Archives

On the Ninth Day of Christmas, New Mexico, 1850’s

Dec7

From Willa Cather’s Death Comes for the Archbishop:

Father Vaillant had been absent in Arizona since midsummer, and it was now December. Bishop Latour had been going through one of those periods of coldness and doubt which, from his boyhood, had occasionally settled down upon his spirit and meade him feel an alien, wherever he was. He attended to his correspondence, went on his rounds among the parish priests, held services at missions that were without pastors, superintended the building of the addition to the Sisters’ school: but his heart was not in these things.

One night about three weeks before Christmas he was lying in his bed, unable to sleep, with the sense of failure clutching at his heart. His prayers were empty words and brought him no refreshment. His soul had become a barren field. He had nothing within himself to give his priests or his people. His works seemed superficial, a house built upon the sands. His great diocese was still a heathen country. The Indians travelled their old road of fear and darkness, battling with evil omens and ancient shadows. The Mexicans were children who played with their religion.

The novel goes on to tell how Bishop Latour is renewed in his faith by the faith of an old peasant woman, Sada. We all need renewed vision sometimes. If the above description applies to you this Christmas season, take heart. I believe Christ will meet you in the middle of a Christmas drought if you keep your eyes open and your ears tuned to His voice.

Today’s Gifts:
A song: Come Thou Long-Expected Jesus at Mocha with Linda.

A booklist: Read aloud Christmas titles from the library at Hope Is the Word.

A birthday: Willa Cather, American novelist, b.1873.

A poem: The Oxen by Thomas Hardy

Christmas Eve, and twelve of the clock.
“Now they are all on their knees,”
An elder said as we sat in a flock
By the embers in hearthside ease.

We pictured the meek mild creatures where
They dwelt in their strawy pen,
Nor did it occur to one of us there
To doubt they were kneeling then.

So fair a fancy few would weave
In these years! Yet, I feel,
If someone said on Christmas Eve,
“Come; see the oxen kneel

In the lonely barton by yonder coomb
Our childhood used to know,”
I should go with him in the gloom,
Hoping it might be so.

On the Seventh Day of Christmas, Nashville, TN, 1828

Dec5

From the biography, American Lion: Andrew Jackson in the White House by Jon Meacham:

Shortly after nine on the evening of Monday, December 22, three days before Christmas, Rachel [Jackson] suffered an apparent heart attack. It was over. Still, Jackson kept vigil, her flesh turning cold to his touch as he stroked her forehead. With his most awesome responsibilities and burdens at hand she left him. ‘My mind is so disturbed . . . that I can scarcely write, in short my dear friend my heart is nearly broke,’ Jackson told his confidant John Coffee after Rachel’s death.

At one o’clock on Christmas Eve afternoon, by order of the mayor, Nashville’s church bells began ringing in tribute to Rachel, who was to be buried in her garden in the shadow of the Hermitage. The weather had been wet, and the dirt in the garden was soft; the rain made the gravediggers’ task a touch easier as they worked. After a Presbyterian funeral service led by Rachel’s minister, Jackson walked the one hundred fifty paces back to the house. Devastated but determined, he then spoke to the mourners. ‘I am now the President elect of the United States, and in a short time must take my way to the metropolis of my country; and, if it had been God’s will, I would have been grateful for the privilege of taking her to my post of honor and seating her by my side; but Providence knew what was best for her.'”

Today’s Gifts
A song: In the Bleak Midwinter, lyrics by Christian Rossetti, music by Gustav Holst.

A booklist: Biographies of the U.S. Presidents (books I’m planning to read)

A birthday: Christina Rossetti, b.1830.
Walt Disney, b. 1901.

A poem: Love Came Down at Christmas by Christina Rossetti.

Sunday Salon: The Amen! Praise the Lord! Edition

Dec5

The lame walk. Wow! HT: Lars Walker at Brandywine Books.

Here, both the data about world health and prosperity and the way it’s presented are fascinating. You’ll just have to take my word for it and watch to understand what I’m talking about:

I really like this idea: Journibles.

The idea for this comes from Deuteronomy 17:18, where God commands the kings of Israel to hand-write their own copy of the Torah, or book of the law. The purpose of this was so that they would carry it with them always, read it, learn from it, and lead the people accordingly. It’s interesting to note that 3400 years later, educators have been discovering that most people learn kinesthetically, by doing or writing things out for themselves.

As you open the book, you will see chapter and verse numbers on the right-hand pages. These are conveniently spaced according to the length of each verse. However, these pre-formatted lines are left blank for you to hand-write your Journibleâ„¢ book of yourself.

In fact, I think I’m going to ask for one of these, maybe the book of John, for Christmas.

On the Sixth Day of Christmas, New York City, 197-

Dec4

Madeleine L’Engle is one of my favorite writers. Her memoir, The Irrational Season, includes a chapter about Christmas in which Madeleine tells the story of one Christmas in her family in which a close relative died and yet Christmas came and the Word was flesh and dwelt among us.

“The chapel is small, and in this smallness, holding Charlotte in my arms, with Lena leaning against me, I began to move into Christmas. The Sisters sang Solemn Vespers for Christmas Eve, and their high, clear voices, moving antiphonally back and forth across the chapel, contained for me the same reality I felt in the strong words of the Kaddish. Then we all gathered around the creche, the children on tiptoe to see the shepherds, the animals, Mary and Joseph and the infant in the crib, the helpless thing containing the brilliance of the galaxies and the shadow of the cross.

It was impossible, but for the moment I was the White Queen, and the loving and beautiful bodies of my grandaughters made it possible for me to believe: they have not been created to be discarded like dross; the baby lying between the ox and the ass affirms the ultimate value of all life.”

This is the irrational season
When love blooms bright and wild.
had Mary been filled with reason
There’d have been no room for the child.

Today’s Gifts
A song: “I understand Christmas as I understand Bach’s Sleepers Awake or Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring. . . When I am able to pray with the mind in the heart, I am joyfully able to affirm the irrationality of Christmas.” ~Madeleine L’Engle

A booklist: A Madeleine L’Engle Annotated Bibliography

A birthday: Rainer Maria Rilke, poet, b.1875.

A poem: Sunset by Rainer Maria Rilke.

On the Fifth Day of Christmas, Chalmette, New Orleans, 1909

Dec3

O’Henry‘s most famous Christmas story is, of course, The Gift of the Magi, about young newlyweds who give each other sacrificial Christmas gifts. In Whistling Dick’s Christmas Stocking, a tramp named Whistling Dick rescues a family from a group of thieves on Christmas Eve. The story first appeared in the collection, Roads of Destiny, published in 1909.

A distant clatter in the rear quickly developed into the swift beat of horses’ hoofs, and Whistling Dick stepped aside into the dew-wet grass to clear the track. Turning his head, he saw approaching a fine team of stylish grays drawing a double surrey. A stout man with a white moustache occupied the front seat, giving all his attention to the rigid lines in his hands. Behind him sat a placid, middle-aged lady and a brilliant-looking girl hardly arrived at young ladyhood. The lap-robe had slipped partly from the knees of the gentleman driving, and Whistling Dick saw two stout canvas bags between his feet–bags such as, while loafing in cities, he had seen warily transferred between express waggons and bank doors. The remaining space in the vehicle was filled with parcels of various sizes and shapes.

As the surrey swept even with the sidetracked tramp, the bright-eyed girl, seized by some merry, madcap impulse, leaned out toward him with a sweet, dazzling smile, and cried, “Mer-ry Christ-mas!” in a shrill, plaintive treble.

Such a thing had not often happened to Whistling Dick, and he felt handicapped in devising the correct response. But lacking time for reflection, he let his instinct decide, and snatching off his battered derby, he rapidly extended it at arm’s length, and drew it back with a continuous motion, and shouted a loud, but ceremonious, “Ah, there!” after the flying surrey.

Today’s Gifts
A song: Moon River, music by Henry Mancini. Ok, it’s not a Christmas song, but it’s vintage Andy Williams. Enjoy.A booklist: The many short stories of William Sydney Porter, O’Henry.
A birthday: Andy Williams, b.1930. We always used to watch Andy Williams’ Christmas special on TV, back in the day.
Nicholaus von Amsdorf, German reformation theologian, b.1483. I only recognize this name because Eldest Daughter has been studying Herr Nicholaus von Amsdorf this past semester. Merry Christmas to all theologians and medieval scholars.
Joseph Conrad, b.1857.
A poem: Moon River by Johnny Mercer.

Moon River, wider than a mile,
I’m crossing you in style some day.
Oh, dream maker, you heart breaker,
wherever you’re going I’m going your way.

Two drifters off to see the world.
There’s such a lot of world to see.
We’re after the same rainbow’s end–
waiting ’round the bend,
my huckleberry friend,
Moon River and me.

On the Fourth Day of Christmas, Tottenham Court Road, London, 1892

Dec2

From The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, a Sherlock Holmes mystery story:

The facts are these: about four o’clock on Christmas morning, Peterson, who, as you know, is a very honest fellow, was returning from some small jollification and was making his way homeward down Tottenham Court Road. In front of him he saw, in the gaslight, a tallish man, walking with a slight stagger, and carrying a white goose slung over his shoulder. As he reached the corner of Goodge Street, a row broke out between this stranger and a little knot of roughs. One of the latter knocked off the man’s hat, on which he raised his stick to defend himself and, swinging it over his head, smashed the shop window behind him. Peterson had rushed forward to protect the stranger from his assailants; but the man, shocked at having broken the window, and seeing an official-looking person in uniform rushing towards him, dropped his goose, took to his heels, and vanished amid the labyrinth of small streets which lie at the back of Tottenham Court Road. The roughs had also fled at the appearance of Peterson, so that he was left in possession of the field of battle, and also of the spoils of victory in the shape of this battered hat and a most unimpeachable Christmas goose.”

Today’s Gifts
A song: One of my favorite songs by one of my favorite singers, Karen Carpenter singing I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day.
A booklist: Gift books for what they want to be when they grow up.
A birthday: David Macaulay, b.1946.
A poem: Christmas Bells by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. The entire poem has seven stanzas or verses.

On the Third Day of Christmas, Near Putney, England, c.1900

Dec1

From G.K. Chesterton’s Father Brown Christmas story, The Flying Stars:

That venerable financier, however, still seemed struggling with portions of his well-lined attire, and at length produced from a very interior tail-coat pocket, a black oval case which he radiantly explained to be his Christmas present for his god-daughter. With an unaffected vain-glory that had something disarming about it he held out the case before them all; it flew open at a touch and half-blinded them. It was just as if a crystal fountain had spurted in their eyes. In a nest of orange velvet lay like three eggs, three white and vivid diamonds that seemed to set the very air on fire all round them. Fischer stood beaming benevolently and drinking deep of the astonishment and ecstasy of the girl, the grim admiration and gruff thanks of the colonel, the wonder of the whole group.

“I’ll put ’em back now, my dear,” said Fischer, returning the case to the tails of his coat. “I had to be careful of ’em coming down. They’re the three great African diamonds called `The Flying Stars,’ because they’ve been stolen so often. All the big criminals are on the track; but even the rough men about in the streets and hotels could hardly have kept their hands off them. I might have lost them on the road here. It was quite possible.”

“Quite natural, I should say,” growled the man in the red tie. “I shouldn’t blame ’em if they had taken ’em. When they ask for bread, and you don’t even give them a stone, I think they might take the stone for themselves.”

“I won’t have you talking like that,” cried the girl, who was in a curious glow. “You’ve only talked like that since you became a horrid what’s-his-name. You know what I mean. What do you call a man who wants to embrace the chimney-sweep?”

“A saint,” said Father Brown.

“I think,” said Sir Leopold, with a supercilious smile, “that Ruby means a Socialist.”

Today’s Gifts:
A song: God Rest You Merry, Gentlemen
A booklist: Crime Fiction to Give for Christmas at Mysteries in Paradise.
A birthday: Rex Stout, b.1886.
A poem: Mistletoe by Walter de la Mare and Lines for a Christmas Card by Hillaire Belloc.

On the First Day of Christmas, Aunt Hill, Boston, 1875

Nov29

From Eight Cousins by Louisa May Alcott:

The elders would have sat and talked all the evening, but the young folks were bent on having their usual Christmas frolic; so, after an hour of pleasant chat, they began to get restless, and having consulted together in dumb show, they devised a way to very effectually break up the family council.

Steve vanished, and, sooner than the boys imagined Dandy could get himself up, the skirl of the bag-pipe was heard in the hall, and the bonny piper came to lead the Clan Campbell in the revel.

“Draw it mild, Stenie, my man; ye play unco weel, but ye mak a most infernal din,” cried Uncle Jem, with his hands over his ears, for this accomplishment was new to him, and “took him all aback,” as he expressed it.

So Steve droned out a Highland reel as softly as he could, and the boys danced it to a circle of admiring relations. Captain Jem was a true sailor, however, and could not stand idle while any thing lively was going on; so, when the piper’s breath gave out, he cut a splendid pigeon-wing into the middle of the hall, saying, “Who can dance a Fore and After?” and, waiting for no reply, began to whistle the air so invitingly that Mrs. Jessie “set” to him laughing like a girl; Rose and Charlie took their places behind, and away went the four with a spirit and skill that inspired all the rest to “cut in” as fast as they could.

Today’s Gifts
A song: Nothing says “Thanksgiving” like a chorus of “Jingle Bells,” Mark Steyn on Jingle Bells
A book (or two): My Friend Amy lists Christmas mysteries for 2010.
A birthday: A Meme and a Celebration, C.S. Lewis, Louisa May Alcott, and Madeleine L’Engle.
A poem: Indwelling by T.E. Brown

Clementine, Friend of the Week by Sara Pennypacker

Nov28

Have I told you lately that I love, love, love Sara Pennypacker’s Clementine? She’s Ramona Quimby, Shirley Temple, and Anne of Green Gables all mixed together and placed in an apartment building in Boston with a super dad and an artist mom and a little brother named Broccoli.

Well, okay, fine. His name isn’t really Broccoli or String Bean or Squash or any of the other names that Clementine has for him, but she figures since she got named for a fruit, her brother should be a vegetable name. And that’s the way Clementine thinks.

In this fourth installment of the Clementine saga, Clementine is chosen to be Friend of the Week in her third grade class. The Friend of the Week gets to “tell my autobiography,be line leader, collect the milk money, feed the fish” and have a booklet in which every other child in the class writes about why the Friend of the Week is a good friend. But soon the wonderfulness of being Friend of the Week is eclipsed by tragedy when Clementine loses her kitten, Moisturizer. What can she do? Where can Moistuizer be? How can they find him? And will the saying that Clementine is remembering come true: curiosity killed the cat?

I think every second or third grade girl in the U.S. ought to get a copy of at least one of the Clementine books in her stocking for Christmas, and half the boys should, too. Clementine just gets better with each book.


The Clementine books:
Clementine.
The Talented Clementine.
Clementine’s Letter.
Clementine, Friend of the Week.
Coming in Summer, 2011: Clementine and the Family Meeting

Travels With Gannon and Wyatt: Botswana by Patti Wheeler and Keith Hemstreet

Nov27

Travels With Gannon and Wyatt is something different in the world of children’s books. At least, I’ve never seen a book or a series quite like it. Travels With Gannon and Wyatt: Botswana is the first book in a prospective series of fictional travel adventures featuring homeschooled twin brothers, Gannon and Wyatt Wheeler, sons of the co-author Patti Wheeler. The idea, as I understand it, is to take the adventures of real brothers, Gannon and Wyatt, and cast them into a story that will hold kids’ interest and at the same time teach them something about the world and its inhabitants, both animals and people. In this first book the brothers go to Botswana where they see and photograph all kinds of wildlife on safari and encounter the most dangerous animals of all, human poachers.

So how successful is this first book in the series? Well, great literature it’s not, but Ms. Wheeler and Mr. Hemstreet do tell an engrossing adventure story featuring a couple of intrepid young explorers. The story unfolds in the form of journal entries, alternating between Gannon’s voice and Wyatt’s. Each boy tells the story of their African adventure from his unique point of view: Gannon, the philosophical people person and Wyatt, the scientific fact gatherer. The boys have a LOT of adventures for one book: seeing all of the Big Five (lions, cafe buffalo, rhinos, leopards, and elephants) and also several more dangerous and fascinating animals, visiting a Bushmen village, rescuing a wounded lioness, and foiling poachers, among other events. Wyatt gets sick at one point in the story with an unknown African illness, and he almost dies. Gannon is charged by an aggressive lion, and then when they run out of food on safari, the boys get a taste of roasted black mamba.

By the way, mambas seem to be popular in kidlit this year. Trendspotter that I am, I’ve noticed the prominence of the nasty poisonous buggers in three of the books I’ve read so far for the Cybils Middle Grade Fiction: Mamba Point by Kurtis Scaletta, Belly Up by Sturart GIbbs, and now Travels With Gannon and Wyatt: Botswana. I also learned a lot about hippos from this book and from Belly Up!. Did you know that hippos are among the most dangerous animals in the African bush and that they have a penchant for overturning boats? Both books agreed on this fact, so it must be true.

I think boys in particular who have a yen for travel and adventure will get a kick out of these books. The first book comes with a DVD with video footage of the real Gannon and Wyatt on their trek through Botswana. And if kids are really into the whole travel/adventure/series thing, they can go the Travels With Gannon and Wyatt website where they can join the Youth Exploration Society, read the boys’ blog, or purchase Gannon and Wyatt merchandise. Future books in the series will feature Gannon and Wyatt in The Great Bear Rainforest, Egypt, and the Serengeti.

Other takes:
Carrie at 5 Minutes for Books: “I found Travels with Gannon and Wyatt: Botswana to be imaginative and engaging. It reads like a positive adventure story with lots of geographical facts thrown in so the reader is picking up information on the country or continent in focus.”

Roberta at Wrapped in Foil: “It becomes apparent the adventures in the book are fictionalized. The boys would have to be pretty unlucky to encounter all the things that befall them. Starting out with a close call with a mother white rhino that knocks their own mother out of the vehicle they are riding in, the boys run up against everything from frightening giant crocodiles to being held hostage by an angry poacher.”

Travels With Gannon and Wyatt: Botswana has been nominated for the 2010 Cybils Awards in the Middle Grade Fiction category.

If you could travel anywhere, where would you go first? Civilized or wild? Culture and history or wildlife and roughing it? You probably already know I’m in the first category. I’d head straight for London and Oxford and Stratford-on-the-Avon if I could. But I did enjoy reading about Gannon’s and Wyatt’s exploits in the African bush.