrating her seventh anniversary living with us just prior to the screen door event. This after she had spent  the morning trying to hide in the pocket of my jeans. I had forgotten just how skittish she is around thunder. She finally decided that hiding in the corner behind me in my reading chair was her best option. Obviously, she had fully recovered her "playfulness" by the time she spotted the squirrel on the deck but failed to notice the screen door between her and the squirrel.

SiSi when not eating, chasing squirrels, or hiding from thunder

Photo by J. Harrington

If you have a dog, or have had a dog, or some day hope to have a dog, you will probably enjoy Mary Oliver's Dog Songs volume and, for some of the best writing ever about dogs and the people they own, take a look at any of Gene Hill's dog stories, for example Tears and Laughter. That pretty well covers what SiSi and I and our Better Half have been through today. Be well, stay healthy, enjoy Spring!

The Power of the Dog

Rudyard Kipling - 1865-1936

There is sorrow enough in the natural way

From men and women to fill our day;

And when we are certain of sorrow in store,

Why do we always arrange for more?

Brothers and Sisters, I bid you beware

Of giving your heart to a dog to tear.

Buy a pup and your money will buy

Love unflinching that cannot lie—

Perfect passion and worship fed

By a kick in the ribs or a pat on the head.

Nevertheless it is hardly fair

To risk your heart for a dog to tear.

When the fourteen years which Nature permits

Are closing in asthma, or tumour, or fits,

And the vet’s unspoken prescription runs

To lethal chambers or loaded guns,

Then you will find—it’s your own affair—

But… you’ve given your heart to a dog to tear.

When the body that lived at your single will,

With its whimper of welcome, is stilled (how still!).

When the spirit that answered your every mood

Is gone—wherever it goes—for good,

You will discover how much you care,

And will give your heart to a dog to tear.

We’ve sorrow enough in the natural way,

When it comes to burying Christian clay.

Our loves are not given, but only lent,

At compound interest of cent per cent.

Though it is not always the case, I believe,

That the longer we’ve kept ’em, the more do we grieve:

For, when debts are payable, right or wrong,

A short-time loan is as bad as a long—

So why in—Heaven (before we are there)

Should we give our hearts to a dog to tear?

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Beginning to see the light

Today we enjoy the full wolf moon (although I prefer the phrase wolf full moon). It's January's full moon. We watched one version early this morning as we walked SiSi. If the clouds thin and break enough, we'll see another this afternoon and tonight or tomorrow morning. I'm never sure whether the full moon is counted from moon rise or moon set times or if that makes no difference. If I cheat and look it up, it appears the official full moon occurs between this morning's setting and this afternoon's rising. Now I'm even more confused. Time to just relax and enjoy the beauty.

wolf full moon with cloud ring

Photo by J. Harrington

Something I've noticed about Winter, even with our distressing number of dreary days, is that, when there is sunlight, its quality is often more attractive that I've noticed in Summer. I think that has to do with the lower angle of the sunlight. Here's an example from a few years ago.

sunlight looks different in Winter

Photo by J. Harrington

A different example, that we no longer enjoy since we've replaced the windows along with the siding some years back, is frost on windowpanes. Although the increased warmth is desirable, from time to time I miss the old fashioned beauty of frost on the glass. Some tradeoffs are tough to make.

sunlight highlighting frosted windowpane

Photo by J. Harrington

If you can manage to slow down or take even a brief break from today's consistently hectic pace, take a look and see if you notice a different quality of light during the days of these darker months. By the way, we've gained almost 16 minutes of daylight since last December's shortest day. Soon we'll be able again to see sunshine on open water.

John Denver

"Sunshine On My Shoulders"

Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy, sunshine in my eyes can make me cry.
Sunshine on the water looks so lovely, sunshine almost always makes me high.
If I had a day that I could give you, I'd give to you the day just like today.
If I had a song that I could sing for you, I'd sing a song to make you feel this way.

Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy, sunshine in my eyes can make me cry.
Sunshine on the water looks so lovely, sunshine almost always makes me high.
If I had a tale that I could tell you, I'd tell a tale sure to make you smile.
If I had a wish that I could wish for you, I'd make a wish for sunshine for all the while.

Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy, sunshine in my eyes can make me cry.
Sunshine on the water looks so lovely, sunshine almost always makes me high.
Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy, sunshine in my eyes can make me cry.
Sunshine on the water looks so lovely, sunshine almost always makes me high.
Sunshine almost all the time makes me high. Sunshine almost always:

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To be opened on Christmas Eve

One of the ways I find poetry most full of life is that, as often as not, poets surprise me with their poems. I've enjoyed many Christmases in my life. I've also read many of Mary Oliver's poems. Until this Christmas Eve, I hadn't unwrapped The Gift or her Christmas Poem. Many families enjoy a tradition of opening one gift on Christmas Eve. It's in that spirit we share today's posting.

a star shone and angels watched

Photo by J. Harrington

May your Christmas Eve be full of love and warmth. May you always find room at the inn. May the days ahead be better for you, and to you, than those you've left behind. May Christmas angels and shepherds watch over you year round and may we all finally learn to listen to Wise Men, whether or not they come bearing gifts.

no room at the inn

Photo by J. Harrington

Christmas Poem

by:  Mary Oliver

Says a country legend told every year:
Go to the barn on Christmas Eve and see
what the creatures do as that long night tips over.
Down on their knees they will go, the fire
of an old memory whistling through their minds!

[So] I went. Wrapped to my eyes against the cold
I creaked back the barn door and peered in.
From town the church bells spilled their midnight music,
and the beasts listened –
yet they lay in their stalls like stone.

Oh the heretics!
Not to remember Bethlehem,
or the star as bright as a sun,
or the child born on a bed of straw!
To know only of the dissolving Now!

Still they drowsed on –
citizens of the pure, the physical world,
they loomed in the dark: powerful
of body, peaceful of mind,
innocent of history.

Brothers! I whispered. It is Christmas!
And you are no heretics, but a miracle,
immaculate still as when you thundered forth
on the morning of creation!
As for Bethlehem, that blazing star

still sailed the dark, but only looked for me.
Caught in its light, listening again to its story,
I curled against some sleepy beast, who nuzzled
my hair as though I were a child, and warmed me
the best it could all night.

The Gift 

By Mary Oliver

Be still, my soul, and steadfast.
Earth and heaven both are still watching
though time is draining from the clock
and your walk, that was confident and quick,
has become slow.

So, be slow if you must, but let
the heart still play its true part.
Love still as once you loved, deeply
and without patience. Let God and the world
know you are grateful. That the gift has been given.

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Through the Looking Glass, Down the Rabbit Hole, both?

After Lewis Carroll's Alice's Adventures In Wonderland was published, he wrote a "sequel," Through the Looking Glass. Although Alice remained the protagonist, other main characters varied from the first fantasy. If you need to refresh your memory about the story and what the characters are like, follow this link. These are the main characters (other than Alice) listed from Looking Glass:

this is a three dimensional chess board

Photo by J. Harrington

• The Red Queen


• The White Queen


• The Red King


• The White King


• The White Knight


• Humpty Dumpty


• Tweedledee and Tweedledum(?)


• Others?

this is a dormouse

Photo by J. Harrington

Even though Looking Glass is based on sort of backwards logic, the metaphor of a chess game seems too logical to fit today's political context anywhere near as well as the lack of logic in Wonderland. At least that's my impression, although there may be enough overlap between the two books that a combination might work well. I do find it more challenging to try to match politicians or pundits involved in the impeachment effort to Looking Glass characters, but that may be a flaw in my perspective. Are there any thoughts any of you are willing to share in the comments?

If additional inspiration might help, try this. The more we let our politics and governance be fed by fantasy and illogic, the more we let politicians and bureaucrats mess up real lives, including our own.

Through the Looking Glass

By Veronica Forrest-Thomson

Mirror, mirror on the wall

show me in succession all

my faces, that I may view

and choose which I would like as true.

Teach me skill to disguise

what’s not pleasing to the eyes,

with faith, that life obeys the rules,

in man or God or football pools.

Always keep me well content

to decorate attitude and event

so that somehow behind the scene

I may believe my actions mean;

that one can exercise control

in playing out a chosen role;

rub clouded glass and then,

at will, write self on it again.

But if, in some unlucky glance,

I should glimpse naked circumstance

in all its nowhere-going-to,

may you crack before I do.

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Down the rabbit hole for Christmas?

While we were headed to Minneapolis this morning, a thought occurred to me that I intend to play with a little bit here over the next day or two. To begin, it appears that what we thought was an ancient Chinese curse, "May you live in interesting times." is neither ancient nor Chinese. Since the times we are living in are far more interesting than many of us would wish, it occurred to me an appropriate allusion might be found in Lewis Carroll's Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, in which Alice goes "down the rabbit hole." I've seen many a mention of that type of trip in social media over a number of recent months. It has usually referred to some political occurrence or other. So, I began to ponder which contemporary politicians would be the equivalent of which characters in Alice. For example, would Alice herself be Hilary Clinton, or Elizabeth Warren?

is a rabbit in white the same as a White Rabbit?

Photo by J. Harrington

There is no doubt in my mind that The Queen of Hearts must be played by D. Trump. Would the Cheshire Cat be played by Mike Pence, or is the VP the King of Hearts? Is Rudy Giuliani the Mad Hatter? Who would be the White Rabbit? Just below is a list of other main characters. Think about who seems to fit as you watch or read about the impeachment hearings and the defense of POTUS.

• The Duchess


• The Caterpillar


• The Mad Hatter


• The March Hare


• The Dormouse


• The Dodo


• The Frog-Footman

There are other characters you can feel free to include. At the moment, I'm more interested in which political figures seem to be a "best fit" for the Wonderland characters. Have at it in the comments. Consider this an early Christmas present in the form or a puzzle. I'll take a look at Through the Looking Glass and see if anyone there needs to be added to the list tomorrow. Now, directly from a current POTUS press conference, here's

Jabberwocky

By Lewis Carroll

’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves 

      Did gyre and gimble in the wabe: 

All mimsy were the borogoves, 

      And the mome raths outgrabe. 

“Beware the Jabberwock, my son! 

      The jaws that bite, the claws that catch! 

Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun 

      The frumious Bandersnatch!” 

He took his vorpal sword in hand; 

      Long time the manxome foe he sought— 

So rested he by the Tumtum tree 

      And stood awhile in thought. 

And, as in uffish thought he stood, 

      The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame, 

Came whiffling through the tulgey wood, 

      And burbled as it came! 

One, two! One, two! And through and through 

      The vorpal blade went snicker-snack! 

He left it dead, and with its head 

      He went galumphing back. 

“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock? 

      Come to my arms, my beamish boy! 

O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!” 

      He chortled in his joy. 

’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves 

      Did gyre and gimble in the wabe: 

All mimsy were the borogoves, 

      And the mome raths outgrabe.

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'Tis better to light a candle than curse the darkness!

We're back to 100% cloud covered skies. Sigh! Rain is forecast to start within the next hour. Deep Sigh! At least we now have some jack-o'-lantern pictures to share. May they brighten the day! The top one I carved. It's a spider, carved in honor of our son, the arachnophile. The bottom two were carved by the Better Half. I think she did the owl because she knows I've a thing for owls and she did the ravens (or the dove and the raven if you look too closely) because she liked the picture on which the carving was based. If I were that capable with carving tools, the spider would look more like a tarantula, but all those fuzzy hairs intimidated me.

for the arachnophile in your life

Photo by J. Harrington

pumpkin carvings for the birds

Photo by J. Harrington

Today we start the last week of October, and it's not even a full week. Then, again, we get to enjoy Halloween and Samhain as the week and the month end and November begins. May all our haunts be happy ones and may the darker half of the year see us warm, dry and with harvest stores that last until next year's fresh food emerges and ripens and may this week bring us more treats than tricks!

October

Evalyn Callahan Shaw

October is the month that seems 
All woven with midsummer dreams;  
She brings for us the golden days 
That fill the air with smoky haze,  
She brings for us the lisping breeze 
And wakes the gossips in the trees,  
Who whisper near the vacant nest  
Forsaken by its feathered guest.  
Now half the birds forget to sing,  
And half of them have taken wing,  
Before their pathway shall be lost 
Beneath the gossamer of frost.  
Zigzag across the yellow sky,  
They rustle here and flutter there,  
Until the boughs hang chill and bare,  
What joy for us—what happiness  
Shall cheer the day the night shall bless?  
‘Tis hallowe’en, the very last  
Shall keep for us remembrance fast,  
When every child shall duck the head 
To find the precious pippin red.

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The magic of turning pumpkins into jack-o'-lanterns

I carved a jack-o'-lantern this morning. The last time I carved one is lost in the mists of time long gone. Shortly after I finished, the Better Half [BH] began carving the first of two she's doing. Guess which one of this partnership is the patient, attention to detail person.

This was the first time I've ever used serrated pumpkin cutters and a plastic goop cleaner - pumpkin scraper. They worked better than I expected, but inexpensive, undersized, plastic handles don't make for an enjoyable experience. Since we only carve pumpkins once a year, it probably wouldn't warrant looking for a better set of tools, unless they could also serve other purposes, like a serrated bread knife? We may give that some additional thought.

fancy pumpkin carving for a centerpiece

Photo by J. Harrington

Tonight, we'll try to get some decent photos of our carving efforts. The one BH has finished is impressive. I'm looking forward to seeing how it looks with a candle or LED inside it. Until then, enjoy some of our prior year's efforts. The carvings were done by the BH or the Daughter Person or the Son-In-Law. I'm responsible for the pictures. At least pumpkins are a better size for carving than turnips, unless the Irish grow monstrously large turnips.

ghosts, ghouls, and goblins can be seen wandering at night

Photo by J. Harrington

While BH was "gutting" and carving pumpkins, Yr. Obt. Svt. was outside cleaning a mouse nest out of the dashboard of the tractor. We had planned on putting mouse repellants in the dash area early next week. The persistent rain no doubt motivated the mouse to seek someplace high and dry. We ended up the proverbial "day late and dollar short" and now the tractor needs to go into the shop to get a gnawed on wiring harness replaced or repaired. What induces a mouse to go exploring into a dash board in the first place? The one's that have been sneaking into the garage have been lured to their demise in the baited traps, ideally before they find their way into either vehicle. Country living isn't all watching beautiful sunrises while drinking coffee on the deck you know. Sometimes it's dealing with vermin varmints!

Theme in Yellow

By Carl Sandburg

I spot the hills

With yellow balls in autumn.

I light the prairie cornfields

Orange and tawny gold clusters

And I am called pumpkins.

On the last of October

When dusk is fallen

Children join hands

And circle round me

Singing ghost songs

And love to the harvest moon;

I am a jack-o'-lantern

With terrible teeth

And the children know

I am fooling.

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