On the lake in the morning

Though we travel the world over to find the beautiful, we must carry it with us or we find it not.-- From The Complete Prose Works of Ralph Waldo Emerson 

 You must live in the present, launch yourself on every wave, find your element in each moment.-- Henry David Thoreau 

Believe me, my young friend, there is nothing- absolutely nothing- half so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats. -- Kenneth Grahame (From The Wind in the Willows ) 

December 19: Will there be Christmas?

This year an old favorite seems more appropriate than ever.

 You know the story - the Grinch who tried to keep Christmas from coming by taking away all the presents and trees and feasts - and what he discovered...

Every Who down in Whoville, the tall and the small,
Was singing! Without any presents at all!
He HADN’T stopped Christmas from coming! IT CAME!
Somehow or other, it came just the same!
And the Grinch, with his grinch-feet ice-cold in the snow,
Stood puzzling and puzzling: “How could it be so?”
“It came with out ribbons! It came without tags!”
“It came without packages, boxes or bags!”
And he puzzled three hours, till his puzzler was sore.
Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn’t before!
“Maybe Christmas,” he thought, “doesn’t come from a store.”
“Maybe Christmas…perhaps…means a little bit more!”

(And this is my hope for this year: that Christmas will come anyway)

December 10: Cold Moon

Look up at the sky tonight. You should see the full moon of December.

According to the Old Farmer's Almanac, tonight's full moon is called "The Full Cold Moon"

It's cold enough here (although I know it's colder out west in the mountains!) and we've had snow drifting down all day. I suppose we won't actually see the full moon tonight - and we're too far east to see the eclipse - but we had a fine 99% full moon last night. If it weren't so cold, I'd have lingered outside with the dog to watch "...the long glories of the winter moon." (Tennyson)

In honor of the full moon and her December 10th birthday, here's a poem by Emily Dickinson:

THE MOON was but a chin of gold

A night or two ago,

And now she turns her perfect face

Upon the world below.

Her forehead is of amplest blond;

Her cheek like beryl stone;

Her eye unto the summer dew

The likest I have known.

Her lips of amber never part;

But what must be the smile

Upon her friend she could bestow

Were such her silver will!

And what a privilege to be

But the remotest star!

For certainly her way might pass

Beside your twinkling door.

Her bonnet is the firmament,

The universe her shoe,

The stars the trinkets at her belt,

Her dimities of blue.

Bask in the moonlight and come back tomorrow for another treat.

December 8 : Beneath the Mistletoe

Oh stand right there - that's it - now, quick, give me a kiss!

You have to -- it's mistletoe!

The mistletoe evokes a certain jolly Christmas spirit...a "deck the halls" spirit...a laughing lover's game of catching someone underneath it for an innocent kiss.

This couple that Norman Rockwell painted dancing beneath the mistletoe are clearly of that merrie old Christmas persuasion.

Mistletoe has another side - one of mystery and enchantment.

There is a certain complicated folklore that led to our relatively simple idea of kissing under a bough of mistletoe.

The botanical view of mistletoe is equally complicated. I did not even know the word "hemiparasite" until I began looking for mistletoe information.

Dante Gabriel Rossetti painted a pensive, evocative farmer's daughter hanging the Mistletoe for Christmas 1860 -61.

And here is a poem with an other-worldly feel from Walter de la Mare:

Mistletoe

Sitting under the mistletoe

(Pale-green, fairy mistletoe),

One last candle burning low,

All the sleepy dancers gone,

Just one candle burning on,

Shadows lurking everywhere:

Some one came, and kissed me there.

Tired I was; my head would go

Nodding under the mistletoe

(Pale-green, fairy mistletoe),

No footsteps came, no voice, but only,

Just as I sat there, sleepy, lonely,

Stooped in the still and shadowy air

Lips unseen—and kissed me there.

*********

Check back tomorrow for yet another Advent window.

December 6 : St. Nikolaus

Did you have a visitor last night?

Did you put out your shoes with hay and carrots stuffed in them?

Did you find something else in your shoes this morning?

If so, you must have celebrated St. Nikolaus day!

Here's how it was celebrated in Hans Brinker, or The Silver Skates, by Mary Mapes Dodge:

"Now the spirit of fun reigned supreme. The very flames danced and capered in the polished grate. A pair of prim candles that had been staring at the astral lamp began to wink at other candles far away in the mirrors. There was a long bell rope suspended from the ceiling in the corner, made of glass beads netted over a cord nearly as thick as your wrist. It is generally hung in the shadow and made no sign, but tonight it twinkled from end to end. Its handle of crimson glass sent reckless dashes of red at the papered wall, turning its dainty blue stripes into purple. Passersby halted to catch the merry laughter floating, through curtain and sash, into the street, then skipped on their way with a startled consciousness that the village was wide-awake. At last matters grew so uproarious that the grandsire's red kerchief came down from his face with a jerk. What decent old gentleman could sleep in such a racket! Mynheer van Gleck regarded his children with astonishment. The baby even showed symptoms of hysterics.

It was high time to attend to business. Madame suggested that if they wished to see the good Saint Nicholas, they should sing the same loving invitation that had brought him the year before.

The baby stared and thrust his fist into his mouth as mynheer put him down upon the floor. Soon he sat erect and looked with a sweet scowl at the company. With his lace and embroideries and his crown of blue ribbon and whalebone (for he was not quite past the tumbling age), he looked like the king of the babies.

The other children, each holding a pretty willow basket, formed a ring at once, and moved slowly around the little fellow, lifting their eyes, for the saint to whom they were about to address themselves was yet in mysterious quarters.

Madame commenced playing softly upon the piano. Soon the voices rose--gentle, youthful voices--rendered all the sweeter for their tremor:

"Welcome, friend! Saint Nicholas, welcome!
Bring no rod for us tonight!
While our voices bid thee welcome,
Every heart with joy is light!

Tell us every fault and failing,
We will bear thy keenest railing,
So we sing--so we sing--
Thou shalt tell us everything!

Welcome, friend! Saint Nicholas, welcome!
Welcome to this merry band!
Happy children greet thee, welcome!
Thou art glad'ning all the land!

Fill each empty hand and basket,
'Tis thy little ones who ask it,
So we sing--so we sing--
Thou wilt bring us everything!"

During the chorus sundry glances, half in eagerness, half in dread, had been cast toward the polished folding doors. Now a loud knocking was heard. The circle was broken in an instant. Some of the little ones, with a strange mixture of fear and delight, pressed against their mother's knee. Grandfather bent forward with his chin resting upon his hand; Grandmother lifted her spectacles; Mynheer van Gleck, seated by the fireplace, slowly drew his meerschaum from his mouth while Hilda and the other children settled themselves beside him in an expectant group.

The knocking was heard again.

"Come in," said madame softly.

The door slowly opened, and Saint Nicholas, in full array, stood before them."

And the good saint still comes visiting, especially if you live in southern Germany - you may read about it here.

Enjoy your St. Nicholas treats and look for another treat behind tomorrow's window.

Window number 3: Dulce Domum

There are so many wonderfully appropriate Mid-Winter stories that I could really do a post a day just of the books to read or re-read in December.

One of my favorite seasonal reads is Chapter V : "Dulce Domum" in The Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame.

I'm just going to give you the piece of the chapter in which the field mice appear and the carol they sing.

(If you would like to read the entire chapter -or the entire book- click here.)

As this quote begins, we find the Water Rat and Mole in Mole's old abandoned home on a cold Winter's night. Mole has been rediscovering the things he left behind while Rat has been finding something for dinner:

"At last the Rat succeeded in decoying him to the table, and had just got seriously to work with the sardine-opener when sounds were heard from the fore-court without--sounds like the scuffling of small feet in the gravel and a confused murmur of tiny voices, while broken sentences reached them--`Now, all in a line--hold the lantern up a bit, Tommy--clear your throats first--no coughing after I say one, two, three.--Where's young Bill?--Here, come on, do, we're all a-waiting----'

`What's up?' inquired the Rat, pausing in his labours.

`I think it must be the field-mice,' replied the Mole, with a touch of pride in his manner. `They go round carol-singing regularly at this time of the year. They're quite an institution in these parts. And they never pass me over--they come to Mole End last of all; and I used to give them hot drinks, and supper too sometimes, when I could afford it. It will be like old times to hear them again.'

`Let's have a look at them!' cried the Rat, jumping up and running to the door.

It was a pretty sight, and a seasonable one, that met their eyes when they flung the door open. In the fore-court, lit by the dim rays of a horn lantern, some eight or ten little fieldmice stood in a semicircle, red worsted comforters round their throats, their fore-paws thrust deep into their pockets, their feet jigging for warmth. With bright beady eyes they glanced shyly at each other, sniggering a little, sniffing and applying coat- sleeves a good deal. As the door opened, one of the elder ones that carried the lantern was just saying, `Now then, one, two, three!' and forthwith their shrill little voices uprose on the air, singing one of the old-time carols that their forefathers composed in fields that were fallow and held by frost, or when snow-bound in chimney corners, and handed down to be sung in the miry street to lamp-lit windows at Yule-time.


CAROL

Villagers all, this frosty tide,
Let your doors swing open wide,
Though wind may follow, and snow beside,
Yet draw us in by your fire to bide;
Joy shall be yours in the morning!

Here we stand in the cold and the sleet,
Blowing fingers and stamping feet,
Come from far away you to greet--
You by the fire and we in the street--
Bidding you joy in the morning!

For ere one half of the night was gone,
Sudden a star has led us on,
Raining bliss and benison--
Bliss to-morrow and more anon,
Joy for every morning!

Goodman Joseph toiled through the snow--
Saw the star o'er a stable low;
Mary she might not further go--
Welcome thatch, and litter below!
Joy was hers in the morning!

And then they heard the angels tell
`Who were the first to cry NOWELL?
Animals all, as it befell,
In the stable where they did dwell!
Joy shall be theirs in the morning!'

The voices ceased, the singers, bashful but smiling, exchanged sidelong glances, and silence succeeded--but for a moment only. Then, from up above and far away, down the tunnel they had so lately travelled was borne to their ears in a faint musical hum the sound of distant bells ringing a joyful and clangorous peal.

`Very well sung, boys!' cried the Rat heartily. `And now come along in, all of you, and warm yourselves by the fire, and have something hot!' "

And let us too go warm ourselves by a fire and have something hot! And return tomorrow to see what is hidden in Window number 4.

October arrives

"It was a peaceful autumn day. The gilding of the Indian summer mellowed the pastures far and wide. The russet woods stood ripe to be stript, but were yet full of leaf. The purple of heath-bloom, faded but not withered, tinged the hills. The beck wandered down to the Hollow, through a silent district; no wind followed its course, or haunted its woody borders. Fieldhead gardens bore the seal of gentle decay. On the walks, swept that morning, yellow leaves had fluttered down again. Its time of flowers, and even of fruits, was over; but a scantling of apples enriched the trees; only a blossom here and there expanded pale and delicate amidst a knot of faded leaves. "

-Charlotte Bronte

One thing work gives

"One thing work gives

is the joy of not working,

a minute here or there

when I stand and only breathe,

receiving the good of the air.

It comes back. Good work done

comes back into the mind,

a free breath drawn."

Quote from: Clearing, by Wendlell Berry

Photo of my great-grandfather