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thedrifter
12-23-06, 07:51 AM
Joy and Giving at Christmastime

by E. Ralph Hostetter
Posted Dec 23, 2006

Thoughts of Christmas, necessarily, are a reflection of an individual’s own experiences as one follows a passage through life. The thoughts of joy and giving seem especially joined at Christmastime.

Joy is reflected in Christmas carols such as "Joy to the World." Joy brings an euphoric feeling of well being and it seems to happen, particularly during the Christmas season. It appears to be universal.

Joy of the Christmas season has been shared over the years by all stations in life, from peasants to emperors, kings and czars.

Joy of the Christmas season reflects on civility and simple courtesy. Friends and even strangers share a tendency to be less impatient. Doors are opened and passage is offered more often.

Cheery greetings of "Merry Christmas" seem to lift the human spirit.

Thoughts of joy lead to thoughts of giving. Christmas, in spite of all the efforts of those who would destroy the joy, remains the season of giving.

That spirit of Christmas giving did not originate with the giving of material gifts. It began with God's greatest gift to man: life itself.

Christmas celebrates the birth of a baby some 2,000 years ago. That baby was Jesus Christ. The story of the life of that baby was destined, through centuries of suffering and martyrdom, eventually to expand across the pages of history to become one of the world's principal religions, Christianity.

Christmas celebrates the birth of Jesus each year on December 25.

The spirit of giving, particularly at Christmas, is one of personal fulfillment. It matters not the value of the gift; it is the thought of giving that provides the fulfillment.

Christmas is also a time to celebrate the gift of life to children everywhere. Christmas more than any other celebration is a child's season.

Christmas Eve and Christmas Day are family time. Families gather in closeness, many around a cozy fire, as no other time of the year. It is a time for reunion and many times it celebrates the first Christmas of the newest member of the family.

The gift giving centers on the children.

This anticipation of Christmas, as I recall, began weeks before December 25. As the day drew near, real Christmas began with the selection of a Christmas tree that miraculously could be trimmed by Santa Claus during the night. Santa would leave presents for good little children under that tree. This belief among little children proved to be a remarkable aid to discipline. No child wanted to receive a bundle of sticks instead of a present.

This wonderful belief in Santa was a very closely guarded secret. No one, not even a villain, would dare destroy that magical belief before a child reached the age of first grade.

The Christmas celebration as we in America know it today came from our European heritage.

The Christmas tree, according to legend, came from northern Germany, when Martin Luther, an Augustinian monk and founder of the world's Protestant movement, witnessed bright stars surrounding an evergreen tree. Inspired by this scene, Martin Luther brought an evergreen tree into the home and illuminated it with lighted candles.

When Queen Victoria married her consort, Prince Albert, who was of German heritage, the Saxe-Coburg-Gotha line, the Christmas tree was brought to England.

The Christmas tree came to America when Pennsylvania Germans, today's so-called “Pennsylvania Dutch," came to America in the early 1700s.

Santa, the personified spirit of giving, had been known over the centuries in Europe as Father Christmas or Saint Nicholas. In particular the Dutch version, Sinter Klaas, seems closest to our term, Santa Claus. The Roman Catholic Church recognizes Saint Nicholas of Smyrna, a 4th Century bishop.

The connection between Santa Claus and Christmas was popularized by the 1822 poem, “A Visit from St. Nicholas” (“’Twas the Night before Christmas”), attributed to Clement Clark Moore, who depicted Santa driving a sleigh pulled by reindeer and distributing gifts to children.

The truly American celebration of Christmas was enhanced greatly in 1863 when German-American cartoonist Thomas Nast gave Santa Claus visible form and character in Harper’s Weekly.

In 1897 an 8-year-old wrote to the New York Sun, asking, “Is there a Santa Claus?” In what remains, a century later, the most reprinted editorial ever to run in any newspaper in the English language, Francis P. Church answered: “Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! How dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus! ... There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The external light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished…”

No Santa Claus! Thank God! He lives and lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay 10 times 10,000 years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.

Only the celebration of Christmas can bring such joy and wonderment to the hearts of children and adults alike.

Merry Christmas!

Ellie

thedrifter
12-24-06, 06:44 AM
Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus
December 24,2006

Editor’s note: The following editorial, among the most famous ever written, appeared in The New York Sun in 1897 and remains appropriate for this holiday season 109 years later.

IS THERE A SANTA CLAUS?

We take pleasure in answering at once and thus prominently the communication below, expressing at the same time our great gratification that its faithful author is numbered among the friends of The Sun:

Dear Editor! I am 8 years old.

Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus.

Papa says, “If you see it in The Sun it’s so.” Please tell me the truth: Is there a Santa Claus?

Virginia O’Hanlon

115 West Ninety-Fifth Street

Virginia, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men’s or children’s, are little. In this great universe of ours man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect, as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus. It would be as dreary as if there were no Virginias.

There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal life with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.

Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies! You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas Eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if they did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that’s no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.

You may tear apart the baby’s rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived, could tear apart. Only faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernatural beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, Virginia, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.

No Santa Claus! Thank God! he lives, and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.

Ellie

thedrifter
12-24-06, 07:01 AM
Santa letters to NCT capture holiday spirit

By: RUTH MARVIN WEBSTER - Staff Writer

No sooner had we flipped the calendar to December and posted our invitation to send e-mails to Santa than your letters began to trickle into the North County Times newsroom. Delivered not in big red knapsacks or wrapped in bows, they appeared softly, quietly on our computer screens each morning.

"Dear Santa," the little girls and boys (and some big ones too) wrote, typing on their keyboards rather than scrawling their wish list in large block letters in red and green crayons. "I've been good this year," they proclaimed.

Though the letters no longer were stuffed in envelopes addressed to the North Pole with a Christmas seal affixed for postage, they arrived at the North County Times nonetheless, serving to remind us there are still plenty of children who believe in the magic of Santa Claus.

But, before we forward the e-mails on to the big man at the pole, we thought we'd share some here, just to spread the Christmas cheer.

Some letters were selfless.

"Dear Santa," wrote Erin, age 5. "I just want you to be happy. You spend so much time making sure everyone else is happy. What happened to this holiday anyways? No one ever stops and thinks about what Santa would like. It's all me, me, me. So this Christmas wish is for Santa to be happy and get himself a new Barbie or maybe some playdough."

Jewl wrote: "Dear Santa, I don't need anything special, but I would like you to fly over to every homeless shelter, orphanage, and any other places with people down on their luck. They need more things than anyone."

Leah wrote: "Hi Santa, I just wanted something very, very important ---- love to everybody and to you. Merry Christmas. Ho! Ho! Ho!"

Some letters sounded suspiciously adult, such this one from Roberto: "Dear Santa, Peace and goodwill to all including the Mexicans who toil in the Coachella Valley to bring food to our tables. May peace be found that synergizes these dynamic workforces with us, the wealthy neighbor. May we all learn to (get) along because if we can't get along with our neighbors, then who can we get along with? May everyone celebrate Jesus Christ's birthday and to all a prosperous New Year ... and oh yeah, I want a new shaver."

This letter was certainly written by grown-ups, namely "our friends at Oceanside Police and Fire" who wrote to us.

"Dear Santa," they said. "We have been good all year! We work very hard to make Oceanside a safe and fun place for all to enjoy! This year we would like fewer traffic collisions to respond to and less death and human tragedy on the roadways! Less domestic violence, child abuse, and fewer people using drugs and suffering! We want children to be able to go to school without the fear of gangs and violence and grow up to become the great citizens they were meant to be. We want moms and dads to think of their children first and not use them as pawns against each other in disputes, allowing these same kids a chance to just be kids! We know that is a tall order, but we really do want it for everyone ...."

Or the anonymous wife who wrote: "I'd like a husband who cares more about me than his Palm Pilot."

Most of the letters posted on our Web site, though, were definitely from children who gave their letters a great deal of thought, whittling them to a handful of requests and choosing wisely. Hello Kitty items and a doll called Baby Alive were suggested. So was a Dora cash register. More than a few requests were made for video games and bicycles, and surprisingly, only one for a Wii Playstation.

Some letter writers were honest, like Jackson's. "Dear Santa," he wrote. "I would like a stuffed iguana and a recipe to make kids pizza. I would also like a slinky dog and an Evil Knievel motorcycle and car. Thank you Santa."

Some had big plans. Michael wrote: "Dear Santa. I would like a spy car for Christmas with all of the gadgets with it. And one more thing, a safe. Thank you, Santa."

Other letters are simply timeless, like Leah's, who said she would like Santa to bring her a "real live horse but that will never happen" or Erin, Jordyn, Hannah and Haley, who all requested a Barbie doll or two.

But then there was Ross: "Dear Santa, For Christmas this wonderful year I would want a lot of things. But the item I want the most is to meet LT!!!!"

Me too, Santa. And I've been very good all year.

Contact staff writer Ruth Marvin Webster at (760) 740-3527 or rwebster@nctimes.com.

Ellie

thedrifter
12-24-06, 02:09 PM
Season's Greetings From the War

By Jon Meacham
Sunday, December 24, 2006; B01

Franklin D. Roosevelt loved Christmas. There were cocktails and stockings, and on Christmas Eve the president would read aloud from Charles Dickens's "A Christmas Carol" -- the ham in him relished voicing the different characters in the old tale before family and friends. But after World War II broke out with Hitler's invasion of Poland on Sept. 1, 1939, Roosevelt's holidays took on a darker tone, and his wartime Christmas words to the nation reflected the tension in his mind and heart.

Lighting the National Christmas Tree that year, the president opened with gloom, not good cheer. "The old year draws to a close," he said. "It began with dread of evil things to come and ends with the horror of another war." Twelve months later, frustrated by isolationist opposition to U.S. intervention, Roosevelt was equally bleak. "Sometimes we who have lived through the strifes and the hates of a quarter century wonder if this old world of ours has abandoned the ideals of the Brotherhood of Man," he said. Afterward he welcomed the crowd to return in 1941 -- "if we are all here."

It was a bitter remark, perhaps inadvertently revealing the depths of Roosevelt's anxiety about the chances of stopping Hitler if most Americans remained determined to stay out of the war. Democracy and all its customs were at stake, and FDR was clearly worried that a Nazified Europe could be only the beginning of a fascistic world empire.

For most of us, Christmas is a time of summing up and looking back; it is no less so for our wartime leaders. Their Christmastime words offer an unexpected window onto their hopes, their self-delusions, their fears and their genuine convictions. As the country's fortunes in war waxed and waned, so did their moods, which were often reflected in their words to the nation. Today, on another wartime Christmas Eve, the history of how presidents have used the season to frame the battles of their times may help us understand where we are as the conflict of our own era unfolds.

This year, struggling with how to move ahead in Iraq, President Bush chose to be simple and straightforward at the tree-lighting, asking for the nation's prayers for our troops and leaving it at that -- the safest course at a moment when he seems uncertain about what course to take on the ground. For the president, it may well be that for now, there is certitude only in prayer. And so, like those of his wartime predecessors, his words tell us something more than one might at first think.

In the wake of Pearl Harbor in December 1941, Winston Churchill joined Roosevelt for Christmas at the White House, and the two men lit the national tree together. Roosevelt was relieved that America had at last joined the fight. He paid tribute to Britain for holding out so long while his own country struggled with whether to go to war. "We have joined with many other nations and peoples in a very great cause," Roosevelt said. "Millions of them have been engaged in the task of defending good with their life-blood for months and for years" -- implicitly reminding Americans that their own lifeblood had been kept safe by what Churchill had called our "protecting oceans."

Three years later, after D-Day but before the collapse of Germany, the Roosevelt who spoke to the nation at Christmas was anxious to manage expectations: Yes, the Normandy invasion had been a success, but there was much to be done. "The tide of battle has turned, slowly but inexorably, against those who sought to destroy civilization," he said. "On this Christmas day, we cannot yet say when our victory will come. Our enemies still fight fanatically. They still have reserves of men and military power. But they themselves know that they and their evil works are doomed. We may hasten the day of their doom if we here at home continue to do our full share."

For FDR, sacrifice and patience on the home front were immutably connected to sacrifice and patience at the front, and he never allowed Americans to take anything for granted -- nor to succumb to overconfidence or complacency.

When Harry Truman found himself celebrating the first Christmas of his presidency, the world still seemed -- and was -- a dangerous place. While many Americans, as the diplomat Averell Harriman put it, wanted to go to the movies and drink Coke, the burdens of world responsibility were becoming clear to Truman. "With our enemies vanquished we must gird ourselves for the work that lies ahead," he said at Christmas 1945. "Peace has its victories no less hard won than success at arms. . . . We must strive without ceasing to make real the prophecy of Isaiah: 'They shall beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning-hooks: nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more.' "

Isaiah's vision would not come to pass in the United States of the Cold War. Five years later, with Americans fighting in Korea, Truman tried to explain the struggle in the moral terms of the holiday. "We are all joined in the fight against the tyranny of communism," he said. "Communism is godless. Democracy is the harvest of faith . . . Democracy's most powerful weapon is not a gun, tank, or bomb. It is faith -- faith in the brotherhood and dignity of man under God." It is easy to dismiss such words as presidential platitudes, but Truman was speaking in the oldest of American traditions, one in which religion, like liberty and belief in democracy, was essential to creating the conditions for what Lincoln had called "the last best hope of earth."

To read Lyndon Johnson's Christmas messages, in contrast, is a dispiriting exercise. They reveal a president slowly losing control of events as the casualties mount and the country turns on him.

In 1964, his language was solemn but unswerving. "You who carry freedom's banner in Viet-Nam are engaged in a war that is undeclared -- yet tragically real," Johnson said in remarks to U.S. troops. "It is a war of terror where the aggressor moves in the secret shadows of the nights." In 1965, his tone was growing more defensive. "As in other Christmas seasons in the past, our celebration this year is tempered by the absence of brave men from their homes and from their loved ones," he said. "We would not have it so. We have not sought the combat in which they are engaged. We have hungered for not one foot of another's territory, nor for the life of a single adversary. Our sons patrol the hills of Viet-Nam at this hour because we have learned that though men cry 'Peace, peace,' there is no peace to be gained ever by yielding to aggression." In 1966, his self-pity was on display. "I know, as you know, that we face an uncertain future. Grave problems threaten us all. As your President, I struggle with these problems every waking moment of every day."

In his final Christmas words to the troops after the election of Richard Nixon in 1968, Johnson could almost have been talking about himself. "It was your destiny to serve your Nation in an hour of grave crisis," he said. "To you fell the hard duty of preserving freedom in the agony of war, during a restless time of doubt and of division. But you have stood as the rock of our resolve that freedom shall endure on this earth." It was how he liked to think of himself: as stepping into history after Dallas to lead America through a tumultuous age. And he hoped -- fervently but perhaps futilely -- that the future would judge him a "rock of resolve."

Years later, another president from Texas, in the first Hanukkah menorah-lighting ceremony in White House history, was asked about a videotape that had made its way west from the lair of Osama bin Laden. It was Dec. 10, 2001, and George W. Bush was to the point. In those days of terror but clarity, Bush had found his voice, and the nation was united behind him. There was no ambiguity about crushing al-Qaeda, no argument about the rightness of the U.S. cause after 9/11. Bush's confident tone reflected that national consensus.

The tape, he said, "reminded me of what a murderer he is and how right and just our cause is. I couldn't imagine somebody like Osama bin Laden understanding the joy of Hanukkah, or the joy of Christmas, or celebrating peace and hope. This man wants to destroy any semblance of civilization for his own power and his own good. He's so evil that he's willing to send young men to commit suicide while he hides in caves." Then, connecting the moment to the larger cause, Bush said: "And while we celebrate peace and lightness, I fully understand in order to make sure peace and lightness exist in the future, we must bring him to justice. And we will."

Bush's words show how a president's Christmas wishes, though couched in strong and defiant assertions, are sometimes just that -- wishes.

Lighting the national tree on Dec. 7 this year, Bush was relatively brief in his reference to Iraq and Afghanistan. "At this time of year, we give thanks for the brave men and women in uniform who are serving our nation," he said. "Many of those who have answered the call of duty will spend this Christmas season far from home and separated from family. . . . We will keep them close to our hearts and in our prayers." Warm words, but not epic; he was, for Bush, somewhat humble. Perhaps the occasion brought out a different part of the president, the part that believes so deeply in the faith that traces its origins to Bethlehem.

Sixty-five Christmas Eves ago, on the South Portico in 1941, with Churchill at his side, FDR declared: "Our strongest weapon in this war is that conviction of the dignity and brotherhood of man which Christmas Day signifies . . . Against enemies who preach the principles of hate and practice them, we set our faith in human love and in God's care for us and all men everywhere."

For a nation at war, whatever our politics or our religion, it remains an ageless message.

jon.meacham@newsweek.com

Jon Meacham, editor of Newsweek, is author of "American Gospel: God, the Founding Fathers, and the Making of a Nation" (Random House).

thedrifter
12-24-06, 02:12 PM
The dusk before Christmas
By Colin McNickle
TRIBUNE-REVIEW
Sunday, December 24, 2006

Comes a time on Christmas Eve when something extraordinary happens at my house. Above and beyond what already makes this day so phenomenal, that is. That "something" is the first hint of dusk.

The last-minute shopping is done.

A few days of firewood have been gathered and stacked on the front porch for the first part of the long holiday "burn."

Pine cones, a little sweetener for the kindling, have been collected in the next parklet over.

The dips and deviled eggs and libations are chilling in the fridge. So, too, are the beginnings of the fixin's for the Christmas Day feast.

If it's an early church service to come, the traditional roast beast, seared crispy brown on the outside and tantalizingly medium rare on the inside, has been devoured. As have been the mashed potatoes (1 part potato, 6 parts butter).

Somebody's sneaking a dip of bread into the boat of the remnants of the six-hour gravy.

The dishes otherwise are done.

Some of the illumination engineers in the neighborhood are a tad switch-happy -- holographic choo-choo trains chug away down the street; discordant blinking white lights dance across the way.

But most of the outside Christmas lights are not yet on; perhaps those neighbors know the majesty of this moment in time, too.

Inside, the Fraser fir glows in red, yellow, blue and green. A rustle of air from a door closing sends the mini-blades slowly rotating in three decorations that have adorned Christmas trees in this family for six decades or more.

The dogs are sleeping near the fireplace, the flames low and the heat just right.

Brinkley, the younger but larger of the two, surely has visions of gratitude dancing through her head this year. She escaped death Tuesday last after slipping out of her collar and being clipped by a car. She's sore but doing well.

The kitties, having stealthily circled, rest against the dogs' backs. Bailey, the older but smaller dog, snores; the cats purr. Bailey's left eye opens from time to time, a halfhearted attempt to guard the hearth.

Strains of a Christmas carol -- Perry Como, circa 1962 -- lightly crackle and pop from the newfangled retro turntable. A dime on the tone arm prevents skipping. Some things never change.

The model trains, their rheostats turned low, slowly traverse the platform, under and over the bridges, through the hills and around the lake.

As wondrously simple and tranquil all this inside "activity" is, a phenomenal minuet of nature has begun to unfold in the backyard.

The squirrels have begun scurrying from the top of the hemlocks, performing their death-defying leaps onto the box elder. They've climbed down for a look-see. Up the fence post and across the split rail they go.

The attraction is a gift from the landlord -- fresh Christmas seed.

It is a feast of the best sunflower, safflower, millet, sorghum and pine nuts available on the market today. Well, at least that's what the guy at the hardware store told me.

With nary a sound Chip 'n' Dale & Co. go quickly to work. They must be fans of Clement Clarke Moore. They're going for the striped sunflower seed, selecting the prime ones, falling back on their haunches and savoring each nibble.

A startlingly bright cardinal is not far behind. His first forays are reconnaissance missions. But, soon, those quick darts from the towering blue spruce above are replaced with visits that linger. Either his comfort level has risen or the seed really is that good.

And then, as if on cue in a grade-school Christmas play, come the deer. In the fading light they seem to appear out of nowhere. They've arrived via the terrace -- just below the almost-dormant garden still sporting fresh parsley -- from the neighbor's high grass where they often bed down.

Deer heads poke over the railing; deer tongues stretch long for a taste. The squirrels hop to the ground, not out of fear but in a sense of sharing, partaking with the unstartled cardinal.

Set now is the sun.

Subtle are the winds.

Sweet is the smell of the crisp air. The smoke from the fireplace indicates someone has just thrown on a well-seasoned piece of apple wood. Perhaps it's Green Delicious.

One by one, the rest of the neighbors' Christmas lights flick on.

The moment is about to end. The dusk before Christmas Eve is gone.

Silent night.

Holy night.

All is calm.

All is bright.

"The time draws near the birth of Christ," Tennyson wrote ...
"The moon is hid; the night is still;
The Christmas bells from hill to hill
Answer each other in the mist."

Merry Christmas, every one.

Colin McNickle is the Trib's director of editorial pages. Ring him at (412) 320-7836. E-mail him at: cmcnickle@tribweb.com.

Ellie

thedrifter
12-24-06, 03:33 PM
A VISIT FROM ST. NICHOLAS

December 24, 2006 -- Born in New York City in 1779, Clement Clark Moore established a reputation as a scholar long before his death 84 years later.

Stern, even rigid, Moore focused on the study of languages (his Hebrew lexicon was long deemed a standard), becoming a noted lecturer and writer. A religious man, and one of means, he generously supported theological education, even endowing a seminary.

Yet Moore's life would merit little more than a footnote in New York's history - except for one thing. He was a poet. Most of his work, to be sure, was thought dull, even plodding. But not the one poem for which he is remembered. Written for his children in 1822, the poem was first published (anonymously) in the Troy Sentinel the next year. It was an instant hit - though Moore didn't claim credit for it until years later.

The poem was, of course, "A Visit From St. Nicholas" ("The Night Before Christmas"). It remains a seasonal classic.

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,

In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;

And Mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,

Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap;

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the window I flew like a flash,

Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon, on the breast of the new-fallen snow,

Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,

With a little old driver so lively and quick,

I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,

And he whistled and shouted and called them by name;

"Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!

On, Comet! on Cupid! on Donder and Blitzen!

To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall!

Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;

So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,

With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof

The prancing and pawing of each little hoof-

As I drew in my head, and was turning around,

Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,

And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot

A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,

And he look'd like a peddler just opening his pack

His eyes - how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!

His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,

And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;

He had a broad face and a little round belly

That shook, when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly.

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,

And I laughed, when I saw him, in spite of myself;

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,

Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And fill'd all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,

And laying is finger aside of his nose,

And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,

And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,

"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"

- CLEMENT CLARK MOORE

Ellie

thedrifter
12-25-06, 08:24 AM
Visions of sugarplums displaced by past, present
December 25,2006


I switched off the TV and the lights, made sure my pets were fedHeaded upstairs with a book, settled snuggly in bed.

As I drifted into slumber I heard suddenly a clang,

A wraithlike creature approached and called me by name.

“Patricia,” it said in an eerie voice. “You must come with me.

“I’m the ghost of Christmas past; there are things you must see.”

So I flew with it, this ethereal man, through images of my youth.

From above I braced my heart to see some great moment of truth.

The revelation never came. My life was just as I remembered,

My mother singing as she cooked on a cool day in December.

Candles glowed in the window, colorful packages sat under a tree,

I dressed up as Mary for a kid’s Nativity scene.

Christmas was so beautiful then, so exciting, loving and kind.

I savored every second the memory could be mine.

Then the visit ended; I was right back in my bed,

Clinging to the visions now swimming in my head.

But all too soon I had not an instant to relive old childhood days

‘Ere I could but log a thought, another wraith came my way.

“I am the ghost of Christmas present, if you dare to see

“Come with me and I will show what time has done to me.”

Reluctantly I took his hand, cold and clammy, marked with age.

Next thing I know we’re reading the news, picking stories from the front page.

There were murders, robberies, wars, any number of arrests.

Going through the headlines I started to get distressed.

“Is this the spirit of Christmas?” the ghost he said to me.

I really had no answer for what had come to be.

Yet it was not for long that I could stand this attack.

Recovering my full senses, I began to argue back.

“You’ve only read the bad stuff; what about all the good?

“There’s many acts of kindness in every neighborhood.”

“Check out the folks in Jacksonville who rallied to meet the needs

“Of a mom who lost her home to fire yet still had mouths to feed.”

“Turn your eyes to Kinston where a young girl traveled by air

“To join her folks for the holidays — donations paid the fare.”

“Over in Pamlico County a Habitat house went for a deal.

“And up in Morehead City, a two-legged dog got a set of wheels.”

Just as I’d gotten wound up, the ghostly man disappeared.

I was left between the sheets, feeling a little weird.

I lay awake in anticipation, listening for a knock at the door.

I dreaded it like the Dickens, ’cause I’d read that book before.

Where would this ghost take me; what would he imply?

The dreaded knock never came and here’s the reason I think why.

No one knows the future, if the world will lose its way.

But so long as we can see more good than bad, Christmas will be OK.

Patricia Smith is the fisheries and environment reporter for Freedom ENC. Contact her at psmith@freedomenc.com or (252) 808-2275.

Ellie

thedrifter
12-25-06, 08:36 AM
December 25, 2006 <br />
It's a Wonderful Life <br />
Bob Weir <br />
<br />
Do you have a favorite Christmas movie? Although there are many good ones, the one that really puts the season and life in general in...

thedrifter
12-25-06, 09:07 AM
From beginning, a season of gifts
The Jacksonville Daily News
December 25, 2006

"For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life." (John 3:16)'Tis the season for gift-giving, an ancient tradition that originated in a foreign land. But as might be expected, sometimes the meaning and origins are lost over the yearsand in the translation.

Americans live in a land of plenty. Indeed, Americans are blessed with more of just about everything worth having than any other culture, today or ever before.

Amid this cornucopia of health, wealth, freedom and opportunity, we rightly recognize the role that has been played by self-interest. As Adam Smith so brilliantly observed centuries ago, "It is not from the benevolence of the butcher, the brewer or the baker, that we can expect our dinner, but from their regard to their own interest."

But 'tis the season for gift-giving. And these gifts, strictly speaking, are things freely given, without obligation or expectation. Or gain.

This is one of the many lessons of the season, as Christians gather to worship and pray and otherwise celebrate what they recognize as the greatest gift ever given. It was and is a gift completely undeserved by those who receive it, with an entirely selfless motive by the giver.

The child whose birth is celebrated this day later told His followers that He came "to give His life a ransom for many." In fact, He came to die in order that others shall live. Who among us in this land so blessed with possessions and liberty can even imagine the magnitude of such a gift? It has always been difficult to grasp the kind of selflessness that places the welfare of others first, but especially so when the price paid by the giver is death.

One follower explained that scarcely would a person give his life, even for a righteous man. Nevertheless, he added, "God demonstrates His own love toward us, in that while we're still sinners, Christ died for us."

The immeasurable cost of this unimaginable gift is staggering to the modern mind, just as it was to the ancients.

Yet today we continue to celebrate the season of gift-giving that it inspired two millennia ago.

"Freely you have received, freely give," His followers were instructed. That's why His followers urged us all to "remember the words of the Lord Jesus, that He said, 'It is more blessed to give than to receive'."

'Tis the season for giving. Partake.

thedrifter
12-25-06, 09:08 AM
December 25, 2006
Editorial
The New York Times
How We Say Christmas

What would you say if you had to explain Christmas to someone who knew nothing about it? You might begin with the shepherds in the fields by night or Santa at the North Pole or even the druidic appeal of a winter festival that comes just when the sun seems most meager. Redemption and rejoicing, feasting and singing, humility and awe — these would all be parts of your answer, as would the perennial cast of characters who people this turning time of year. The personal explanations would come easiest: the rituals of Christmas Eve, the smell of fresh balsam, the stillness of a world cloaked in snow. You would probably have something to say about the importance of family and the force of a holiday whose strongest emotions center upon children, and upon our memories of being children.

And yet to really explain Christmas you would also have to try to answer the question that seems more pressing every year: how do those emotions and memories connect to the frenzied commercial machinery of the weeks that lead up to Christmas? What does all that retailing and wrapping paper have to do with peace on earth? There is no glossing over the problem — not to a puzzled stranger and not to ourselves. What matters is not just the disjunction between the majesty of those old hymns and the immodesty of this shopping season. It is that all those presents did not really catch the feeling we were looking for, did not say what we hoped to say.

A stranger might well wonder, don’t you always hope for peace on earth? Does good will really have a season? And if you genuinely love one another — truly hold one another in your hearts — wouldn’t simply saying it be far more eloquent than any other gift that you could give? These questions point to something most of us already know, that for all the push and pull of the Christmas rush, for all the sputtering of the commercial volcano that erupts at the end of every year, this is truly a holiday of modest spirit, a day of humble aspirations. What we want is to love and know we are loved and to imagine a world that lives up to the purity of that feeling.