“Looking through my bedroom window, out into the moonlight and the unending smoke-coloured snow, I could see the lights in the windows of all the other houses on our hill and hear the music rising from them up the long, steadily falling night. I turned the gas down, I got into bed. I said some words to the close and holy darkness, and then I slept.”
–Dylan Thomas, conclusion of “A Child’s Christmas in Wales”
(Blog break till 2019…)
after the toasters
the mints and
scented soaps
after the widescreens
the gift cards
and mugs
after the oranges
the laptops
and socks
after the Botox
the iPhones
and gold chains
after the Lindor
the Blu-rays
and spiced teas
after the slippers
Lego
and nuts
after the vacuums
the knife sets
and dolls
after the stockings
the Play-Doh
and games
I thought of you again
I did, yes I did
your kisses, the snowflakes
your hair, your eyes
over and over again
I did that, you know
this Christmas,
I honestly did
(left: cozy soft blanket; right: coverlet on my bed)
We are all held together
by wires or Wi-Fi.
The props that hold us up
can only be glimpsed
in a certain slant of light.
We are really coming apart
all the time, even as we laugh
and profess a strength.
Lame the underpinnings
of our all-so gossamer texts.
We droop our fatigues
against a greater mystery,
our pains and plans mere habits
of exclusiveness.
We turn ourselves inside-out
for others to see how
we might glow in the dark:
blue shadows on evening snow.
When winter came that year,
we could almost imagine
another breathing,
some vague restoration.
There were, though, those among us
who reported seeing streaks of light
or perhaps a radiance
behind all these fronts.
they make it so easy to pick up and donate food packages year-round to the Food Bank for only $5 or $10. Imagine the grateful unfortunates who will be happy to eat this Christmas. It doesn’t take that much to give and extend ourselves this little to help others at Christmas. Why be chintzy and withhold that small amount of money in the great scheme of things?
The Bishop’s Wife, 1947, starring Cary Grant, Loretta Young, and David Niven with Monty Woolley and James Gleason in strong supporting charming roles.
This is the tale of a bishop (Niven in one of his best-ever roles) who is obsessively trying to build a new cathedral while neglecting his main mission and his beautiful wife. Grant plays an angel who comes down to earth, making everyone’s life better while mainly helping the bishop and his wife (Young) with their inner and outer conflicts
This is a wonderful comedy-romance with great writing (Sherwood & Bercovici), main scenes, direction (Henry Koster), acting. sets, and music throughout. There are elements of It’s a Wonderful Life here and the best of Christmas and Christian spirit throughout, albeit served up in a delightful, secular, Hollywood way. This is easily the best-ever old comedy about Xmas and comes highly recommended on all counts. Not a bad choice anywhere in its making, says a former AB provincial film-classifier. A 10/10.
This is the hour O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless,
Away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson done,
Thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the themes thou lovest best,
Night, sleep, death and the stars.
–Walt Whitman, published in Inside Poetry (2nd ed.) by Richard Davies & Jerry Wowk; the first edition was the most used, most popular senior high English poetry book in Canada during the ’80s and ’90s
I remember buying this LP for myself in a doldrums period then and hunkering down to listen to great songs like “Changes”. And then Karen phoned me out of the blue, inviting me over to visit. It was the turning point in our relationship after not hearing from her for a month or so.
I always associate Phil Ochs’ “Changes” with her, that magic moment just before Christmas when we started up. (Later in January, we would go see Ian and Sylvia at University of MB.)
The lyrics of Ochs’ profound, spell-binding tune:
Sit by my side, come as close as the air,
Share in a mem’ry of grey,
And wander in my words, and dream about the
Pictures that I play of changes.
Green leaves of summer turn red in the fall,
To brown and to yellow they fade;
And then they have to die, trapped within the
Circle time parade of changes.
Scenes of my young years were warm in my mind,
Visions of shadows that shine;
Till one day I returned and they were the
Victims of the vines of changes.
The world’s spinning madly, it drifts in the dark
Swings through a hollow of haze;
A race around the stars, a journey through the
Universe ablaze with changes.
Moments of magic will glow in the night.
All fears of the forest are gone;
But when the morning breaks, they’re swept away by
Golden drops of dawn of changes.
Passions will part to a strange melody
As fires will sometimes burn cold;
Like petals in the wind, we’re puppets to the
Silver strings of souls of changes.
Your tears will be trembling, now we’re somewhere else
One last cup of wine we will pour;
And I’ll kiss you one more time and leave you on the
Rolling river shores of changes.
to brighten and express Christmas.
–from “Mary Had a Baby”, a traditional Saint Helena carol adapted nicely by Bruce Cockburn on his interesting Christmas CD
