May you and all who you love dance in the joy of the season.
Merry Christmas !
Page 52 of 121
Let There Be More Light
Taking a break from Christmas, Santa Claus, and all things holiday, I’m talking today about a topic nobody can disprove or even debate … at least in the northern hemisphere. Tomorrow is the first day of winter. Yes it will be getting colder over the next several weeks but it also will be getting lighter! No longer will we have to eat dinner in the dark without a trip to Barcelona. No longer will we have to wake up in the dark unless you live north of Barrow. No longer will the dark hours of the day outnumber the daylight hours unless you live in a cave. The world is still working its way around the sun and we have proof!
I don’t know what this means but it looks impressive
The winter solstice happens at 5:23pm on December 21 in my neck of the woods, 3:23 after noon or 15:23 as you prefer in Greenwich. (There probably is a really cool way of calculating down to the very second when it actually occurs at your longitude and latitude and probably an even cooler way of figuring what those are. Feel free to search on your own.) Even Mother Nature is excited about this. She has scheduled the Ursalid meteor shower for Friday night, and at double its usual output even! It’s just like a real celebration with fireworks and everything. And to top it all off, there will be a full moon, the Cold Moon or Long Night Moon in Native American lore, on Friday and Saturday. All great things happening up in the sky.
Ok, if you don’t know already I made some assumptions that are flat out wrong. Sunrise won’t start occurring earlier just yet. It takes about 4 weeks for that to happen. (I don’t know why. I used to work in a hospital, not an observatory. I’m sure those people who understand latitude and longitude can help with that too.) And even outside the caves the days are still shorter than the nights and will be until the Vernal Equinox sometime in March but that’s another post. And those meteors. Eh, you’ll probably not get to see much of them with their peak coming along just before dawn on Saturday when that full moon will be its brightest. And that is assuming you’ll get to see anything including the full moon depending on the cloud cover which is one of those things that makes December famous. Remember White Christmas? Where do you think all that white comes from?
But darn it all, the start of winter is here and that means the start of spring is coming and then there will be summer and the pool will be open and I can go sit on the deck with my ice tea and paperback novel and bask in the sun. And nobody is going to disprove or even debate that one either.
Happy Winter!
Being Glitterati
The dozen or so Christmas cards I’ve gotten so far are bad for my health. All but one of them is glittery. Glitter. I still shudder at glitter. (You do remember that glitter is even stronger than loofah, don’t you?)
I’m sorry, I just don’t like glitter. I willingly accept it has its places- the inside of a snow globe, the Barbie section at whatever theme park owns her rights (its rights?), strip clubs – and glitter isn’t the only reason I try to avoid those places, but it certainly doesn’t enhance them for me.
What’s become majorly disconcerting is now either due to age (apologies to optimists the world over, but no, it’s not just a number, 7 is just a number), health, or drug to maintain health, it’s not unusual for me to experience a fine tremor in my hands. Do you know what happens to a glitter gilded card when the cover of the card in all its glittery glory is scraped against the inside of the envelope while being withdrawn in a motion usually used with very fine sandpaper?
My usual mail opening spot is at the dining room table and with my newly lost manual stability my dining room table is now the perfect spot for a 21st century disco opening, for very tiny dancers.
I’m not sure how I became a glitter magnet but I am. I can’t even drive past a Pat Catan’s or Michael’s without the stuff flying off the shelves, out to parking lot, through the car vent, and forever attached to me. It won’t wipe off, rub off, wash off, or as previously noted loofah off. Typically it wears off 8 to 12 weeks after bonding, so as long as I can stay out of glitter’s way on New Year’s Eve and Ground Hog Day I should be glitter free by St. Patrick’s Day and just in time for green glittered shamrock headbands.
The FDA recently issued a glitter alert. Don’t eat non-edible glitter. That’s pretty obvious yet apparently enough people eat non-edible glitter to warrant a warning. And those are people who have choices. I’m sure Hallmark isn’t using edible glitter on its greetings. I’m being glitter dusted across my eating space and not even given a choice!
So if you care for my health, when you slip my card into its envelope please scrape off the glitter. I’ll still recognize you for your sparkling addition to my holiday mood.
Don’t Wait for the Movie
The people at My Recipes put out their Christmas Cookie Christmas Movie pairings this week. The question why do we need to pair things notwithstanding, nor the other question why are these mostly just different shapes of sugar cookies neitherwithstanding, we really need to address, like as in once and for all dammit, is “Die Hard” a Christmas movie? Let me say, I like Die Hard. I even like its four sequels (and there aren’t a lot of people who can say that). But “Die Hard” is no more a Christmas movie even though it takes place on Christmas Eve yet was released in July, any more than “Die Hard 2” is a Christmas movie even though it also takes place on Christmas Eve yet also was released in July. Why doesn’t anybody ever argue to include “Die Hard 2” in the Christmas movie debate? You actually get more of a sense of at least winter in “Die Hard 2” than in “Die Hard” but it just hangs out there with all the other movies set at Christmas time that nobody willy-nilly-y sticks in the Christmas movie category.
For instance, when did you last hear an argument for including “The Poseidon Adventure” among Christmas movies. At least on the boat they made use of the Christmas tree. Technically “The Poseidon Adventure” and its sequel “Beyond the Poseidon Adventure” were set on New Year’s Eve and Day, but still. A Christmas Tree. As a ladder. Really. Now that’s Christmas don’t you think?
“Three Days of the Condor” didn’t have anybody climbing a Christmas tree but Good King Wenceslas and Silver Bells are unmistakable on the soundtrack. Like “Die Hard 2” it is clearly cold and snowy out there and wherever Robert Redford and Faye Dunaway go, Christmas decor is in full swing. The movie is based on the novel “Six Days of the Condor.” Nobody ever explained where those other three days went but I bet you’ll find them in somebody’s stocking hanging by the chimney with care.
The Oscar winning “The Apartment” starring Jack Lemmon and Shirley MacLaine is so filled with Christmas images there is even a scene with people decorating their Christmas tree. So what if the plot has nothing to do with the holiday. By the “Die Hard” measuring stick, “The Apartment” decks the halls more than many modern “real” Christmas movies. If you haven’t seen this classic give yourself an early Christmas present or late Hanukkah present or whatever present getting holiday you celebrate and put a copy of this movie on your TV screen now! Spoiler alert, nobody is going to mistake Jack Lemmon’s bosses for the Wise Men.
And how can we leave “On Her Majesty’s Secret Service” out of the discussion. George Lazemby’s only portrayal of the venerable Bond, James Bond portrayed him in pre-Christmas Switzerland rescuing the world from biological weapons released by 12 unsuspecting women who go home for the holiday from the villain Ernst Stavros Blofeld’s allergy treating institute. And yet nobody considers that a Christmas movie. Tsk, tsk!
On the other side of the ledger, “You’ve Got Mail” and its grandmovie inspiration “The Shop Around the Corner” are probably the most Christmas centric movies that never get credit for being Christmas movies. The story of two people who cannot stand each other’s’ physical beings but are head over heels over the inner selves they anonymously reveal in letters between pen pals (in 1940) and by email (when we get to 1998) culminates on Christmas Eve with each pair expressing their love for the people they really are, not the people they thought they knew. That’s the spirit Christmas.
Proof several times over that just taking place in late December is not enough to propel a movie into the ranks of Christmas fare. Maybe if we culled the chaff we can get some movies that really do capture the spirit of Christmas back in the theaters this time of the year.
For the record, My Recipes paired “Die Hard” with Snickerdoodles. Apparently we’re going to have to begin the discussion what constitutes a Christmas cookie.
Join the Club
Last week was special for me. I got mail, real USPS delivered mail that wasn’t addressed to “occupant,” wasn’t a bill, and didn’t include a detailed accounting of all medical procedures from the previous month. Oh, and it wasn’t a Christmas card either although we’re getting to that time when all the businesses I deal with send their cards out. After those come the cards from real people. But I digress. But that’s not unusual.
So, back to my tale, the mail came and therein was an envelope and within was a check. Not a bill. A check! Somebody was giving me money! It wasn’t a lot but it was mine. Coming to me. Income, not outlay. I felt so special. I practically beamed!
Now to be perfectly honest, this wasn’t anything unheard of. It happened before. In fact, it usually happens about once a year. The check in question was a disbursement from my insurance company. (Home and auto, not health or life. Those guys never give anything back. Well, technically life insurance does, but it’s usually too late to be much use.) Usually around this time each year I get a little check from the insurance company that reflects something they saved because they had fewer claims than they expected or some such thing. I don’t understand. I just spend. It’s like a Christmas Club.
Ah ha! Now we get to the heart of this post. Christmas Clubs. Do they even still exist. Those of you under 40 may have to find an even older adult to explain Christmas Clubs, right along with Broken Records. To be fair to the financial institutions of America, most credit unions still offer Christmas Clubs although Vacation Clubs are by far more popular. But neither have the favor they did before the credit card explosion of the early 1970s.
So when I opened the mail that day last week and pulled out that little check, my first thought was, “Wow, just like a Christmas Club.” My second thought was, “Wow, just like a Christmas Club.” My third thought was, “Okay, now you’re sounding like a broken record.”
And then I went out and spent.
Yes, Virginia
Santa Claus exists. In movies, books, cartoons, traditions, stuffed stockings, and the hearts and minds of children of all ages. Whether known as Santa Claus, Kris Kringle, Babbo Natale, Father Christmas, Father Frost, or one of many other names, he is going to visit kids sometime soon. Just ask Virginia. The only problem with Santa is that there is always some spoil sport claiming there isn’t any proof that he exists. He’s just a story. Nobody gives away something for nothing. Blah, blah, blah.
So maybe Santa does have a teeny identity problem. Or maybe not. Maybe the doubters can poke holes in Santa’s existence but not so with Jolly Old St. Nick.
Jolly old St. Nick really was jolly, really was old, and really was real. Nicholas was born March 15, 270 A.D. in the Lycia province, part of present day Turkey. His parents died in an epidemic when he was young and he was raised by his uncle who was a monk at a local abbey.
Although the beneficiary of his parents’ significant wealth, Nicolas was raised simply at the monastery and eventually was ordained a priest and distributed his wealth among the poor. After many years in the Holy Land he returned to Lycia and was consecrated Bishop of Myra.
There have been many stories of his generosity but one of particular interest involves a poor man and his three daughters. The man had no money for dowries for his daughters and without them he feared the girls would remain unmarried and be forced to work as prostitutes to support themselves. Nicholas threw a bag of gold into the man’s window as the oldest daughter came of age and again as each of the other two did likewise. And so began the tradition of St. Nick secretly giving gifts to children.
Nicholas died a martyr on December 6, 343 and his feast day begins the Days of Giving. One particularly old custom was that children could receive gifts anytime from December 6, the Feast of St. Nicholas to January 6, the Feast of the Epiphany.
So yes Virginia, there is a St. Nicholas. If you’d like to celebrate in style, give something to someone every day for the next 30 days. You might run out of bags of gold but just a golden word or friendly gesture will do.
Wishing you the blessings of St. Nicholas today and always.
- Nicholas Icon by Jaroslav Čermák (1831-1878) via WikiCommons
Day In and Day Out
Yesterday was a glorious day in my neck of the woods. Sunny and warm, with temperatures in the mid 60s. Very April-like which was a relief from the February-ish November we just escaped. If you didn’t know better (unless you live in south Florida) you’d not know there were only 23 days until Christmas.
When I was a kid we always knew how long till Christmas. That goes with childhood. You could have asked any random 9 year old on May 6 how long till Christmas and without hesitation would have gotten “only 233 days!” in reply. Parents got a little extra help. Beginning the day after Thanksgiving the morning paper posted a happy Santa holding his nice or naughty list proclaiming “20 Shopping Days Until Christmas!” That’s what yesterday’s paper would have printed. Yes, back then there was a difference between days until Christmas and shopping days ‘til Christmas.
This isn’t a post about how great things were in those good old days. I just want to point out that back then the stores weren’t open on Sunday and on Christmas Eve it wasn’t unusual for many to close before dinner time so the employees could be home with their families. Not every day was a shopping day. Of course today the stores can be closed and still shopping gets done through the magic of on-line retailers and electronic charging or cash transfers. Still those places with real doors will be opening them every day until Christmas.
Except …
Not everything is open on Sunday. And I don’t mean the post office. You can receive and they do deliver mail on Sunday. No, I mean banks. Banks, those financial institutions that try very hard in their ads to convince us that they are just ordinary people like the rest of us mere mortals working to make our money work hard for us. Uh huh.
Over the years they’ve made it handy enough for us to do most banking without their input. Automated teller machines have been around for years along with on line money transfers and automated recurring payments. Just like you would expect in the 21st century. Then why in a day when a merchant can determine whether you have enough in your checking account to cover that new OLED TV with your debit card even if it is 2:00 on a Sunday afternoon, and manage to reduce your balance by the price of that TV (plus tax and extended warranty) they still make you wait three days with you make a deposit “for the check to clear.” And why do they never tell you what they are doing with that money in the interim. It seems like they don’t have to long for the good old days. They never left them.
Back to shopping though. With now just 22 days till Christmas (and if I recall last year some retailers were actually guaranteeing same day delivery of select items ordered by noon on Christmas day making it now 23 shopping days till Christmas) I better get myself in gear. I have a lot of preparations to make. No, not a lot of shopping to do. I don’t do much shopping for Christmas. I’ll still put together a small stocking for my daughter (after 29 years the Santa fantasy is now more mine than hers), but otherwise the gifts to and from the rest of the family are our love and company.
The preparations I have to make are keeping my recycle bin empty for the daily onslaught of printed “gift guides” and my “Delete Finger” limber for elimination of the electronic version of those same and similar guides from my email inbox. Has anybody noticed those gift guides all seem to bear recommendations for anybody on your Christmas list with gifts from the same store? Who would have thought your 96 year old aunt and your 7 month old great nephew can be satisfied in a single trip to the same hunting and camping emporium. And no I am not receiving that email because I requested it. I never heard of you before and where is the “click here to unsubscribe” line?
One thing I don’t have to prepare for is an unusually warm Christmas. In fact we get back to December weather later today with falling temperatures and snow by morning. For those of you living in south Florida that’s the white stuff Frosty is made of.
All Washed Up
I have an absolutely, completely, positively, almost surgically clean apartment. Vacuuming, dusting, mopping, disinfecting, and laundering (yuck) are all done at the same time. Actually these were done all at the same time yesterday. Today I went to the hospital to have that pesky fistula declared kaput and a new one fashioned in my “other” arm. But wait! This is NOT a depressing “oh I’m so sick” post. If you want to read about my latest medical escapades, go read the kidney transplant journey posts. This post is about lint.
Right. Lint. I’m sorry, I’m starting in the middle again. Let me back up a few steps. You see, because I have an embarrassment of available time I spread housework out over the whole week. Typically each day has its own domestic torture. Oh I will wash, dry, iron, and put away the laundry all in one day, but usually it’s one day, one job. But because of this morning’s procedure I can’t lift or carry anything heavier than say, oh, a toilet brush. But I can’t really reach or swing with either arm so even if I wanted to pick up that toilet brush, the most I could do with it is gesture with it. So this place is so spotless today because for the next week the most strenuous activity I can pull off (like that word choice?) is manipulating the lever that raises the footrest on the recliner. So if I didn’t want to live in progressively slovenly environs, I did the next week’s work all in one day.
I know for many, because of work and family obligations every week’s household chores get done in one day but I’m old and feeble not to mention lazy by nature and as I said, with a lot of time in my hands. Being faced with a week’s worth of cleaning in just a few hours significantly challenged my efficiency. A big loser to my running around with my head threatening to be cut off was the dryer lint trap. Thus, today’s post about lint.
Right. Lint. (Sorry for repeating myself but the post really cried out for a couple extra and those fit the bill nicely.) (Speaking of words, I was thinking of you Angela when I worked “fistula” into a post about lint. Not bad, huh?)
You see, I have this love/hate relationship with fall/winter laundry. I hate how cold weather increases the volume of dirty clothes but I hate doing laundry in general. Hmm. I guess you could say I have a hate/hate relationship with fall/winter laundry. (Go back and check out “Visions of Fall” for more on that.) Regardless if I hate it or hate it, I had a lot of laundry to do. In a typical week laundry actually gets two days so yesterday I not only doubled my laundry activities, I did that on the day I was doing everything else.
So in order to get all the laundry plus everything else done I spent the day multitasking. I’m not a fan of multitasking. To me, multitasking is akin to compromise which to me is just another way of saying “nobody wins.” (If you are wondering, even though I don’t care much for compromise, I am a huge fan of collaboration. Someday I’ll do a post on that. Stay tuned.) (If you don’t understand “stay tuned,” find an old person to explain it along with “broken record” and “let’s go to the tape.”)
Well, to make a long story short (but then if I ever really did that all my posts would be just shy of 10 words), early in the laundry portion of our domestic extravaganza, I missed a tissue in a pocket. Ugh.
Launderers know the significance of that. If you don’t, go ask your mom!
Disbelievable!
The suspension of disbelief, so Aristotle says, is that theatrical principle which allows the audience to accept fiction as reality and fully experience the moments. I’ve always thought it should be the suspension of belief because what’s so hard about not not believing. Fiction by definition is that which is not real (though not necessarily unreal, at least as of the mid-1960s), or as Lawrence Block so well put it, “telling lies for fun and profit.” But I guess if you’re willing to shell out the money to have someone lie to you, whether at a play or through a novel, you’ve already surrendered at least some of your beliefs. To give up disbelief is the willingness not to stand up in the middle of Act III shouting “Oh come on now!”
Of course the author has some responsibility to make it not absurdly unbelievable except perhaps in a good farce. I thought of this while watching television the other night. It was a new age television drama that is supposed to reflect life itself. But I’ve seen this particular problem is lesser dramas, comedies, and even movies of the theatrical release type. That is the vibrating cell phone.
I am willing to disbelieve when our hero shoots it out with 5 or 6 bad guys all outfitter with automatic weapons against his pistol compact enough to slip into his tuxedo breast pocket. I can disbelieve with the best of them that someday man will fly faster than the speed of light. It even doesn’t stretch my discredibility that a fresh faced girl from Kansas can move to New York and beat out the actresses who have trained since they were 4 for the lead in the new Broadway musical winning a recording contract, and a Tony, in the process.
But I cannot disbelieve close to enough that everybody on TV and in the movies can hear their phones on vibrate from 2 rooms away. Seriously.
Seriously, is it only the programs I watch and the movies I go to that even the actors take the notice when we are instructed to mute our pagers, phones, and other electronic devices?
Maybe in the movies I can see the director being paranoid that if he or she were to call for a real ringtone too many audience members would reach for their phones and miss whatever nuance is playing out in the screen as we watch the character carefully traverse the rooms to the buzzing handset. I guess on the television shows a ringing phone would distract us to the point of missing the next commercial. Although I might be tempted to go looking for my phone thinking a) nobody in the show has a phone on them and b) holy crap, where did my phone get to?!
So I’m willing to not disbelieve in ghosts that run roughshod over New York, to take on non-unfaith that mild mannered bartenders double as CIA operatives, and to really buy that a computer can inhabit the body and soul of a foreign exchange student. But…
If anybody out there is working on a screenplay, please keep in mind that the suspension of disbelief goes only so far. And it stops at the end of my cell phone.
Bzzzzz bzzzzz
Happy Thanksgiving 2018
Tradition has it the first American Thanksgiving was celebrated in 1621. I don’t know if that’s true. I wasn’t there. That’s the trouble with tradition. Nobody around now was there when they started. We take them on faith and faithfully we follow them.
Thanksgiving 2018 will be a year many who had been here for 2017’s are no longer around. That’s the trouble with time. We take on faith today day will have another to follow.
They tell us that Thanksgiving is for friends and family to gather to be thankful they are still friends and family. I know. I said that at Thanksgiving 2011. Our friends and our families are truly the best of ourselves. How we love us is how we love them. This year, be thankful you are still here to love.
Happy Thanksgiving!
The Real Reality Show Blog 