New Year's Resolutions

To tell you the truth, I've never made any New Year's Resolutions.  I believe them to be empty promises not to one's self, for one already knows they are, but to the family and friends of that one.  Instead, I'm going to compile a list of dreams/goals.  At the end of 2014 I'll evaluate that list to see exactly what I achieved and what I still need to accomplish.  A simple list to begin with.

1.  Instead of falling to anger immediately, look at my perception, look at the humour of the situation, then evaluate the reasoning of being angry.

2.  Laugh more, for laughter and humour can create a more harmonious living condition for others and one's self.

3.  Stand up for the rights of others.

4.  Make healthier choices.  Bring myself and my family to an even more healthier lifestyle, including exercise,

5.  Read more and share what I am reading.  Write critical reviews.  Read a varied selection of books.

6.  Write one short story a week.  Per advice of Ray Bradbury.

7.  Research. Continue research on project and begin putting it together.

8.  Travel.  More travel in the state of Florida.  Go to Cross Creek, Alapachee village near Tallahassee, and Fort Caroline in Jacksonville.

9.  Less worry.  What does worry gain anyone?

10.  LOVE!  More time with family and more time having fun.  Life is way to short to be wasted on non-necessities.

That's the list for 2014!  Time to start....end the old on the right note, with forgiveness, love, and repentance.

2013: A Year of Contradictions

2013 has been a year of contradictions and conflicts.  The loss of rights for women and the gaining of rights for homosexuals.  The continued battle over gun violence and control flooded our minds with every violent action in the United States.  Racial, gender, and homosexual hatred has been given free reign hiding under the cover of Freedom of Speech and Freedom of Religion.  Yet, these rights have been taken from others who use them and stand against the bigots and religious extremists who flaunt their views under the guise of family values and Christian beliefs.

Yet, the year has been one of heroes and courage as well.  The runners in the Boston Marathon who stopped to help those in need from the bombings.  The astronauts, especially, Chris Hadfield, filled our minds and souls with dreams and visions of the future, where all are equal and further exploration would be done.  After all, humanity has always moved forward through inquiries, searches, and examinations. Our military personnel returning from war to family and friends, only to find no jobs, no help, no money due to the actions of Congress and the narrow-minded/ unrealistic legislatures who denied these heroes their rights to life, liberty, and happiness.  Amazingly, there were politicians who fought back against these fanatics:  Wendy Davis who worked hard at keeping women's programs available in Texas against all odds; although, she lost, she and the women of Texas were thrown into the nation's and world's eyes with her fight to stop the removal of rights for women.  Senator John McCain who tired of the bickering among the legislators and worked toward creating bipartisanship.  Senator Elizabeth Warren who has worked tiredlessly in the battle for living wages and help for the poor and middle class.  Representative Tammy Duckworth who served in the military and became the 1st woman double amputee in the Iraqi war.  She works at stopping corruption and salvaging the rights of military veterans in a Congress who cuts these "privileges" as some call them, away from those who served, fought, and many gave the ultimate sacrifice in protecting our Constitution.

There are many, many more heroes and courageous acts as well.  They are done daily by citizens who are tired of the hate which seems to be trying to permeate through the country.  These people are your neighbors, friends, and family members .  They have stood up in many different ways to end the bullying, the hatred, and the bickering.  They are the allies of homosexuals standing up against prejudice and hypocrisy.  They fight against the white supremacy of the Tea Party, Ku Klux Klan, and Nazis.  They stand for women's rights, including the rights for health and reproductive medicine.  They demand the equal treatment and protection of programs for the poor and middle class; as well as for living wages and the right to be treated with respect and dignity.  Even towards those who would remove it in their unending quest for power and money.

That's right.  Power and money have been the two most prevalent mechanisms used this past year.  They have funneled through every aspect of our daily lives.  From what we eat to what we read or watch, the major components have been power and money.  It is up to us, as a people, to decide whether we wish this type of control to continue or stand up and wrest it back to where it would be managed more appropriately. Yes, unlimited power becomes corrupted as does the unlimited power of money.  Why do you think Jesus says "You can only serve one master. God or money"  Interestingly, many of those who throw the money around in order to achieve power are those who claim to be Christians.  Quite a quandary for them isn't it?  Or is it?  It depends on who they actually serve, God or Power through money.

In the end, 2013 is closing with war, hatred, and prejudice being a part of it.  Another part is fueled with hope, love, and diversity to create compassion, fairness, and equality.  It is has been a year of contradictions filled with controversies and acceptance.  Which do you find more compelling?  Personally, I prefer acceptance and peace over hatred and godlessness.  2014 will soon be here.  Happy New Year!  Godspeed and Blessings to you all....

A Song For New Year's Eve

  by William Cullen Bryant

Stay yet, my friends, a moment stay— 
     Stay till the good old year, 
So long companion of our way, 
     Shakes hands, and leaves us here. 
          Oh stay, oh stay, 
One little hour, and then away.

The year, whose hopes were high and strong, 
     Has now no hopes to wake; 
Yet one hour more of jest and song 
     For his familiar sake. 
          Oh stay, oh stay, 
One mirthful hour, and then away.  

The kindly year, his liberal hands 
     Have lavished all his store. 
And shall we turn from where he stands, 
     Because he gives no more? 
          Oh stay, oh stay, 
One grateful hour, and then away.  

Days brightly came and calmly went, 
     While yet he was our guest; 
How cheerfully the week was spent! 
     How sweet the seventh day's rest! 
          Oh stay, oh stay, 
One golden hour, and then away.  

Dear friends were with us, some who sleep 
     Beneath the coffin-lid: 
What pleasant memories we keep 
     Of all they said and did! 
          Oh stay, oh stay, 
One tender hour, and then away.  

Even while we sing, he smiles his last, 
     And leaves our sphere behind. 
The good old year is with the past; 
     Oh be the new as kind! 
          Oh stay, oh stay, 
One parting strain, and then away.

- See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/19330#sthash.mneC6Ws0.dpuf

The Christmas Bishop

This isn't what you might think.....The last paragraph and line are the best....Enjoy it!

The Christmas Bishop

In parts of Western Europe one finds reports of the election of boy bishops, often on December 28th, which marked the feasts of Holy Innocents massacred by King Herod.

In England the practice can be found dating back to the twelfth century, where boys were elected as bishops in churches or schools. The boy might be dressed up in vestments and would celebrate a mock mass that would include preaching a sermon. Afterwards he would go out in a procession, where he would receive gifts of money and food. Even the English kings would participate in the fun – Edward I had one boy bishop say vespers before him in 1299 and his son Edward II awarded another boy bishop ten shillings in 1316.

In mainland Europe the practice was a little different. One account from Denmark describes how someone became the bishop:

Christmas Bishop is the name of a young man who is consecrated bishop in a Christmas game which goes as follows: they place one from their own guild, that is to say the guild of unmarried people, on a chair, blacken his face and put a stick in his mouth with a piece of candle on either end. Then the young men and women run around him in a circle and sign: ‘We consecrate a Christmas Bishop pro nobis”, and when this had been done three times he had been consecrated Christmas Bishop.

Of course, the Christmas Bishop had duties to perform: he “marries as many couples from the guild as he wants while making strange faces and speaking in a feigned voice, and then the married couples must offer something. Those offering something which is not good enough are hit by a bag filled with ashes that the Bishop has kept under his cape.”

The marriages lasted one night – we are left to guess how the happy couples spent their Christmas honeymoon.

http://www.medievalists.net/2012/12/20/seven-medieval-christmas-traditions/

Winter Solstice: The Return of the Light and the Redemption of Darkness

Winter Solstice: The Return of the Light and the Redemption of Darkness

Light follows darkness as darkness light:
the stunned sun halts mid-dance
Shiva Nataraj
motionless balancing lightly the luminous and tenebrous
exhorting us again to brave the redeeming depth of the shadow

Beyond the celebrated land of light
that seems so divinely uplifting
that dabbles in the windfall waters of virtue
and dallies in the garden of diversion...
we find
the locus of the Shadow
that disquieting darkness
the vision that threatens to char the sockets of the eyes

We know the shadow by our avoidance
the nimble step
the sideward glance
the drowsy daydream
the sidestepped fantasy
the impulse denied
or not

We know it by our accidents of speech
the slip of the tongue
the telltale blush
and the complaints of friends

We know it by our nightly dreams
that render such faithful and unswerving service
to the shadow.

Go then
taking as your virtue
both courage and impeccability
swords against fear and pride

That from which we turn away grows stronger 

Joan Woodbridge

History and It's Exaggeration

Now this article concerns an attack on a farmhouse which was located on what is now known as Bellamy Blvd. in Pasco County.  In this particular version of events there has been a number of exaggerations.  It is always fascinating to see how the media takes an event and then stretches the realities in order to change public opinion.  

Bradley Massacre at Darby in 1856 (1922)

A Daughter and a Son of Major Bradley, Pioneer, Killed by the Indians

This article appeared in the Dade City Banner on Aug. 4, 1922.

By C. B. TAYLOR

With the close of the first Seminole war in 1837, most of the Indians were moved to the reservation set aside for them by the government in the Indian Territory, now the great state of Oklahoma. The remnant were confined to the Everglade country in the southern part of the peninsula. All of the territory north of the Everglades was thrown open to settlement. It was not long before many of the men who had served in the war as volunteers began to move into the territory which they had seen and admired while engaged in conquering its former savage owners.

The first settler to cross the Withlacoochee was Major R. D. Bradley of the regular army. He had served throughout the war, being stationed at Tallahassee first, where he gained a great reputation as an Indian fighter. In fact, so active was he against them that he gained their undying hatred, and it was in an attempt to revenge themselves for the losses they had sustained at his hands that the events here recorded took place.

Among the incidents of the great war in which the doughty major figured, the following were told me by Mrs. O. A. Darby of Tampa, who was a daughter of the major. While in the fort at Tallahassee, the Indians made an attack and captured a boy whom they carried off and, it is said, intended to adopt into their tribe. At any rate, they did not torture him, as was their custom with prisoners. Major Bradley immediately went in pursuit, and after several days came up on the redskins, who were sitting in a circle around a fire, the prisoner being in the center. Carefully creeping up on the savages with his command, he surrounded them, and gave the order to fire. As the volley rang out, the boy sprang to his feet, leaped between the surprised Indians and safely gained the soldiers. According to the tale as given me, not an Indian was hurt by the shots, but this does not seem probable.

Among the officers who served under Major Bradley was a First Lieutenant Whittaker, who was killed by the Indians while on a scout, and his body hacked to pieces. The Lieutenant was a particular friend of the major and it is said that he swore in revenge to kill an Indian for every piece in which the body was cut. Another officer, Capt. McNeil, was killed in the battle of Olustee during the Civil war.

Major Bradley’s health being much broken by the fatigues and exposure of the Indian campaign, he resigned his commission and moved south, being, as before stated, the first white settler to cross the Withlacoochee river. He first took up a homestead at Chuckichatte, near Brooksville, where he lived for some time, but as he was in danger of roving bands of Indians, he afterwards moved to Fort Taylor, just north of the present northern boundary of Pasco county. His health failed him and he became stricken with severe hemorrhages of the lungs so moved to Tampa Bay where he could receive treatment from the army surgeon stationed at Fort Brook. Some time later he moved again and settled at what was then known as the 26 mile house on the Brooksville and Tampa stage road, where Ehren is now, later moving into what is known as the Darby settlement.

With the breaking out of Indian Troubles which resulted n the Seminole War of 1856, moccasin tracks were frequently noticed in the settlement and especially in the vicinity of Major Bradley’s farm. At first there was considerable alarm and the neighbors all gathered around living in little log huts about the place. As no outbreaks occurred, the conclusion was finally reached that the tracks were caused by runaway slaves, and that Major Bradley’s negroes were harboring them, and the neighbors all went back to their homes.

In May, 1856, life was moving along with its usual regularity on the Bradley farm. Major Bradley was in bed sick and the farm was being run by the overseer, a man named Bowen, and the negro slaves. A cousin from the Carolinas was visiting and enjoying the delights of frontier life, and incidentally making life miserable for the son of a neighbor, one Mack Johnson, who suddenly discovered that it was his bounden duty to help the sick major rather than stay home and ten his own farm.

As the sun set one evening, two of the Bradley girls, accompanied by the visiting cousin and Mack Johnson, went to the cow pen to oversee the negroes as they attended to the cattle. Bowen, the overseer, was busy in the smoke house some twenty-five yards away from the double penned log building that was the home of the owner. On the porch of the house one son, William B. Bradley, was sitting in a chair, a candle in another [illegible] by the light of which he was [illegible] a saddle. The other children [illegible] playing about the hall.

Suddenly, a file of Indians crept out of the woods and, giving their war whoop, fired into the house. One of the girls, Mary Jane, was shot through the shoulder and heart; she managed to walk into the bed room where her father lay helpless and fell dead. William was shot through the chest and bowels. Mrs. Bradley rushed out on the porch, picked up the wounded boy, and carried him into the room and laid him on the bed. He got up, grabbed a rifle, and fired through a crack between the logs, handed the gun to one of his brothers, saying, “fight till you die” and fell to the floor dead.

While this was going on, Mrs. Bradley was rushing about seeing that the children were safe. She ran across the hall into another room where one of the boys was looking for a gun and as they hurried back to where the others were, bullets were shot through the boy’s shirt and one burned his upper lip; not a shot touched the mother.

The Indians advanced, firing as they came, until they reached the steps. Mrs. Bradley called to the major “They are coming in,” and he managed to get a crack in the logs and shot, killing the leader as he put his foot on the steps, who fell exclaiming “Waugh.” The Indians fell back and kept up an irregular fire for some time at the house but did no damage. One of the boys shot at two Indians who were trying to hide behind a tree and afterwards more blood was found there than anywhere else.

While all this was going on at the house, there was considerable excitement at the cow pen where two of the children, the visiting cousin, and Mack Johnson were. As the first shots and the war whoop rang out the young lady from the Carolinas promptly fainted; Mack grabbed her in his arms and ran with her to his home about a mile distant. The other children and the negroes scattered like quail and hid in the woods near by. Bowen, the overseer, made a break for the house but was cut off by the savages and ran to the cow pen, afterwards slipping back to the house where he arrived too late to take part n the fighting.

The firing aroused the entire neighborhood and a married daughter, Mrs. Colding, sent a negro boy over to find out what was the matter. He was immediately sent to Fort Taylor to get help from the soldiers stationed there. On the way he stopped at the McNatt homestead and gave the alarm and it was from William McNatt, then a small boy, now a farmer living at Loyce, that I first heard the story of this battle. Mr. McNatt’s account differs in some minor points from the accounts given by Mrs. Darby and her sister, Mrs. Susan Hays, and as these ladies were both eyewitnesses of the event I presume that their stories are more likely to be correct.

With the arrival of the soldiers from the fort next morning, the pursuit of the Indians was taken up. All of the men of the neighborhood went with the party, the women and children again taking refuge at “Fort Bradley.” The camp of the redskins was found in the big cypress swamp and nearby the grave of the Indian killed by Major Bradley. Lying on the grave was a book, evidently stolen from some settler’s home, entitled “The Story of the Spoiled Child.” The Indians were followed for some time retreating south and a battle was fought near the old Tillis place on Old Tampa Bay. The pursuit continued according to some accounts till Fort Meade was reached where a second battle was fought and the entire band either killed or captured.

During the First Seminole War Major Bradley killed the brother of Tiger Tail, one of their chiefs, and revenge for this act is said to have been the cause of this attack on his home some twenty years later. Mrs. Bradley always declared that the Indians were led by a white man and insisted that she heard him talking to the savages during the battle directing their movement. Major Bradley only survived this massacre two years, dying in 1858, and was buried in the cemetery at Brooksville. Of the eyewitnesses of the event, I believe only two are now living, Mrs. Darby and Mrs. Hays, of Tampa. A younger brother of theirs, whom I understand was born just afterwards, also is living.

Mrs. Darby married shortly after the event I have just told and lived in the Darby neighborhood during the civil war period. She says that they had a good deal of trouble with the negroes during that time but no other especial hardships. Her husband was in the Confederate home guards and while on a scout was captured by Union sympathizers (“deserters” she called them), and was confined on Ship Island and guarded by negro troops till the close of the war.

Note: The reference to the First Seminole War should be the Second Seminole War. The discovery of the Indian camp and an Indian killed by Major Bradley are not confirmed in contemporary newspaper accounts, nor is any contact with or help from Fort Taylor. This article indicates that a third child was wounded by the Indians; this is also not mentioned in contemporary newspaper accounts. The contemporary accounts do claim that son William fired on the Indians, but do not confirm related details. According to Jeff Cannon, the brother of Tiger Tail was killed by Tiger Tail himself. He writes, “According to military records Tiger Tail killed his own brother, a result of his brother wanting to surrender to the white man at Fort Brooke. Records indicate Tiger Tail killed his brother and took over his band to prevent them from surrendering. I believe the citation of Bradley killing Tiger Tail’s brother can only be attributed to one source, J. A. Hendley’s writings. Prior to Hendley I don’t believe it appears anywhere and after Hendley appears in frequency.”

http://www.fivay.org/bradley.html

I Walked 10 Miles in the Snow, 10 Feet High, Barefoot, and All Uphill!

Back when I was a young lass, the winters were colder and the snow deeper.  Getting to school meant walking 10 miles uphill and barefoot at that!  I had to carry my lunch in an small tin pail and it was frozen by the time I got to the school.  Then I had to help the other children haul in wood for the wood stove and keep my coat on in order to stay warm.  We said the Pledge of Allegiance and sat down afterwards giving the teacher our full attention.  We didn't have smart phones.  We didn't text one another.  We listened to our teacher and obeyed.  Yep, those were the good old days.  We said prayers and we read the Bible.  If anyone stepped out of line and no one did, they would get a whoopin' from the principal.  When school was over, I would walk the 10 miles uphill barefoot home.  Yes sir!  Didn't have time to goof off and play or listen to music or watch tv.  No sir!  It was work, work, work!

Okay, so that is a bunch of bs, but that's what a lot of people would say today.  How many times have you seen a post on facebook talking about God in school, Pledging Allegiance, and working all the time?  I know I've seen it way too many times!  The truth is I didn't walk to school; at least not until we moved into town and I wasn't barefoot.  I rode a bus to and from school when we lived on the farm.  Now, I kind of believe the winters were colder and the snow deeper, but that is due to the greenhouse effect on our climate.  This has in turn made warmer winters and not as much snow.

Some days I took my lunch....those were the days when my thermos was filled with chocolate milk!  Yummy!  Other days I would buy lunch in the cafeteria, those were the hot lunches but I was stuck with plain old milk.  Chocolate milk is sooooo much better! And Friday was pizza day!!!!  So much for the frozen meal!  Nor did we haul wood into the school.  It was warm....most of the time, but quite often sweaters were a wonderful piece of clothing.  Hey, our school had a boiler to keep it warm and, well, boilers weren't that great.

Now we did say the Pledge of Allegiance, but how many times does one say it before it becomes obsolete and spoken by rote rather then by understanding and appreciation?  Prayers were definitely said, every time there was a test, but we weren't forced to pray.  We weren't told to pray.  We just prayed when we wanted to.  Can you imagine what it would be like to be made to pray, especially by someone who didn't believe as your family and you did?  Kinda scary.  We read the Bible too.  When I was in 8th grade, I think it was, we could take a class for English concerning the books of the Bible as literature. Yes, we had to have permission from our parents, but that is okay.  Parents should be involved in their children's education. I would think they would be the most important people to make sure you were receiving an education.  Then again, many parents then and now believe that isn't their responsibility, it's the schools and teachers jobs to do that.

And yes, sometimes fellow students were sent to the principal's office and were spanked.  I didn't believe in that then and I don't believe in it today.  Tell me, what exactly does spanking do?  Really?  What does it do?  Is it suppose to inspire respect?  Responsibility? Stop naughty children?  Does it?  Did it?  NO!  All it does is reinforce the use of violence as a means of control and power.  That's all it does.  Nothing more.  How many times were the same kids sent to the office and receive the same punishment.  It didn't do anything.  Violence begets violence and creates a vicious cycle that's all it does .  There are other ways to discipline, and one of the best is to teach.  Not yell, not react out of fear or anger, but to calmly take the child aside and teach them.  Speak to them and show them acceptable ways.  If a primitive gatherer culture can do this, why is it so hard for our "advanced" civilization to do it?

Now, we didn't have cell phones, but we wrote notes, and passed notes, and talked and signed, and should I even go on?  What's the difference between today's cell phones and our notes?  One thing, we could only talk to the kids in that classroom, no one outside of it.  Big difference.  Yeah, right!  No difference, same stuff, different year.  Oh, and we had time to play!  We goofed off, we had fun, Oh, and I rode the bus home.  I played, I had fun, I had chores to do on the farm, but I was only a little kid so, they weren't heavy duty chores, but I could and did do them.  I loved to feed the calves.  Feeling their tongues as they lapped my hand while I gave them their pail of food was fun!  And feeding the cows was fun too! When the chores and supper were done, there was homework to do and time to watch tv, or listen to music, or read.  In my teens, quite often I did all three at the same time.  Nowadays, I'm not quite as coordinated, I admit it, so I only do two of the at the same time.  

Truthfully, the good old days really weren't all that great.  It's the people I miss, from those days, not the other things.  In reality, I am glad to be in the here and now than in those days of racial discord and equality fights.  Oh wait, that's going on now isn't it? Hmmmmm.  Seems that not much has changed.  Anyway, have fun, enjoy today and laugh about the past, but please for God's sake and our children's don't wish that kind of crap on them.  Instead, let's have fun with our future and give them time to learn and time for us to share with them our dreams, lives, hopes, desires, and love.  Have fun and don't forget to play, it's very important to have fun and laugh!

For all of you who have been dealing with snow....a poem to share and love!

The Snow-Storm

BY RALPH WALDO EMERSON

Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,

Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields,

Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air

Hides hills and woods, the river, and the heaven,

And veils the farm-house at the garden's end.

The sled and traveller stopped, the courier's feet

Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit

Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed

In a tumultuous privacy of storm.

Come see the north wind's masonry.

Out of an unseen quarry evermore

Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer

Curves his white bastions with projected roof

Round every windward stake, or tree, or door.

Speeding, the myriad-handed, his wild work

So fanciful, so savage, nought cares he

For number or proportion. Mockingly,

On coop or kennel he hangs Parian wreaths;

A swan-like form invests the hidden thorn;

Fills up the farmer's lane from wall to wall,

Maugre the farmer's sighs; and, at the gate,

A tapering turret overtops the work.

And when his hours are numbered, and the world

Is all his own, retiring, as he were not,

Leaves, when the sun appears, astonished Art

To mimic in slow structures, stone by stone,

Built in an age, the mad wind's night-work,

The frolic architecture of the snow.

I Did It! I REALLY DID IT! The Christmas Gift!

Well, I did it!  I actually did it!  I have published a short story!  Excited?  Yes!  Will it do anything?  I don't know, but I published.  Of course, I messed up the cover by not getting the title on it, but I'm learning and I really don't care.  I've written something I like and published it.  It's on Amazon for kindle and I am thrilled to death.  I have finally done something I have wanted to do my whole life and got up the guts to do it.  Oh, I know some people will laugh and say how crazy or some other remark.  Who cares what others thinks?  I did it!  I published a short story and its for sale!  YES!

I just had to write this, for I have never had the confidence to do it before, and today.....today is a new day and I am going to have fun.  I'm tired of thinking about "others"....  Instead, a BIG THANK YOU to Rick and Mandi!  Love you two and thank you for giving me the courage to do something I've always wanted to do! Enjoy the season everyone and do something for yourself!  Take courage and make your dream come true!

Here it is!  Stupid mistake and all!

The Shoemaker and the Elves

This is one of my favorite fairy tales.  It takes place at Christmas and since I love the tales of the past I wanted to share this.  Enjoy it!

The Shoemaker and the Elves

The Brothers Grimm

There was once a shoemaker, who worked very hard and was very honest: but still he could not earn enough to live upon; and at last all he had in the world was gone, save just leather enough to make one pair of shoes.

Then he cut his leather out, all ready to make up the next day, meaning to rise early in the morning to his work. His conscience was clear and his heart light amidst all his troubles; so he went peaceably to bed, left all his cares to Heaven, and soon fell asleep. In the morning after he had said his prayers, he sat himself down to his work; when, to his great wonder, there stood the shoes all ready made, upon the table. The good man knew not what to say or think at such an odd thing happening. He looked at the workmanship; there was not one false stitch in the whole job; all was so neat and true, that it was quite a masterpiece.

The same day a customer came in, and the shoes suited him so well that he willingly paid a price higher than usual for them; and the poor shoemaker, with the money, bought leather enough to make two pairs more. In the evening he cut out the work, and went to bed early, that he might get up and begin betimes next day; but he was saved all the trouble, for when he got up in the morning the work was done ready to his hand. Soon in came buyers, who paid him handsomely for his goods, so that he bought leather enough for four pair more. He cut out the work again overnight and found it done in the morning, as before; and so it went on for some time: what was got ready in the evening was always done by daybreak, and the good man soon became thriving and well off again.

One evening, about Christmas-time, as he and his wife were sitting over the fire chatting together, he said to her, 'I should like to sit up and watch tonight, that we may see who it is that comes and does my work for me.' The wife liked the thought; so they left a light burning, and hid themselves in a corner of the room, behind a curtain that was hung up there, and watched what would happen.

As soon as it was midnight, there came in two little naked dwarfs; and they sat themselves upon the shoemaker's bench, took up all the work that was cut out, and began to ply with their little fingers, stitching and rapping and tapping away at such a rate, that the shoemaker was all wonder, and could not take his eyes off them. And on they went, till the job was quite done, and the shoes stood ready for use upon the table. This was long before daybreak; and then they bustled away as quick as lightning.

The next day the wife said to the shoemaker. 'These little wights have made us rich, and we ought to be thankful to them, and do them a good turn if we can. I am quite sorry to see them run about as they do; and indeed it is not very decent, for they have nothing upon their backs to keep off the cold. I'll tell you what, I will make each of them a shirt, and a coat and waistcoat, and a pair of pantaloons into the bargain; and do you make each of them a little pair of shoes.'

The thought pleased the good cobbler very much; and one evening, when all the things were ready, they laid them on the table, instead of the work that they used to cut out, and then went and hid themselves, to watch what the little elves would do.

About midnight in they came, dancing and skipping, hopped round the room, and then went to sit down to their work as usual; but when they saw the clothes lying for them, they laughed and chuckled, and seemed mightily delighted.

Then they dressed themselves in the twinkling of an eye, and danced and capered and sprang about, as merry as could be; till at last they danced out at the door, and away over the green.

The good couple saw them no more; but everything went well with them from that time forward, as long as they lived.

http://en.wikisource.org/wiki/The_Elves_and_the_Shoemaker

The Christmas Doll

The Christmas Doll

"Bessie Anne!  Bessie Anne! Come over, girl! I could use your help."
The little girl stopped in her tracks, turned and headed over to the small broken down cabin. "Yes'm, whatcha' want me to do?"  she asked.
"Grab that there pail an' go git me some water".  The woman answered her.
Bessie picked up the bucket and set off to the nearby well.  She grabbed hold of the turner and pulling with all her might, she turned it until the bucket from the well came to the top.  Then crawling on the edge, she took a branch which had a little crook in it and hooked the rope the bucket was attached to.  She pulled it over to her and poured the cool water into the waiting pail.  Bessie dropped the bucket back over into the well and watched it fall back into the deep pit until she heard it splash.  She took hold of the pail and with a grunt lifted it enough so she could walk and staggered back to the woman at the cabin.

"Here ya ar', Mrs. Brown,  I got it fer you".
"Thank ya, girl.  Ar ya lookin' fer some work to do"? Mrs. Brown asked.
"I could use some" the little girl answered.
"Alright.  Come on in an' git to work sweepin' the floor to begin with".  Mrs. Brown shook the rug she had in her hand and then paused to place a hand on her belly.
"Ya'll right, Mrs. Brown?  The baby ain't comin' yet, is it"? Bessie asked as she watched the woman.
Mrs. Brown glanced at Bessie and gave her a small smile."I'm fine, girl. The babe ain't due for anot'r few days".
Bessie went in and began sweeping the dirt floor.  She thought it was kinda dumb to sweep a dirt floor, but some folk were particular about their home.  Her own mama wouldn't let her brothers or sisters wear shoes on their floor, but at least it was wood.  The broom went back and forth swishing the dirt around as Bessie worked.  She didn't mind the work, after all a seven year old had to do things too, especially if she was going to raise enough money to buy a bunch of lottery tickets and win that beautiful doll at the general store.  The minute Bessie had seen that doll, she knew she was going to win it.  After all, it was Christmas and she really wanted something beautiful and special.  Bessie had been working all over the mill town to earn money for the lottery.  So far she had earned nothing so far, but hopefully that would all change.

Quite a few of the women she had done work for hadn't paid her, yet. But "Come back when my husband gits paid", they told her.  When she would go back, they would tell her to come back again or just ignore her.  "Too many folks with no money", her mama would tell her and then Bessie would be told, "it's a good thing ya done, helpin' out the women folk.  It's good fer ya to help others an' since ya won't go to school, ya can do more good".
So, here Bessie was, helping another woman who didn't have much of anything and was going to have a baby.  Bessie figured she wouldn't get any money from her.  She sighed, "So much fer goin' over to the school teacher's cabin and tryin' to do some work there", she thought.  "I got it done, Mrs. Brown.  Anythin' more?
"Yeah, Bessie.  Can ya help me clean the dishes and put'em away?"  Mrs. Brown asked.
"Yes'm', she replied and started cleaning them.

Soon the dishes were done and put away.  Then Bessie made the bed and helped put together a lunch for Mr. Brown.  Mrs. Brown looked at her and said, "Bessie, would ya go find me some pine cones and some pine tree branches?  Not big branches, but little ones.
Bessie nodded and ran out the door.  There were a bunch of pine trees by the school teacher's house!  Maybe, just maybe she would luck out and see the teacher about doing some work.  Sure enough, the teacher was just stepping out her door, heading back to the school house.  "Miz Drake!  Miz Drake!" Bessie called.
Miss Drake stopped and smiled, "Hello Bessie, are you coming to school today"?
Bessie slid to a stop and scowled, "No ma'am.  I was a wondrin' ifen ya had any work I could do fer ya?"
Miss Drake looked at the girl and wished with all her heart she could get this wild young girl to come to school, but she knew it was a losing battle.  Then a thought came to her, "Why yes, Bessie, I could use some help today.  I need some firewood brought in and some cleaning done.  I've been to busy working on school projects.  Can you do that?"
Bessie almost squealed for joy, "Yes'm!  I can do it!"
"Fine, I'll see you after school then". Miss Drake nodded and headed to the school.

Bessie jumped up and down for joy,  remembering what Mrs. Brown had wanted, she went to the pine trees and gathered pine cones and small branches.  She filled the potato sack, Mrs. Brown had given her and ran back to the little cabin.  Once there, Mrs. Brown showed her how to decorate the one room cabin with the pine cones and branches. Suddenly, the little house didn't look drab and poor.  Instead, it was filled with the scents and sights of Christmas.  Bessie looked around the house in awe, and Mrs. Brown smiled at her shyly, "Here ya go, Bessie.  Ya worked hard and ya earned it.  Thank ya for helpin' me today".
Bessie looked down and saw the shiny quarter the woman had placed in her hand.  Bessie stuttered, "I..I...I can't take this!  Ya'll are goin' to need it!"
Mrs. Brown smiled, "Don't ya worry bout it.  We'll be fine.  Ya've done a good job helpin' and I aim to pay ya fer that help. Now scoot and go help someone else!"
Bessie gave her hug, "Thank ya, Mrs. Brown!  I'll be back to help ya tomorra fer free!" and before Mrs. Brown could say anything back, Bessie had run out of the house and down the road to the school teacher's house.

While Bessie waited for Miz Drake to return, she thought about how pretty the cabin had become.  She skipped back over to the pine trees and began gathering more cones and branches which she brought over and placed in a pile by the teacher's house door.  Then she went to the wood pile behind the house and began hauling wood to the door.  It was hard work and she was tired and sweaty from hauling the wood, sitting down on the doorstep, she waited for the teacher to come home.  Slowly, her head dropped down as she fell asleep.

Miss Drake looked at the small figure lolling on her doorstep, "Hello Bessie! I see you've been busy."
Bessie woke with a start.  Seeing the teacher, she stood up, "Yes'm.  I wanted to git a good start on the work you have".
"What's that you have?  Pine cones and branches?" Asked Miss Drake.
"Yes'm.  I helped Mrs. Brown pretty up her cabin an' I figured ya might like it too"!  Bessie grinned back.
"Well, I can't wait until we fix them up. Come on in, Bessie".  Miss Drake smiled.
Bessie set right to work, bringing in the wood first and placing it by the wood stove.  Then she helped sweep the floor, tidied up the kitchen/living room, and helped pick out a potato and other vegetables for Miiss Drake's dinner.  While she was doing this, Miss Drake had her count how many logs she brought in.  The teacher showed Bessie how to add and subtract.  As Bessie swept the floor, Miss Drake told her story about Paul Revere and the Redcoats.  Bessie was enthralled with the story and in her imagination, she rode the horse to warn all the people about the Redcoats coming.  When Miss Drake finished the story, Bessie wanted to know where she heard had heard it from.
"Well, Bessie, I read it fro this book."  Miss Drake answered.
"A book", Ya mean ya read it?"
"Why, yes.  There are a lot of stories like that one and they can all be found in books".  Miss Drake said.
"Would you like to read more of the stories, Bessie?
Bessie wiggled a bit, "Yes'm, but I don't wanta go to no school.  I don't like it there."
Miss Drake smiled, "I guess you will have to come and help me every day after school then, so I can show you.  How would that be?"
Bessie thought it over, "Deal."
Miss Drake laughed, "Alright, now you go home.  Oh, and here's some money for all the work you did."
Bessie looked at the teacher and said, "Thank ya!  I'll be back tomorra!"

When she got outside, she looked at the coins the teacher had given her.  "Two more quarters! I think I'll go by the general store first".  Off she went to the general store which the mill provided for it's workers.  Inside, was the beautiful doll, and she stared at it for quite awhile.  "Well, Bessie, what do ya need?" Asked the shopkeeper.
"Oh, nothin'.  I was just lookin' at the doll." Bessie answered.
"If ya want to try to win it, ya better buy a ticket now, I'm drawing for it tomorra" The man told her.
"What? But....but...."Bessie looked like she wanted to cry. All that work and all she had was enough for three tickets.  "Here, sir.  I've got three quarters, that I worked fer".
"Okay, and here are you're three tickets!  Make sure you're back here tomorra fer the drawin'.", He gave her the tickets and turned to the next customer.

When Bessie got back home, she helped her mama and sisters fix the family's dinner.  Her one sister and husband were living with them and Bessie had to take care of the their baby when they went to visit friends.  Finally, they came home and Bessie dropped into bed exhausted.  She slept soundly and her dreams were filled dancing pine cones and pine branches; Redcoats and minutemen; and a beautiful doll she read stories to from piles of books.

The next morning, Bessie rose, ate her breakfast, and headed out the door.  There wasn't any need to look for work.  The doll would be given away later, and she had a job with the teacher.  She was just about to turn toward the crick and go froggin' when she saw Mrs. Brown.  Next thing she knew she was sweeping the cabin's floor and chatting away with lonely pregnant woman.  The day flew by and she found herself with Miss Drake and without even realizing it, she was learning to read, write, and do math.  Finally, she said good bye to the teacher and ran over to the store.  It was packed with other people waiting to see who would win.  She pushed and slid her way to the front and waited breathlessly for the shopkeeper to pull the ticket.  Now, the shopkeeper kept everyone in suspense with all the different things he did.  First he had a woman from the church come up and sing a Christmas song.  Then he had the mill foreman come forward and hand out other winnings.  At last, the moment arrived.  He had the churchwoman come back to him and she was the one to pull the winning ticket for the doll.  She put her hand in the glass bowl and swished the tickets around;, finally, she pulled out one ticket and handed it to the shopkeeper.  He put on his glasses, looked at the ticket, and said in a loud voice:  "The winner of the china doll is...........Bessie Anne Peak!"
There was some grumbling from folks who had lost, and Bessie looked around trying to see the winner.  "Bessie Anne Peak!  Are ya here?" He called again.
Suddenly, Bessie realized he had called her name and with a squeaky voice she yelled:  "Yes, Sir!  I'm here!"
The whole store erupted into laughter as she ran up and got the doll.  The shopkeeper handed it to her and she hugged it close, all the while whispering:  "Thank ya! Thank ya, so much!"

She walked out of the door carrying the doll carefully.  First, she went to Miss Drake to show her the doll.  Miss Drake ooed and ahed about the beautiful doll with her.  Then she headed for home and stopped at Mrs. Brown's to let her see the doll.  Mrs. Brown stroked it's hair and declared:  "This is the most beautiful doll I have ever seen!"
Finally, she walked into her own home.  She couldn't wait to show her family what she had won.  It was the proudest moment of her young life.  "Hey everybody!"  She called.  They all turned toward her.  Her whole family was looking at her.  "Look what I won!  I won her with the money I been workin' fer! Isn't she beautiful!"
There was stunned quiet, then the whole family erupted with questions and whoops.  When it quieted down, Bessie's mama said:  "I'm real proud of ya, Bessie!  Just think, you worked hard, earned all that money, and won that doll so your niece could have a good Christmas!"
Bessie stared at Mama with disbelief:  "Jolene will have a good Christmas?  What do ya mean?"
"Why Bessie, ya don't think you're goin' to keep the doll?  You're much to old to have doll.  Now ya go give that there doll to you're niece and let her have a good Christmas."
The whole family sat quietly and watched her as she stood holding the doll close.  She closed her eyes, thought about all the work she had done, all the hard work,  and now, Mama had told her to give the doll to her niece.  Bessie stood still, she opened her eyes, looked at the doll and hugged it.  Mama said she was to old for a doll.  She was only seven years old.  She looked at Mama again who was beginning to get an angry look.  Bessie walked to her sister, who was holding her little niece, Jolene.  "Here, Jolene.  Have a good Christmas".
"Now that was nice.  Real nice, Bessie."  Her mama said.
Bessie nodded and the rest of the family relaxed and started laughing and joking around.  Bessie looked at them all, then sneaked out of the house.  She sat down under the oak tree and started crying.  She had always wanted a doll like that and now that she had won it, she had had to give it away.  Everyone said it was the right and good thing to do, but she didn't think so.  No, she didn't think so at all.  She sat up, wiped her nose on her sleeve, and brushed away the tears.  "No, it wasn't the right thing to do at all", she whispered to herself.  "But there's one thing they can't take away from me.  I'm goin' to work fer the school teacher and she is goin' to teach me to read!"


By
Yvonne C Parizo

.  Enjoy....
"

Christmas Trees

Christmas Trees

The city had withdrawn into itself
And left at last the country to the country;
When between whirls of snow not come to lie
And whirls of foliage not yet laid, there drove
A stranger to our yard, who looked the city,
Yet did in country fashion in that there
He sat and waited till he drew us out
A-buttoning coats to ask him who he was.
He proved to be the city come again
To look for something it had left behind
And could not do without and keep its Christmas.
He asked if I would sell my Christmas trees;
My woods—the young fir balsams like a place
Where houses all are churches and have spires.
I hadn’t thought of them as Christmas Trees.
I doubt if I was tempted for a moment
To sell them off their feet to go in cars
And leave the slope behind the house all bare,
Where the sun shines now no warmer than the moon.
I’d hate to have them know it if I was.
Yet more I’d hate to hold my trees except
As others hold theirs or refuse for them,
Beyond the time of profitable growth,
The trial by market everything must come to.
I dallied so much with the thought of selling.
Then whether from mistaken courtesy
And fear of seeming short of speech, or whether
From hope of hearing good of what was mine,
I said, “There aren’t enough to be worth while.”
“I could soon tell how many they would cut,
You let me look them over.”

“You could look.
But don’t expect I’m going to let you have them.”
Pasture they spring in, some in clumps too close
That lop each other of boughs, but not a few
Quite solitary and having equal boughs
All round and round. The latter he nodded “Yes” to,
Or paused to say beneath some lovelier one,
With a buyer’s moderation, “That would do.”
I thought so too, but wasn’t there to say so.
We climbed the pasture on the south, crossed over,
And came down on the north.
He said, “A thousand.”

“A thousand Christmas trees!—at what apiece?”

He felt some need of softening that to me:
“A thousand trees would come to thirty dollars.”

Then I was certain I had never meant
To let him have them. Never show surprise!
But thirty dollars seemed so small beside
The extent of pasture I should strip, three cents
(For that was all they figured out apiece),
Three cents so small beside the dollar friends
I should be writing to within the hour
Would pay in cities for good trees like those,
Regular vestry-trees whole Sunday Schools
Could hang enough on to pick off enough.
A thousand Christmas trees I didn’t know I had!
Worth three cents more to give away than sell,
As may be shown by a simple calculation.
Too bad I couldn’t lay one in a letter.
I can’t help wishing I could send you one,
In wishing you herewith a Merry Christmas. 

Robert Frost

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/christmas-trees-3/

On the 12th Day of Christmas,

It's time to sing Christmas carols!  But what in the world is the 12 Days of Christmas all about?  Well, here is one legend which may tell us the real story behind this particular carol.

12 Days of Christmas

There is one Christmas Carol that has always baffled me. What in the world do leaping lords, French hens, swimming swans, and especially the partridge who won't come out of the pear tree have to do with Christmas? Today I found out at a ladies luncheon its origin. From 1558 until 1829, Roman Catholics in England were not permitted to practice their faith openly. Someone during that era wrote this carol as a catechism song for young Catholics.

It has two levels of meaning:the surface meaning plus a hidden meaning known only to members of their church. Each element in the carol has a code word for a religious reality which the children could remember.

* The partridge in a pear tree was Jesus Christ.

* Two turtle doves were the Old and New Testaments

* Three French hens stood for faith, hope and love.

* The four calling birds were the four gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke & John.

* The five golden rings recalled the Torah or Law, the first five books of the Old Testament.

* The six geese a-laying stood for the six days of creation.

* Seven swans a-swimming represented the sevenfold gifts of the Holy Spirit - Prophesy, Serving, Teaching, Exhortation, Contribution, Leadership, and Mercy.

* The eight maids a-milking were the eight beatitudes.

* Nine ladies dancing were the nine fruits of the Holy Spirit-Love, Joy, Peace, Patience, Kindness, Goodness, Faithfulness, Gentleness, and Self Control.

* The ten lords a-leaping were the ten commandments.

* The eleven pipers piping stood for the eleven faithful disciples.

* The twelve drummers drumming symbolized the twelve points of belief in the Apostles' Creed.

So there is your history for today. This knowledge was shared with me and I found it interesting and enlightening and now I know how that strange song became a Christmas Carol... so pass it on if you wish.

http://urbanlegends.about.com/od/christmaslore/a/12_days_of_christmas_meaning.htm

Celebrating the First Christmas in the "New World"

As the snow was gently falling, the small ship anchored and the 120 passengers of the  Mayflower disembarked congregating on the hill giving thanks to God for their arrival in this new world.  William Brewster led this flock with a reading from Psalm 100 and then with joy they climbed the hill, the men bringing forth their axes and the downing of trees was begun to create a safe and warm meeting house for the pilgrims to live in until all were furnished with homes.  John Carver selected the best sharpshooters from the group and with Miles Standish's military experience they placed the musketeers in strategic guard positions to protect the women, children, and working men.  Even as they worked each member took heart and pleasure for knowing that this was the most wonderful Christmas they would ever have.

How many Americans believe this is how the first Christmas was celebrated in the "New World"?  Probably more than you think.  For some reason, in the United States, Christmas is envisioned as a winter wonderland, with softly falling snow, families gathering enjoying a delightful dinner and presents being gifted to one another.  You know, just like a Norman Rockwell or a Currier and Ives print.  We cherish "White Christmas" and join in singing along with all of the other Christmas songs which harken to an image of wintry fun and joy. Yes, this is what Christmas is!  It's snow, cold, lit fireplaces, and family.

I hate to tell you this, but that isn't at all what the first Christmas celebration in the land which would become the United States of America was like.  No it's not.  No snow.  No Protestant deacon.  No disembarking from the Mayflower.  No women.  No children.  No Plymouth Colony.  No Northeast.  There were guards though.  Oh, and no building anything due to the homes already available.  Yes, it is quite a shock to realize this.  I know, but let's face it, the Pilgrims didn't land until 1620, bringing with them British and Protestant traditions.  The first Christmas here in what would become the United States, well, that occurred 81 years earlier!  

That's right!  81 years earlier in 1539. "What?, you say.  "The British didn't settle Roanoke Island until 1585! Jamestown wasn't settled until 1607!  Even Parris Island wouldn't be settled by the French until 1564 and then deserted a year later.  No, the English, French, Dutch, or Protestants were not the first to celebrate Christmas in this wild land called "the New World".  No, that honor falls to the Spanish under the leadership of Hernando de Soto, a man who would spend 4 years exploring the vastness of this land, traveling 4,000 miles in his endeavors to find gold and new territory for Spain to colonize.

You got it!  Hernando de Soto discovered a bay which would in time become Tampa Bay and it is from this location, he would begin his exploration of Florida and the places which would become so well know in the Southwestern and South Central United States.  Here, at Tampa Bay along with several hundred men, artisans, and three priests, de Soto began a northward trek through Florida.  He and his men found the land harsh and full of challenges, from alligators and poisonous snakes to the Apalachee natives who fought the Spaniards every step of the way.

As winter arrived in this harsh environment, de Soto's expedition discovered the Apalachee village of Anhaica, which was the capital of these strong and capable warriors.  Plus, luck was with them.  The Apalachee had set fire to all of their other villages to make sure the white devils would not be able to use them.  Yet, at Anahaica, the Spaniards found it intact with 250 houses for them to use.  de Soto decided to settle here for the winter and rest his followers.  They built fortifications around the village and enclosures for their pigs and horses they had brought along.

Yes, this was quite a nice spot they had found and everyone had a home to live in.  The priests were able to set up a centralized place of worship and it is here where the first Christmas in the United States would be celebrated.  That's right in a native village where nearby the capital of Florida, Tallahassee, would grow and prosper.  The three priests would have held Midnight Mass on Christmas and then another mass in the morning.  Both would have been celebrated with full communion and with both Spaniards and native converts.  It would have been a rather interesting sight, for not only would they have celebrated a much more somber and religious Christmas, they would have been fighting for their lives against the Apalachee people.  And the Apalachee nation did not stop fighting to get back their land, but in the end, the Apalachees were defeated, and the horrendous treatment of the indigenous people was begun.

This is the real history of the First Christmas in America.  It took place in Florida, amongst the flowers, swamp lands, beasts, and proud warrior natives.  It was held under the constant threat of danger and violence.  It was subtropical and warm with mosquitoes and gnats.  It was beside waterways filled with alligators and snakes, as well as panthers and bears.  The pigs, the Spaniards brought with them multiplied quickly and would become the wild boars or razorbacks of the South for pigs are not indigenous to the "New World".  In kind, the horses too, would reproduce and become the wild mustangs in the Southwest.

Yes, this is what that Christmas was like.  Quite a difference from our images and reflections.  As you enjoy this holiday season, remember these people, both Spaniard and Alapachee.  For their's was a Christmas built upon faith for the Spaniards and hatred from the Alapachee.....not presents, family gatherings, or snow....Merry Christmas from Florida.


First Christmas painting
https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=233704356698095&set=a.233703743364823.58172.233693020032562&type=1&theater

The Thunder Oak of Thor

To Scandinavians the Legend of the Thunder Oak is a folktale telling of the end of human sacrifices and the beginning the worship of Christ and the reason for Christmas trees.  Now there are some who say that Jeremiah 10: 1-6 forbids the practice of Christmas trees as being idolatry....but when you read this it isn't idolatry at all.  the fir is a symbol of everlasting life....Enjoy the tale and remember how people can twist things to fit their own agendas....

                                   The Thunder Oak

When the heathen raged through the forests of the ancient Northland there grew a giant tree branching with huge limbs toward the clouds. It was the Thunder Oak of the war-god Thor.
Thither, under cover of night, heathen priests were wont to bring their victims -- both men and beasts -- and slay them upon the altar of the thunder-god. There in the darkness was wrought many an evil deed, while human blood was poured forth and watered the roots of that gloomy tree, from whose branches depended the mistletoe, the fateful plant that sprang from the blood-fed veins of the oak. So gloomy and terror-ridden was the spot on which grew the tree that no beasts of field or forest would lodge beneath its dark branches, nor would birds nest or perch among its gnarled limbs.
Long, long ago, on a white Christmas Eve, Thor's priests held their winter rites beneath the Thunder Oak. Through the deep snow of the dense forest hastened throngs of heathen folk, all intent on keeping the mystic feast of the mighty Thor. In the hush of the night the folk gathered in the glade where stood the tree. Closely they pressed around the great altar-stone under the overhanging boughs where stood the white- robed priests. Clearly shone the moonlight on all.
Then from the altar flashed upward the sacrificial flames, casting their lurid glow on the straining faces of the human victims awaiting the blow of the priest's knife.
But the knife never fell, for from the silent avenues of the dark forest came the good Saint Winfred and his people. Swiftly the saint drew from his girdle a shining axe. Fiercely he smote the Thunder Oak, hewing a deep gash in its trunk. And while the heathen folk gazed in horror and wonder, the bright blade of the axe circled faster and faster around Saint Winfred's head, and the flakes of wood flew far and wide from the deepening cut in the body of the tree.
Suddenly there was heard overhead the sound of a mighty, rushing wind. A whirling blast struck the tree. It gripped the oak from its foundations. Backward it fell like a tower, groaning as it split into four pieces.
But just behind it, unharmed by the ruin, stood a young fir tree, pointing its green spire to heaven.
Saint Winfred dropped his axe, and turned to speak to the people. Joyously his voice rang out through the crisp, winter air:

"This little tree, a young child of the forest, shall be your holy tree to-night. It is the tree of peace, for your houses are built of fir. It is the sign of endless life, for its leaves are forever green. See how it points upward to heaven! Let this be called the tree of the Christ Child. Gather about it, not in the wildwood, but in your own homes. There it will shelter no deeds of blood, but loving gifts and rites of kindness. So shall the peace of the White Christ reign in your hearts!"

And with songs of joy the multitude of heathen folk took up the little fir tree and bore it to the house of their chief, and there with good will and peace they kept the holy Christmastide.



By William S. Walsh And Other Sources http://www.kraftmstr.com/christmas/books/gs-thunder_oak.html

In honor of the men and women who served in WWI and Pearl Harbor

IN honor of Pearl Harbor's Remembrance Day and the day the US declared war in 1917 entering WWI; here a couple of my favorite poems...

Grass

Pile the bodies high at Austerlitz and Waterloo.
Shovel them under and let me work--
          I am the grass; I cover all.

And pile them high at Gettysburg
And pile them high at Ypres and Verdun.
Shovel them under and let me work.
Two years, ten years, and the passengers ask the conductor:
          What place is this?
          Where are we now?

          I am the grass.
          Let me work. 

Carl Sandburg

Ashes Of Soldiers

Again a verse for sake of you,
You soldiers in the ranks--you Volunteers,
Who bravely fighting, silent fell,
To fill unmention'd graves.

ASHES of soldiers!
As I muse, retrospective, murmuring a chant in thought,
Lo! the war resumes--again to my sense your shapes,
And again the advance of armies.

Noiseless as mists and vapors,
From their graves in the trenches ascending,
From the cemeteries all through Virginia and Tennessee,
From every point of the compass, out of the countless unnamed graves,
In wafted clouds, in myraids large, or squads of twos or threes, or
single ones, they come,
And silently gather round me. 10

Now sound no note, O trumpeters!
Not at the head of my cavalry, parading on spirited horses,
With sabres drawn and glist'ning, and carbines by their thighs--(ah,
my brave horsemen!
My handsome, tan-faced horsemen! what life, what joy and pride,
With all the perils, were yours!)

Nor you drummers--neither at reveille, at dawn,
Nor the long roll alarming the camp--nor even the muffled beat for a
burial;
Nothing from you, this time, O drummers, bearing my warlike drums.

But aside from these, and the marts of wealth, and the crowded
promenade,
Admitting around me comrades close, unseen by the rest, and
voiceless, 20
The slain elate and alive again--the dust and debris alive,
I chant this chant of my silent soul, in the name of all dead
soldiers.

Faces so pale, with wondrous eyes, very dear, gather closer yet;
Draw close, but speak not.

Phantoms of countless lost!
Invisible to the rest, henceforth become my companions!
Follow me ever! desert me not, while I live.

Sweet are the blooming cheeks of the living! sweet are the musical
voices sounding!
But sweet, ah sweet, are the dead, with their silent eyes.

Dearest comrades! all is over and long gone; 30
But love is not over--and what love, O comrades!
Perfume from battle-fields rising--up from foetor arising.

Perfume therefore my chant, O love! immortal Love!
Give me to bathe the memories of all dead soldiers,
Shroud them, embalm them, cover them all over with tender pride!

Perfume all! make all wholesome!
Make these ashes to nourish and blossom,
O love! O chant! solve all, fructify all with the last chemistry.

Give me exhaustless--make me a fountain,
That I exhale love from me wherever I go, like a moist perennial dew,
For the ashes of all dead soldiers. 

Walt Whitman

PEARL HARBOR

Sunday, December the seventh 
In the year of 1941, 
While most of Hawaii still slept 
Came the planes of the Rising Sun.

Waves of bombers and fighters flew 
From the decks of the Japanese ships. 
While our planes were still on the ground 
'Banzai' was spoken from their lips. 

The winds of war had been blowing 
Across the oceans of our Earth
Though not till Pearl had been bombed 
Did we realize what freedom's worth. 

Wars are fought and won on two fronts 
At home and on the battle line. 
Both are equally important 
When war consumes our heart and mind. 

The attack brought us World War II 
With death, pain and separation. 
All who had served were well aware 
Of their sacrifice for nation. 

Tom Zart

The Lost Gingerbread Boy

I saw a rather interesting person the other day.  I was walking around the Sponge Docks in Tarpon Springs and spied a gingerbread boy!  Yes, that's right a gingerbread boy and I remembered what my cousin was telling me about what had happened in her granddaughter's class in school.   It seems that Annabelle and her classmates made gingerbread boys and girls and one of the cookies sneaked out of the classroom when the lunch ladies left the door open!

Now, the little gingerbread boy I was watching looked just like the one who had sneaked out of Annabelle's classroom.  So, I did exactly what Annabelle, her mom, and her grandma had said for me to do and write to the students in Mrs. Lamphier's class and tell them what I saw him doing.  Well, the little guy was having a lot of fun at the Sponge Docks!

When I first saw him, he was getting onto a boat  that was going to Anclote Key where the lighthouse is located.  We rode the boat together with the gingerbread boy getting a little wet from the spray of the boat and I watched him giggle at the sight of dolphins playing in the boat's wake.  We got to the island and the gingerbread boy ran to see the lighthouse.  He loved looking up at it and had his picture taken with it.  Then he ran off toward the beach.  As soon as I caught up with him I had to laugh!  He was covered in sand from head to foot making him look like a sugar gingerbread boy!  I laid down nearby to enjoy the sun and beach and saw that he was digging a big hole.  A little girl asked him what he was doing and he pointed at the hole and then to a book he had brought with him.  The book was all about pirates and how they buried their treasures in the keys (islands) around Florida.  As a matter of fact, there is another key close to Anclote called Dutchman's Key where even today people look for treasure!

Our boat tooted it's horn and the gingerbread boy ran back to it.  He hadn't found a treasure but he had gotten a sunburn!  When we reached the Sponge Docks, he ran to another boat and learned how the Greek divers, who had settled in Tarpon Springs, dove into the Gulf of Mexico to harvest sponges.  He jumped up and down when he watched the diver go in and come back up with a sponge!

The next time I saw the gingerbread boy, he was eating a Greek lunch.  He had a small gyro, lemon potatoes, and a Greek salad.  For dessert he munched on Baklava.  All in all he was pretty full and he walked down the streets past the little Greek stores to the Aquarium.  In there he watched trainers feed sharks and alligators!  Plus, he learned that Tarpon Lake was filled with alligators of all sizes, some of them over 25 feet long!  I guess he won't go near that lake.  Something really special happened when he looked over the railing into the river below.  A manatee came up for air and blew water out of it's waterhole!  The gingerbread boy laughed and giggled as he watched the manatee play in the river.

When I last saw him, he waved goodbye and was heading toward Dunedin and Clearwater. He pointed at a billboard which had a picture of Winter the dolphin!  I bet he was going to see Winter and have fun in Clearwater, St. Petersburg, and Tampa!  If I see him again, I'll be sure to write to the kids in Mrs. Lamphier's class and to Annabelle and her sister, Aida!  Hey, and if you see them you  should write to the kids too!  They want to know where the gingerbread boy is and what he is doing!

Have fun and enjoy!

A Baker's Dozen

Folk tales have a way of showing us our own folly and greed.  This tale from Albany, New York looks at greed in a different light and brings in the teachings of St. Nicholas.  Much in the way that Pope Francis is teaching the world today.  Have fun and enjoy..Remember a baker's dozen doesn't break you....it brings you happiness and more.

A Baker's Dozen

A New York Christmas Story

Retold by S.E. Schlosser

     Back in the old days, I had a successful bake-shop in Albany. I had a good business, a plump wife, and a big family.  I was a happy man.  But trouble came to my shop one year in the guise of an ugly old woman.  She entered my shop a few minutes before closing and said:  “I wish to have a dozen cookies.”  She pointed to my special Saint Nicholas cookies that were sitting out on a tray.  So I counted out twelve cookies for her.
      The old woman’s eyes narrowed when she saw the cookies.  “Only twelve?” she asked.  I knew at once what she wanted.  There were some bakers in town who sometimes gave an extra cookie to their customers, but I was appalled by the custom.  What man of sense would give away an extra cookie for free?
     “I asked for a dozen cookies, and you only give me twelve,” the woman said.
     “A dozen is twelve, my good woman, and that is what I have given you,” I replied.
     “I ordered a dozen cookies, not twelve,” said the old woman.
      I was upset by this demand.  I always gave my customers exactly what they paid for.  But I was a thrifty man, and it was against my nature to give away something for nothing. 
      “I have a family to support,” I said stiffly.  “If I give away all my cookies, how can I feed my family?  A dozen is twelve, not thirteen!  Take it or leave it!”
     “Very well,” said she, and left the shop without taking the cookies.
      From that moment, my luck changed.  The next day, my cakes were stolen out of my shop, and the thieves were never found.  Then my bread refused to rise.  For a week, every loaf of bread I made was so heavy that it fell right through the oven and into the fire.  The next week, the bread rose so high that it actually floated up the chimney.  I was frightened when I saw the loaves floating away across the rooftops.  That was the first moment I realized I had been bewitched.  It was then that I remembered the old woman who came to my shop, and I was afraid.
     The next week, the old woman appeared again in my shop and demanded a baker’s dozen of the latest batch of my cookies.  I was angry. How dare she show her face in my shop after all the bad luck she sent my way?  I cursed her soundly and showed her the door.
     Things became worse for me then.  My bread soured, and my olykoeks (donuts) were a disgrace.  Every cake I made collapsed as soon as it came out of the oven, and my gingerbread children and my cookies lost their flavor.  Word was getting around that my bake-shop was no good, and one by one, my customers were falling away.   I was angry now, and stubborn.  No witch was going to defeat me.  When she came to my bake-shop a third time to demand a baker’s dozen of cookies, I told her to go to the devil and I locked the door behind her.
      After that day, everything I baked was either burnt or soggy, too light or too heavy.  My customers began to avoid my cursed shop, even those who had come to me every day for years.  Finally, my family and I were the only ones eating my baking, and my money was running out.  I was desperate.  I took myself to church and began to pray to Saint Nicholas, the patron Saint of merchants, to lift the witch’s curse from myself and my family.
      “Come and advise me, Saint Nicholas, for my family is in dire straights and I need good counsel against this evil witch who stands against us,” I prayed.  Then I trudged wearily back to my empty shop, wondering what to do.
       I stirred up a batch of Saint Nicholas cookies and put them into the oven to bake, wondering how this lot would turn out.  Too much cinnamon?  Too little?  Burnt?  Under-done?  To my surprise, they came out perfectly.  I frosted them carefully, and put my first successful baking in weeks onto a tray where they could be seen through the window.  When I looked up, Sinterklaas (Saint Nicholas) was standing in front of me.
        I knew him at once, this patron Saint of merchants, sailors, and children.  He was not carrying his gold staff or wearing the red bishop’s robes and mitered hat that appeared on the figure I had just frosted on my cookies.   But the white beard and the kindly eyes were the same.  I was trembling so much my legs would not hold me, so I sat down on a stool and looked up at the Saint standing so near I could have touched him.  His eyes regarded me with such sadness it made me want to weep.
       Saint Nicholas said softly: “I spent my whole life giving money to those in need, helping the sick and suffering, and caring for little children, just as our Lord taught us.  God, in his mercy, has been generous to us, and we should be generous to those around us.”
       I could not bear to look into his eyes, so I buried my face in my hands.
      “Is an extra cookie such a terrible price to pay for the generosity God has shown to us?” he asked gently, touching my head with his hand.
     Then he was gone.  A moment later, I heard the shop door open, and footsteps approached the counter.  I knew before I looked up that the ugly old woman had returned to asked me for a dozen Saint Nicholas cookies.  I got up slowly, counted out thirteen cookies, and gave them to the old woman, free of charge.
      She nodded her head briskly.  “The spell is broken,” she said.  “From this time onward, a dozen is thirteen.”
     And from that day onward, I gave generously of my baking and of my money, and thirteen was always, for me, a baker’s dozen.

S.E. Schlosser
http://americanfolklore.net/folklore/2008/11/a_bakers_dozen.html