This Kinda Sums Up Christmas, for a Kid

Mister Tristan--the 6 year old human being, not the blog--models a new Christmas acquisition:

All the best to you all as the year draws to a close....

Origins of the Phrase "It Is What It Is"

Last Christmas season I fired up my Kindle and read for the first time A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens.  Then this season the bride did the same.  This was a repro of the original version with illustrations, which in itself was quite interesting.

We are Christmas Carol junkies, trying to see a stage production every year and watching all of the various film versions we own (our fav is the 1951 version with Alastair Sim).  Something about the story just seems to resonate with us, and we are please to note that this habit seems to be passing down to our descendants.  So I guess we did something right!

Anyway, back to the now-ubiquitous phrase "It is what it is."

Charles Dickens may well have foreshadowed it in writing about the Ghost of Christmas Past, who famously replied when Scrooge was complaining about seeing his painful past:

"I told you that these were the shadows of this things that have been," said the Ghost.  That they are what they are, do not blame me!"

Historical references aside, I just love how the book concludes, after Scrooge realizes what a d*ck he has been his entire life:

Scrooge was better than his word.  He did it all, and infinitely more; and to Tiny Tim, who did NOT die, he was a second father.  He became as good a friend, as good a master, and as good a man as the good old city knew...and it was always said of him, that he knew how to keep Christmas well....

Watch it this year, and feel good about what you may learn.

Guess I'll Never be Michael Buble...and Ultrarunning

The other day, the bride purchased a Michael Buble CD of Christmas music.  I've seen him numerous times on the Today Show, Christmas specials, etc., and he's a very entertaining singer whom we enjoy.  He kinda croons, reminiscent of Frank Sinatra or Bing Crosby.

Oh, and he snaps his fingers when he sings, if the song calls for it.  That act makes me envious.

Why?  Since my snowblower accident last winter where I messed up the ring finger of my right (dominant) hand, I cannot snap my fingers.**  So my possible career as a Michael Buble wanna-be is forever closed to me.

Oh, and the link to Ultrarunning?  There is none.  I wracked my brain for some sort of connection that I could draw, and came up completely empty.  Oh well.



**Note that I could not snap my fingers before the accident, either.

Goodbye, Bob Marley...and Ultrarunning

 

[image credit Gary]

 

Well, over the weekend the bride and I dismantled our Christmas tree and with it an ornament that we jokingly call "Bob Marley."

 

Of course, it's Jacob Marley from Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol, but way back when, one of our kids garbled the character with that of the reggae musician.  Thus the ornament remains Bob Marley.

 

The link to Ultrarunning?  Very little, of course--I mostly just like the ornament.  I suppose I could make the case for the liberating freedom of trail running...but you already know that, don't you?

 

 

Fish Chimes...and Ultrarunning

Yesterday, Christmas Eve, is the day our family traditionally exchanges our gifts.

For one of the bride's gifts I created a set of fish wind chimes using some old silver teaspoons that were my mother's:

 

[image credit Gary]

 

 

Here are the basic steps:

1. Pound the spoon part flat
2. Cut off the handle, leaving about an inch attached to the flattened spoon to be the tail
3. Split the tail using a metal cutting blade on a Dremel tool
4. Bend the two tail parts into curves using pliers
5. Cut mouth notch using Dremel tool
6. Drill hole for the eye
7. Drill a smaller hole for the monofilament string (first use a piece of string and duct tape to ascertain where the balance point is)
8. Attach string to fish and hang 5 chimes from cut stick

 

The link to Ultrarunning is a memory I have of running along the C+O Canal near Dam # 4.  A rewatered section was just full of huge carp, up to say 2' long, just languidly rolling near the surface.  Their day looked a bit more relaxing than my day was going to be.

 

 

Christmas Truce, 1914

In 1914, as the reality of the awfulness of the First World War was setting in, young soldiers on the Western Front put aside their weapons for a brief time (click to enlarge):

 

One of the stories that emerged from the event was that, in the quiet of Christmas Eve night, some young German started singing "Stille Nacht". Soon the British, French and Scots on the other side of No Man's Land (oftentimes measuring only a hundred yards wide) joined in in their own tongues. Before long, the spirit of peace and "goodwill towards men" prevailed over the demonic spirit of war, and the troops on both sides sensed their common humanity. The natural human aversion to killing broke through to consciousness and overcame the patriotic fervor and brain-washing to which they had been subjected.

Once the spirit of peace was felt, soldiers on both sides dropped their weapons and came out of their trenches to meet their former foes face-to-face. To get through to the other side they had to step around shell holes and over frozen corpses (which were soon given respectful burials, soldiers from both sides helping one another with the gruesome task).

The spirit of retaliation had dissipated and the desire for peace on earth emerged. New friends shared chocolate bars, cigarettes, beer, wine, schnapps, soccer games and pictures from home. Addresses were exchanged, photos were taken and every soldier who genuinely experienced the emotional drama was forever changed - and the generals and the gung-ho politicians were appalled.

Then the boys went back to fighting for another 4 years, in the War to End All Wars (how did that work out?).

My great-grandfather, a German soldier, in all likelihood was not present for this truce.  He was killed on the last day of the war in 1918, so the odds of him having been a part of the truce, and surviving the next 4 years, would have been astronomical.  I've posted that family story here.

 

Just in Time: Gingerbread House Secret Tip

[image credit Gary]

 

 

There it is in the right foreground: a hot glue gun.

 

Use it to glue the pieces of the house together instead of trying--and failing--to set the sides, ends, and roof panels using the white icing that comes with the kit.  You will use the icing only to stick on the little decorative candies, where structural strength is not an issue.

 

So instead of flailing around for a couple hours (only, probably, to have your house slowly sag apart as you helplessly watch), you'll be decorating it within 15 minutes.

 

You're not gonna eat it anyway, are you?

 

 

Christmas, Death Throes, and Ultrarunning

Via Watertiger at Dependable Renegade, a rather disturbing Christmas card:

Watertiger's caption, upon which I cannot improve:

Nothing says "Happy Holidays" like some good old-fashioned taxidermed death throes.

These are some twisted people, to take real, live, beautiful critters and permanently freeze them into a shallow representation of life.  Why not just enjoy them in the wild, live and let live?

Some of my best trail experiences ever involve seeing critters in the wild.  I can honestly say that I never had the desire to kill them and have them stuffed for my home enjoyment.

 

Christmas Trees, Cats, and Ultrarunning

[photo by Gary]

We put up our Christmas tree this weekend--we always do that the Saturday immediately after Thanksgiving.

We have a regular ritual.  We go the the tree farm in October to pick and tag a tree, then return Thanksgiving Saturday to cut it and bring it home.  I put the lights and garlands around it, then push it back into the corner of the great room where we attack it with ornaments.

Mister Tristan--the 3-year old human, not the blog--really got into it this year.  Of course, when I got the stepstool to reach to the the top of the 9' tree, also climbing the stepstool became a high priority for him.

Oh, and laying under the tree becomes a priority for the cats.  This particular feline is called Amanda--Mana for short--and has staked out the under-tree region as hers.  That is, until she goes outside, in which case the area is up for grabs.

Oh, and the link to Ultrarunning?  This tree is a Douglas Fir.  Here in the East, people know it only from Christmas trees, where it is very popular because it retains its needles very well even when cut and indoors.

I can't ever forget my first time on a trail out west seeing mature, old-growth Douglas Firs in their native habitat.  I mean, these trees were real giants--6' or more thick and 150' tall--like smaller versions of a redwood.  I was in utter awe of their majesty, and couldn't help but be compelled to use my library voice when I spoke.

 

Christmas, 1914

(image credit here:  British and German soldiers meeting in No Man's Land during the Christmas Truce of 1914.  Picture courtesy the National Army Museum.)

My great-grandfather died on the Western Front on the last day of WWI, 11 November 1918.  He was a German soldier.  I blogged about it here at Mister Tristan. So I found this tale of the 1914 Christmas truce to be very touching.


Via Avedon Carol at The Sideshow, who sends us over to The Daily Brew and a post from 2002: 

As the Bush Administration continues to prepare for its war of aggression, please don't give up hope that the illegal war by the illegal Bush regime may still be averted. Remember that Christmas is just around the corner, and strange things have been known to happen at Christmas. Below is a letter from the front line written Christmas Day, 1914.

My dear sister Janet,

It is 2:00 in the morning and most of our men are asleep in their dugouts—yet I could not sleep myself before writing to you of the wonderful events of Christmas Eve. In truth, what happened seems almost like a fairy tale, and if I hadn’t been through it myself, I would scarce believe it. Just imagine: While you and the family sang carols before the fire there in London, I did the same with enemy soldiers here on the battlefields of France!

[SNIP]

I went to the dugout to rest, and lying on my cot, I must have drifted asleep. All at once my friend John was shaking me awake, saying, “Come and see! See what the Germans are doing!” I grabbed my rifle, stumbled out into the trench, and stuck my head cautiously above the sandbags.

I never hope to see a stranger and more lovely sight. Clusters of tiny lights were shining all along the German line, left and right as far as the eye could see.

“What is it?” I asked in bewilderment, and John answered, “Christmas trees!”

[SNIP]

I was just starting back to the trenches when an older German clutched my arm. “My God,” he said, “why cannot we have peace and all go home?”

I told him gently, “That you must ask your emperor.”

He looked at me then, searchingly. “Perhaps, my friend. But also we must ask our hearts.”

[SNIP]

Still, one cannot help imagine what would happen if the spirit shown here were caught by the nations of the world. Of course, disputes must always arise. But what if our leaders were to offer well wishes in place of warnings? Songs in place of slurs? Presents in place of reprisals? Would not all war end at once?

All nations say they want peace. Yet on this Christmas morning, I wonder if we want it quite enough.

Your loving brother,

Tom

You really should read the whole letter.  It has much more than the pieces I've excerpted.  The link is here.

 

A Family Christmas

The cats figure prominently in this narrative.

Amanda (who probably should be in the slammer)

Sammy (the sweetest kitty ever)

Tizzy (named by our son...because the bride and I believe in human names for our cats)

We had the heirs to the estate (huh!) and their progeny over for our Christmas dinner and gift exchange on Sunday.  It was wonderful to to see Mister Tristan, Miss Doodybug, and Baby Sophia again and love them to pieces.

In the meantime, the cats, a disobedient and disrespectful bunch, were all over the counter, trawling for food.  The word "Git!!" was quite common.  Everything was covered and thus inaccessible, but their behavior was appalling.

I think I may have to send them a strongly worded letter.