Christmas Ideals

IDEALS MAGAZINE
~ ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS ~

1963
This is the much earlier "old - time" volume
that both the daughter and the mother (in the story below)
remembered and cherished, from back in the grandmother's day.

Between my mother and her mother (my beloved Grandma Rovilla Lindsey), they collected nearly every Christmas Ideals for 60 years. The oldest one I have from their early purchases is 1947 (Ideals began in 1944). When sorting through my mom's things, I kept all the older issues that my siblings and I recalled from our childhood. How we all loved the pre-Christmas ritual when Mom got them out for us to read. We would pour over the pictures, page after page, and imagine the perfect Christmas!
~ My Own Ideals Christmas ~
The later issues from the 1970s, 80s, and 90s I passed on to the public library sale, since, for me, they lacked the same charm and nostalgia of the earlier years. Before giving them away, however, I did take an afternoon to look through every page, including the letters to the editor.

Turning to the back page of the 1991 issue, I came across this multi - layered, multi - generational (grandmother - mother - daughter) meta anecdote. The mother's letter tells the whole story that happened a year earlier (Christmas 1990) about the daughter's sweet gesture to the mom in honor of the grandmother:

I have a Christmas story I would like to share with you.

"I have Christmas Ideals, Vol. 20, No. 6, November 1963. This issue has been on our coffee table with a candle and a Bible every year since.

"Our daughter came home a week before Christmas for a day. My 91 year old mother is ill and I had not decorated as much as usual and did not put our cherished Ideals on the table.

"My daughter noticed this but said nothing. Christmas morning I found a 1990 Christmas issue of Ideals. A note enclosed said, 'Mother, it did not seem like Chritmas with our Ideals not on the coffee table, is it lost? Here is a new one for you.'"

~ From Mrs. William T. Preston, Kenova, West Virginia

1990
This is the volume that the daughter bought
for her mother when the grandmother was sick,
the year the mom wrote the letter.

1991
This is the volume containing Mrs. Preston's letter
in the Readers' Forum, p. 80

I knew then that I could never part with 1990 and 1991. As you can guess, I shelved them right beside my vintage 1963, an issue which -- just like the daughter in the story -- I remember vividly from every childhood Christmas. From now on, these three magazines will always go together, a sentimental holiday triumvirate.

Another thing I love about the old issues is that my grandmother went through and marked all of her favorites with a tiny red penciled "X".

This one, for example:
At the End of the Year

I cannot let the old year die
Without a thought of you;
Without a wish for Christma joys,
And New Year blessing too. . . .

It is a time when friends and kin
Meet round a common board,
To share the love and fellowship
That happy days afford. . . .

And now my warmetst wishes go
To loved ones and to friends,
That peace and joy be in your hearts,
And love that never ends.

~ Agnes Davenport Bond ~

Also Thanksgiving Ideals

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Tuesday, January 14th
Between now and then, read

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"the snowman brings the snow"

PADDINGTON & SNOWMAN
~ ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS ~

Way back in 1989, Gerry and I were Christmas shopping in Dublin, and the magical strains of "Walking In the Air" (from The Snowman) floated out onto the sidewalk as we were passing the open door of a music store. Gerry had been playing The Snowman score on the piano for the past few Christmases, but we didn't have the album. The tune sounded so beautiful on that wintry holiday afternoon, we just had to have it! Impulse buy! We turned into the store and asked about getting a copy of the CD that was playing on the outdoor speaker. The clerk informed us that it was not a Snowman soundtrack (currently out of stock); it was this anthology:

We purchased a copy that day, and every song on it has remained among our favorites for 35 years! We always start the season with It's Christmas!

This CD serves as the background music for all the treasured memories of my first British / Irish Christmas, when the following three songs came into my life. They are such boisterous tunes -- lighthearted, joyful and unforgettable -- unforgettable except that I am always getting them confused with one another, so here and now I am setting out the lyrics and vowing to keep them straight this Christmas and the next, and every other Christmas yet to come.

I Wish It Could Be Christmas Everyday
Song by Wizzard

When the snowman brings the snow
Well he just might like to know
He's put a great big smile on somebody's face
If you jump into your bed
Quickly cover up your head
Don't you lock the doors
You know that sweet Santa Claus is on the way

Well I wish it could be Christmas everyday
When the kids start singing and the band begins to play
Oh I wish it could be Christmas everyday
Let the bells ring out for Christmas

When we're skating in the park
If the storm cloud paints it dark
Then your rosy cheeks gonna light my merry way
Now the frosticles appear
And they've frozen up my beard
So we'll lie by the fire till the sleep simply melts them all away

Well I wish it could be Christmas everyday
When the kids start singing and the band begins to play
Oh I wish it could be Christmas everyday
So let the bells ring out for Christmas

When the snowman brings the snow
Well he just might like to know
He's put a great big smile on somebody's face
So if Santa brings that sleigh
All along the milky way
I'll sign my name on the rooftop in the snow
Then he may decide to stay

Well I wish it could be Christmas everyday
When the kids start singing and the band begins to play
Oh I wish it could be Christmas everyday
So let the bells ring out for Christmas

OK you lot take it

[Chorus, sung by children:]
Well I wish it could be Christmas everyday
When the kids start singing and the band begins to play
Oh I wish it could be Christmas everyday
Let the bells ring out for Christmas

Why don't you give your love for Christmas?

Written by Roy Wood

Merry Xmas Everybody
Song by Slade

Are you hanging up your stocking on your wall?
It's the time that every Santa has a ball
Does he ride a red-nosed reindeer
Does a ton-up on his sleigh?
Do the fairies keep him sober for a day?

So, here it is Merry Christmas,
everybody's having fun
Look to the future now,
it's only just begun

Are you waiting for the family to arrive?
Are you sure you've got the room to spare inside?
Does your granny always tell ya (ah-ah-ah)
That the old songs are the best (ah-ah-ah)
When she's up and rock 'n' rolling with the rest?

So, here it is Merry Christmas,
everybody's having fun
Look to the future now,
it's only just begun
What will your daddy do
when he sees your mama kissing Santa Claus
Ah-ahh

Are you hanging up your stocking on your wall?
Are you hoping that the snow will start to fall?
Do you ride on down the hillside (ah-ah)
In a buggy you have made? (Ah-ah)
When you land upon your head
then you've been slayed . . .

So, here it is Merry Christmas,
everybody's having fun (It's Christmas!)
Look to the future now,
it's only just begun

written by Neville Holder & James Lea

Merry Christmas Everyone
Song by Shakin’ Stevens

Snow is falling all around me
Children playing, having fun
It's the season, love and understanding
Merry Christmas everyone

Time for parties and celebration
People dancing all night long
Time for presents and exchanging kisses
Time for singing Christmas songs

We're gonna have a party tonight
I'm gonna find that girl
Underneath the mistletoe
We'll kiss by candlelight

Room is swaying, records playing
All the old songs we love to hear
All I wish that every day was Christmas
What a nice way to spend the year
Woo, yeah!
We're gonna have a party tonight
I'm gonna find that girl
Underneath the mistletoe
We'll kiss by candlelight
See upcoming pop shows
Get tickets for your favorite artists . . .

Snow is falling, all around me
Children playing, having fun
It's the season, love and understanding
Merry Christmas everyone
Merry Christmas everyone
Merry Christmas everyone

Written by Bob Heatlie

Next Fortnightly Post
Saturday, December 28th
Between now and then, read

THE QUOTIDIAN KIT
my shorter, almost daily blog posts
www.dailykitticarriker.blogspot.com

Looking for a good book? Try
KITTI'S LIST
my running list of recent reading
www.kittislist.blogsppot.com

Victoria on the Void

AUTUMNAL OWL
~ ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS ~

My friend Victoria recently suggested that
bleak November was a good time to re-read
one of our favorite poems by one of our favorite poets:

In a Dark Time

In a dark time, the eye begins to see,
I meet my shadow in the deepening shade;
I hear my echo in the echoing wood—
A lord of nature weeping to a tree.
I live between the heron and the wren,
Beasts of the hill and serpents of the den.

What’s madness but nobility of soul
At odds with circumstance? The day’s on fire!
I know the purity of pure despair,
My shadow pinned against a sweating wall.
That place among the rocks—is it a cave,
Or winding path? The edge is what I have.

A steady storm of correspondences!
A night flowing with birds, a ragged moon,
And in broad day the midnight come again!
A man goes far to find out what he is—
Death of the self in a long, tearless night,
All natural shapes blazing unnatural light.

Dark, dark my light, and darker my desire.
My soul, like some heat-maddened summer fly,
Keeps buzzing at the sill. Which I is I?
A fallen man, I climb out of my fear.
The mind enters itself, and God the mind,
And one is One, free in the tearing wind.

By Theodore Roethke (1908 – 1963)

We had been comparing visits to our local cemeteries. For me, it was the small sad Confederate Cemetery, just down the street from our house, where I love taking a walk. For Victoria, it was Lakewood Cemetery, "the most beautiful in the Twin Cities. There's a bench next to the small lake, and it's perfect for reflecting on purpose and passion, restlessness and recklessness, strength and fragility; feeling rather vapid in a disturbing vacuum. How do you fill The Void?"

How do I do it? Reading, writing, swimming, looking after the grandkids. I just have to a - void that spiral of "Now, why am I doing this?" Oh yeah, that's right, so that they too may grow up strong, thoughtful and contemplative, and one day feel -- and find a way to fill -- The Void. Sigh . . .

As ever, in a dark time, there are the inestimable insights of the great writers and thinkers. Like as we, Ralph Waldo Emerson also faced The Void:

"After thirty, we wake up sad every morning,
excepting perhaps five or six, until the day of our death.”
Isn't it somewhat ennobling, right, to think that Emerson felt the same way, so long ago? And not necessarily from depression or even aging, though perhaps coming of age -- whenever it happens -- might have something to do with it. Emerson mentions the existential sadness kicking in at age thirty, the true end of childhood.

How did Jonathan Swift do it?
"I never wake without finding life more
insignificant than it was the day before."
from his letter to Lord Bolingbroke

How did E. M. Forster do it?
“Two people pulling each other into Salvation
is the only theme I find worthwhile."
~ from his Commonplace Book

Or Robert Frost / Brad McLaughlin?
"We've looked and looked, but after all where are we?
Do we know any better where we are,
And how it stands between the night tonight
And a man with a smoky lantern chimney?
How different from the way it ever stood?"
~from his poem "The Star-splitter"

How does Alithea / Tilda Swinton do it?
"Despite all the whiz-bang, we remain bewildered."
~ from the movie ~
Three Thousand Years of Longing

Petrified Wood, Statuette & Owl (above)
all from my brother Dave's back yard.

Next Fortnightly Post
Saturday, December 14th
Between now and then, read

THE QUOTIDIAN KIT
my shorter, almost daily blog posts
www.dailykitticarriker.blogspot.com

Looking for a good book? Try
KITTI'S LIST
my running list of recent reading
www.kittislist.blogsppot.com

The Orion Connection

ORION THE HUNTER
~ ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS ~

Why do so many depictions of Orion include his belt but not his sword?
Still, I like this one because it labels both Betelgeuse and Bellatrix

Sky and Telescope

These two star maps are less vivid than the one above,
yet they are helpful in other ways.
Firstly, they both include the sword!
Secondly, they include Sirius, the brightest star in
Canis Major, one of Orion's hunting dogs.

Sound Cloud

Orion has always been a favorite with the poets,
as these excerpts reveal:
#1
from "Orion"
by Charles Tennyson Turner (1808 - 1879)

How oft I've watch'd thee from the garden croft,
In silence, when the busy day was done,
Shining with wondrous brilliancy aloft,
And flickering like a casement 'gainst the sun!
I've seen thee soar from out some snowy cloud,
Which held the frozen breath of land and sea,
Yet broke and sever'd as the wind grew loud
But earth-bound winds could not dismember thee,
Nor shake thy frame of jewels; I have guess'd
At thy strange shape and function, haply felt
The charm of that old myth about thy belt
And sword . . .
#2
from "Winter Stars"
by Sara Teasdale (1884 - 1933)

I bore my sorrow heavily.
But when I lifted up my head
From shadows shaken on the snow,
I saw Orion in the east
Burn steadily as long ago . . .
#3
from "Baseball and Writing"
by Marianne Moore (1887 - 1972)

Studded with stars in belt and crown,
the Stadium is an adastrium.

O flashing Orion,
your stars are muscled like the lion.
#4
from "Orion"
by Adrienne Rich (1929 - 2012)

. . . you were my genius, you
my cast-iron Viking, my helmed
lion-heart king in prison.
Years later now you're young

my fierce half-brother, staring
down from that simplified west
your breast open, your belt dragged down
by an oldfashioned thing, a sword
the last bravado you won't give over
though it weighs you down as you stride

and the stars in it are dim
and maybe have stopped burning.
But you burn, and I know it . . .

Pity is not your forte.
Calmly you ache up there
pinned aloft in your crow's nest,
my speechless pirate!
#5
the poem "Orion"
by James Longenbach (1959 – 2022)

Stars rising like something said, something never
To be forgotten, shining forever—look
How still they are.

Blind hunter crawling
Toward sunrise, then healed.

He opened his eyes to find her waiting

—Afraid—and together they traveled
Lightly: requiring nothing

But a sense that the road beneath them stretched
Forever. At the edge

He entered the water, swam so far
That he became a speck: his body

Washed ashore, then raised to where we see it now—
The belt, the worn-out sword. I'm not

Afraid—

Except that there is nothing beneath us,
No ground without fear. The body vulnerable

—You can look at me—

The body still now, never
Changing, rising forever—stay—

Like something said.

There are numerous others
[e.g., Stoddart, O'Malley]
but perhaps the real question is:
do we even deserve the heroics of Orion,
the "faithful beauty of the stars,"
and the grandeur night sky:

The Earthlings

The Earthlings arrived unannounced, entered
without knocking, removed their shoes
and began clipping their toenails.
They let the clippings fall wherever.
They sighed loudly as if inconvenienced.
We were patient. We knew our guests
were in an unfamiliar environment; they needed
time to adjust. For dinner, we prepared
turkey meatloaf with a side of cauliflower.
This is too dry, they said.
This is not like what our mothers made.
We wanted to offer a tour of our world,
demonstrate how we freed ourselves
from the prisons of linear time.
But the Earthlings were already spelunking
our closets, prying tools
from their containers and holding them
to the light. What’s this? they demanded.
What’s this? What’s this? And what’s this?
That’s a Quantum Annihilator; put that down.
That’s a Particle Grinder; please put that down.
We could show you how to heal the sick, we said.
We could help you feed every nation, commune
with the all-seeing sentient energy that palpitates
through all known forms of matter.
Nah! they said. Teach us to vaporize a mountain!
Teach us to turn the moon into revenue!
Then the Earthlings
left a faucet running and flooded our basement.

by Matthew Olzmann

Click for greater detail
from Denver & the BBC

Next Fortnightly Post
Thursday, November 28th
Between now and then, read

THE QUOTIDIAN KIT ~ The Faithful Beauty of the Stars
my shorter, almost daily blog posts
www.dailykitticarriker.blogspot.com

Looking for a good book? Try
KITTI'S LIST ~ How to Find Orion
my running list of recent reading
www.kittislist.blogsppot.com

Beauty in the Macabre

THE MACABRE
~ ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS ~

"Beauty in the Macabre"
Thanks to my friend Steven for sharing this winsome cartoon.

Also: The Danse Macabre ~ QK ~ A Fun Example

And thanks to Gerry's Auntie Jan
for sending these two poems by Ted Hughes:

Sorrows of Autumn

The first sorrow of autumn is the slow good-bye of the garden that stands so long in the evening—a brown poppy head, the stalk of a lily, and still cannot go.

The second sorrow is the empty feet of a pheasant who hangs from a hook with his brothers. The woodland of gold is folded in feathers with its head in a bag.

And the third sorrow is the slow good-bye of the sun who has gathered the birds and who gathers the minutes of evening, the golden and holy ground of the picture.

The fourth sorrow is the pond gone black, ruined, and sunken the city of water — the beetle's palace, the catacombs of the dragonfly.

And the fifth sorrow is the slow good-bye of the woodland that quietly breaks up its camp. One day it's gone. It has only left litter — firewood, tent poles.

And the sixth sorrow is the fox's sorrow, the joy of the huntsman, the joy of the hounds, the hooves that pound; till earth closes her ear to the fox's prayer.

And the seventh sorrow is the slow good-bye of the face with its wrinkles that looks through the window as the year packs up like a tatty fairground that came for the children.

Leaves

Who’s killed the leaves?
Me, says the apple, I’ve killed them all.
Fat as a bomb or a cannonball
I’ve killed the leaves.

Who sees them drop?
Me, says the pear, they will leave me all bare
So all the people can point and stare.
I see them drop.

Who’ll catch their blood?
Me, me, me, says the marrow, the marrow.
I’ll get so rotund that they’ll need a wheelbarrow.
I’ll catch their blood.

Who’ll make their shroud?
Me, says the swallow, there’s just time enough
Before I must pack all my spools and be off.
I’ll make their shroud.

Who’ll dig their grave?
Me, says the river, with the power of the clouds
A brown deep grave I’ll dig under my floods.
I’ll dig their grave.

Who’ll be their parson?
Me, says the Crow, for it is well-known
I study the bible right down to the bone.
I’ll be their parson.

Who’ll be chief mourner?
Me, says the wind, I will cry through the grass
The people will pale and go cold when I pass.
I’ll be chief mourner.*

Who’ll carry the coffin?
Me, says the sunset, the whole world will weep
To see me lower it into the deep.
I’ll carry the coffin.

Who’ll sing a psalm?
Me, says the tractor, with mu gear grinding glottle
I’ll plough Up the stubble and sing through my throttle.
I’ll sing the psalm.

Who’ll toll the bell?
Me, says the robin, my song in October
Will tell the still gardens the leaves are over.
I’ll toll the bell.

By Ted Hughes (1930 - 1988)

*my favorite lines!

Don't you love these pages from my new sticker book?
Some of the user comments said that
"the sticker designs are too eerie & creepy" -- or
"why have they mixed in the grotesque with the romantic?"
Well, guess what -- that's why we love them, right?!?!
Exactly the same thing my friend Vicki said
about her new note cards from her friend Emmy:
"elegant, gothic, pagan, feminist, organic, spooky"!

Previously: Memento Mori

Previously: "Where Is Fancy Bred"

Previously: On Facebook

Next Fortnightly Post
Thursday, November 14th
Between now and then, read

THE QUOTIDIAN KIT
my shorter, almost daily blog posts
www.dailykitticarriker.blogspot.com

Looking for a good book? Try
KITTI'S LIST
my running list of recent reading
www.kittislist.blogsppot.com

Tonight Is The Night

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!
~ ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS ~

I discovered this book 10 years ago, and immediately fell in love with the eerie pictures and bewitching lyrics. Only this year did I learn that the verse is an old childhood song, set to music long ago. I had no idea!

Hallowe'en

Tonight is the night
When dead leaves fly
Like witches on switches
Across the sky,

When elf and sprite
Flit through the night
On a moony sheen.
Tonight is the night

When leaves make a sound
Like a gnome in his home
Under the ground,

When spooks and trolls
Creep out of holes
Mossy and green.
Tonight is the night

When pumpkins stare
Through sheaves and leaves
Everywhere,

When ghoul and ghost
And goblin host
Dance round their queen.
It's Hallowe'en.

poem by Harry Behn
sung by Kathryn Lillich
storybook illustrations by Greg Couch

Also by Harry Behn
Trees

Trees are the kindest things I know,
They do no harm, they simply grow
And spread a shade for sleepy cows,
And gather birds among their bows.

They give us fruit in leaves above,
And wood to make our houses of,
And leaves to burn Halloween
And in the Spring new buds of green.

They are first when day's begun
To tough the beams of morning sun,
They are the last to hold the light
When evening changes into night.

And when a moon floats on the sky
They hum a drowsy lullaby
Of sleepy children long ago...
Trees are the kindest things I know.

Illustrated by James Endicott

Next Fortnightly Post
Monday, October 28th
Between now and then, read

THE QUOTIDIAN KIT
my shorter, almost daily blog posts
www.dailykitticarriker.blogspot.com

Looking for a good book? Try
KITTI'S LIST ~ Halloween Favorites
my running list of recent reading
www.kittislist.blogsppot.com