Archive | December 2008

Christmas at Winchester, 1234

“The whole court was beginning to hum and shine with Christmas hilarity, for Henry loved Christmas, loved to celebrate it as a day of high jollity with, of course, religious undertones.

The Christmas matins had been sung just before dawn with all the proper ceremonial. The bishop himself, wearing his dalmatic, had chanted St. Matthew’s Genealogy, after being escorted by the acolytes to the rood loft, where candlesticks were elevated above him. It had been a solemn occasion. The King had spent it on his knees, thrilling to the deep gloom of the edifice, the drone of the bishop’s voice and the the rich chorus of the monkish voices in the Te Deum which followed. He loved ritual. It uplifted him, made him feel more than an earthly king, gave him, perhaps, a sense of participation in heavenly rule.

Now the festivities of the day were starting and everything would be done with the refinement and magnificence which the Normans had introduced into such celebrations. The yule log had been dragged in already while gleemen sang the popular carol of the day, To English Ale and Gascon Wine, the refrain of which ran:

May joys flow from God above,
To all those whom Christmas love.

The wassail bowls were ready with the fragrant hot spiced ale and the roasted apples. The meats were making on the spits, pig and boar and goose, and the kitchens were still busy preparing such holiday delicacies as dilligrout and karum pie.” ~From The Magnificent Century by Thomas B. Costain.

What, pray tell, is a dalmatic? And what are dilligrout and karum pie? The aforementioned Henry is Henry III, aka Henry of Winchester, son of John I (Magna Carta) and father to Edward I, Longshanks.

7 Quick Takes Friday: Living and Learning

Jennifer at Conversion Diary sponsors 7 Quick Takes Friday. If you’re in the mood for some trivia about the quotidian pursuits of ordinary people, which after all is what life is made of, check it out.

***1***

I like the word “quotidian”. I first saw it at someone’s blog. I think one of the reasons I blog is so that I can use words that I find and like, and no one will look at me with a puzzled expression and a “who are you trying to impress” attitude. I’m not trying to impress anyone; I just like words.

***2***

I’m still reading Cybils nominees. I would like to review all of the books, over 80, I’ve read for the Cybils, but I know that it’s not going to happen. THis morning at homeschool co-op, I was reading Chancy of the Maury River by Gigi Amateau. I’m not really a horse person, but this book reminds me of Black Beauty. I think horse-loving girls would love it.

***3***

Another book for horse lovers is last year’s Paint the Wind (Semicolon review here). Those two books together would make a great gift for some horsey young lady. All my friends in junior high loved horses, and they were all going to grow up to be veterinarians —except for me. I don’t even do small pets, let alone horses.

***4***

Mostly we learned about snow this week. We saw, we experienced, we froze. I’m still freezing, and it’s supposed to be up to 68 degrees today.

***5***

We also did a little math this week, read a little history, made this fudge (thanks to Brenda and Rachel). Our learning week has been somewhat desultory (another nice word), but relaxing.

***6***

I had planned to make several crafty-type Christmas gifts with the girls from this list, but we made exactly one of them so far, the play dough. I should already know that I’m just not the crafty type, except in the sly sense of the word. Maybe this next week will be craft week at Semicolon house.

***7***

Tomorrow Artist Daughter and Engineer Husband have their piano recital. I’ll miss the sounds of their practicing their pieces at random times of the day, but I’ll be glad to have the recital done. Christmas music playing here when someone isn’t playing the piano: Sufjan Stevens and Kemper Crabb.

See you all tomorrow at the Saturday Review of Books.

Christmas in Arizona, 1902

“In 1902 an Act of Congress officially opened for land claims what had previously been the San Carlos Apache Indian Reservation. One fellow, upon hearing the news, immediately rushed there to stake his claims on December 25, Christmas Day. He then rapidly rode on horseback to file them the next day at the government office.”

This eager beaver land claim is what gave Christmas, Arizona its name.

~The Naming of America by Allan Wolk

Semicolon Author Celebration: Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn

According to WIkipedia:

Aleksandr Isayevich Solzhenitsyn (December 11, 1918 – August 3, 2008) was a Russian novelist, dramatist and historian. Through his writings, he made the world aware of the Gulag, the Soviet Union’s forced labour camp system, and for these efforts Solzhenitsyn was exiled from the Soviet Union in 1974. He was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1970. He returned to Russia in 1994.

I actually read The Gulag Archipelago, the whole thing I think, some twenty or thirty years ago. Honestly, I don’t remember much about it —except that it was long.

Solzhenitsyn, the man, was not a perfect person. He has been accused of anti-Semitism and of a superficial Russian patriotism that ignored the deep problems in post-communist Russia. Perhaps so.
But in his 1978 address to Harvard graduates, he was not afraid to speak truth to the elite students who were there to hear an innocuous commencement speech from a famous dissident. They got more than they bargained for.

Solzhenitsyn said:

The Western world has lost its civil courage, both as a whole and separately, in each country, each government, each political party and of course in the United Nations. Such a decline in courage is particularly noticeable among the ruling groups and the intellectual elite, causing an impression of loss of courage by the entire society.

Hastiness and superficiality are the psychic disease of the 20th century and more than anywhere else this disease is reflected in the press. In-depth analysis of a problem is anathema to the press. It stops at sensational formulas.

Such as it is, however, the press has become the greatest power within the Western countries, more powerful than the legislature, the executive and the judiciary. One would then like to ask: by what law has it been elected and to whom is it responsible? In the communist East a journalist is frankly appointed as a state official. But who has granted Western journalists their power, for how long a time and with what prerogatives?

If humanism were right in declaring that man is born to be happy, he would not be born to die. Since his body is doomed to die, his task on earth evidently must be of a more spiritual nature. It cannot unrestrained enjoyment of everyday life. It cannot be the search for the best ways to obtain material goods and then cheerfully get the most out of them. It has to be the fulfillment of a permanent, earnest duty so that one’s life journey may become an experience of moral growth, so that one may leave life a better human being than one started it.

The speech itself is worth reading.

So today we celebrate Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, an imperfect man who wrote long books, showed great courage in his resistance to the oppressive system of Soviet communism, and spoke some hard truths even at Harvard. If you have something to say about Solzhenitsyn and his writings, please leave a link in the linky.

One more quote from Mr. Solzhenitsyn: “If only there were evil people somewhere insidiously committing evil deeds and it were necessary only to separate them from the rest of us and destroy them. But the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being. And who is willing to destroy a piece of his own heart?”

Christmas at Westminster, 1140 AD

Christmas revelries at Westminster were lavish that year, deliberately so, as if rich fare and dramatic spectacle could somehow validate Stephen’s contested kingship, as if roast goose and spiced red wine and baker’s dozen of minstrels could make people forget the burning of Worcester, the sacking of Nottingham, the newly dug graves, and the uncertain tomorrows that lay ahead. The great hall of William Rufus had been adorned with so much greenery that it resembled the forest in which Rufus had met his death, decorated with evergreen boughs and holly and beribboned sprigs of mistletoe. The meal had been so bountiful that the leftover goose and venison and bread and eel scraped from the trenchers would feed Christ’s poor for days to come. The entertainment was equally extravagant: a woman rope dancer, a daredevil who juggled daggers, a Nativity play that offered not only the requisite shepherds and Magi but even a few sheep as props. Then the last of the trestle tables were cleared away and the dancing began, the irresistible, exuberant music of everyone’s favorite, the carol.

~From When Christ and His Saints Slept by Sharon Kay Penman. Semicolon review here.

Note on my Comment Policy

I do not allow people to call other people “fools” or make other ad hominem attacks in my comments. I know that I “call” people fools when I post about birthdays (To This Great Stage of Fools), but only in the Shakespearean sense that we are all fools.

Calling individual commenters “fools” is rude and not allowed in my house or on my blog.

If I contradict myself, I contradict myself.

Living and Learning: December 10, 2008

Z-baby and I were going to pick up her brother from his math class, and we had this rather random conversation:

Z-baby: When someone becomes president, on the day he becomes president, do they have a Big Party or something?

Semicolon Mom: Yes, they do. It’s called an inauguration.

Z-baby: Does everybody in the whole country have to come?

Semicolon Mom: No, just his friends and supporters and other people who live close to Washington, D.C. will be there.

Z-baby: Why does Barack Obama have to be president of Texas anyway? Why can’t he just go be president of New Mexico or something?

(Impromptu geography/government lesson ensues in which Semicolon Mom explains that New Mexico and Texas are both part of the United States, and Mr. Obama will be president of all fifty states in the U.S.)

Z-baby: Well, at least maybe it will snow tonight!
extremely reluctant reader, the only one I’ve had to be so allergic to learning to read. (No, she doesn’t have a learning disability. She’s mostly just lazy and opinionated.) Anyway, I’m glad to have her bringing me a book and reading parts of it to me, with a smile!

To This Great Stage of Fools: Born December 10th, Emily Dickinson, Mary Norton, Rumer Godden.
Will Duquette reviews In This House of Brede by Rumer Godden.
Semicolon review of Pippa Passes by Rumer Godden.

To This Great Stage of Fools: Born December 10th, George Macdonald.

Christmas in Hankow, China, 1925

“What I liked best about Christmas was that for a whole day grown-ups seemed to agree to take time of from being grown-ups. At six-thirty sharp when I burst into my parents’ room, yelling, ‘Merry Christmas!,’ they both laughed and jumped right up as if six-thirty wasn’t an early hour at all. By the time we came downstairs, the servants were lined up in the hall dressed in their best. ‘Gung-shi.’ They bowed. ‘Gung-shi. Gung-shi.’ This was the way Chinese offered congratulations on special occasions, and the greeting, as it was repeated, sounded like little bells tinkling.

Lin Nai-Nai, however, didn’t ‘gung-shi.’ For months she had been waiting for this day. She stepped forward. ‘Merry Christmas,’ she said just as if she could have said anything in English that she wanted to. I was so proud. I took her hand as we trooped into the living room. My father lighted the tree and he distributed the first gifts of the day—red envelopes filled with money for the servants. After a flurry of more ‘gung-shis,’ the servants left and there were the three of us in front of a huge mound of packages. All mysteries.” ~Homesick by Jean Fritz

News and Links

Joseph Rendini: Week Without Abortion: Too Little, Too Late “Russia needs Russians to survive. The country’s abortion rate, a cultural by-product of 75 years of imposed atheistic socialism, remains among the highest in the world. Nearly 70 percent of Russian pregnancies end in abortion. In 2004, there were 100,000 more abortions than live births. No nation can withstand such wholesale, self-induced slaughter of its own children.” I know that the abortion rate has been going down in the past ten years or so, but are we headed, under Obama, for the kind of slaughter that Mr. Redini talks about here? I pray not.

On a lighter note, Steven Riddle at Flos Carmeli reviews 44 Scotland Street and Expresso Tales, both serialized novels by Alexander McCall Smith.

“McCall Smith writes well. There is a suppleness and almost a poetry in his simple, direct, clear writing. There is an obvious affection for even the most odious of characters and he can’t seem to quite give them their comeuppance. And in the course of the books, that turns out to be quite all right.

If you need something to take your mind off of present difficulties, or if you’re looking for something to fill in the gaps left between the novels of Jan Karon, you may enjoy the works of McCall Smith, and most particularly these two books about the residents of Scotland Street.

I’ve read 44 Scotland Street and several novels by Mr. Smith, and I would agree with Mr. Riddle’s assessment. Alexander McCall Smith writes vignettes/short stories that I can enjoy, loosely strung together but each a small “pearl.”