30 December, 2010
Song for a Bitter, Brutal Night
I used to think it funny, maybe a bit strange; how shared song and mirth, born of the Christ-Mass could drive away the Winter chill.
No longer.
It is His birth, His life, His crucifixion and resurrection all conjoined in our own lives that drives the cold death away.
Blessings dear and beloved ones. Epiphany and the Star and Wise Men wait on the horizon.
Canadian Clipper
A huge low pressure system is still centered off the coast of California, funneling moisture eastward on the prevailing winds aloft. North of us, one of Al Gore's least favorite duo's has set up a classic Front Range killer. First, the high pressure rages, pulling sub-zero arctic air south. It mixes with the Pacific moisture and slams the mountains. This one, beloved, this storm, is so big that it has drawn down enough cold air to pull that moisture onto the High Plains. It is massive, stretching from the Canadian border to the Mexican frontier.
That is a good thing. We have not had measurable snow fall worth a shit since last Spring! And yes, we did have good precip to create one of the best wheat and corn, sunflower and soybean harvest in the last 10 years.
That being said...right behind the low pressure rolls in a high pressure ridge.
THAT means cold....bitter and brutal. Arctic cold, killer cold.
Thank the good Lord for wool and silk and natural gas.....and well made structures, insulated.
.................I wonder where Al Gore is tonight?............
(AND, and do not....DO NOT start picking with me about the scientific differentiation between weather and climate! )
I am going to pull on my heavy wool vest, put on some Steel Eye Span.....unabashed, Scots/ Irish Celts.
Happy New Year to you, one and all.
That is a good thing. We have not had measurable snow fall worth a shit since last Spring! And yes, we did have good precip to create one of the best wheat and corn, sunflower and soybean harvest in the last 10 years.
That being said...right behind the low pressure rolls in a high pressure ridge.
THAT means cold....bitter and brutal. Arctic cold, killer cold.
Thank the good Lord for wool and silk and natural gas.....and well made structures, insulated.
.................I wonder where Al Gore is tonight?............
(AND, and do not....DO NOT start picking with me about the scientific differentiation between weather and climate! )
I am going to pull on my heavy wool vest, put on some Steel Eye Span.....unabashed, Scots/ Irish Celts.
Happy New Year to you, one and all.
The 5th Day of Christmas
The Sussex Carol
The musical dance form known as the Reel is a grand old British/Celtic tradition, born out of the Dark Ages after the Roman Empire had fallen and before the rise of the Renaissance and the Reformation. The Scots-Irish developed a myriad of variations based on the original "Reel of Three", wherein three (or multiples of three) dancers interweave with one another in a figure eight.
The music lends itself to the harmonic drone of the traditional pipes overlaid with a fiddle or recorder or single reed hornpipes laying down a melodic, repetitive pattern, reminiscent of the the weaver at work at the loom.
Many of our favorite Christmas Carols come directly out of the tradition of the Reel. Most have been subdued and toned down to match the solemnity of the post Renaissance grandeur of the Anglican Church liturgy. The Holly and the Ivy, God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen, The Sussex Carol and....one that I will share later: Angels from the Realms of Glory, as performed by Maddy Prior and the Carnival Band.
Since we have a massive and bitter cold Canadian storm blowing down upon us, perhaps a gathering of folks to dance some reels and share Christmas joys to keep the blood warm and pumping strong are in order!
Enjoy this 5th Day of Christmas!
29 December, 2010
The 4th Day of Christmas
The Chicken Coop Christmas
It was early summer, 1955. My brother John had been born nearly two months premature the previous February in the Copper Queen Hospital in Bisbee, AZ. After his birth, Dad applied for and accepted a job as a health inspector and engineer for the Denver Dept. of Health and Hospitals. We moved back from Bisbee to Denver. Dad had a Civil Engineering degree from Clemson College in Pickens,SC, and had served in both the Navy and the Army Air Corp during WWII. He knew how to fix most anything... and he loved being a Dad.
We were a family, struggling.
My grandmother offered to give us a berth for a while in her little WWII house. That lasted about two months. Simply spoken, not enough room and way too many memories for Mom and Grandmother.
Dad found a small converted chicken coop out west in the rural, turning quickly suburban unincorporated township of Wheat Ridge. Like many folks in the rural communities west of Denver, Al Munger, an elderly and taciturn German farmer had transformed one of his chicken coops into housing for the Remington Arms Munitions plant south in Lakewood. He rented it to us a pittance.
We were a family, and growing.
Autumn arrived, I fed horses, and fished for Sunfish and Bluegill in one of the irrigation ponds.
My buds from school and I wandered about the fields in the waning afternoons...chasing rabbits and the errant pheasant, talking of shooting our first animal, bringing home meat for the table.
Some had BB guns, some had shot a .22. The cottonwoods turned from yellow to brown to empty skeletons.
Winter cold rolled in early, brutal and windy. It was Advent. Mum and Grandmother walked the fence line, picked up shapely tumbleweeds and lots of milkweed seed pods. The tumbleweeds, dusted with a bit of spray flocking and ornaments, became prairie Christmas trees. The milkweed pods, painted and decked with paper and sparkling flecks, turned into Christmas geese and ducks.
Christmas drew closer. Frigid wind days and snow speckled, black nights haunted us. My little brother and I slept in a low shed roofed room to the north. There was no heat in the room. Piles of flannel and heavy quilts kept us from the cold. Each night, bricks, heated in the kitchen oven and wrapped in a towel, were stuffed at our feet to help us keep warm.
Mum put up a small evergreen tree with a couple strings of lights, tinsel and ornaments from her childhood. Dad worked a second job as a night cashier for the local liquor store. I came home sick one day. Chickenpox. My infant brother caught the virus. Poor lil' feller whimpered at the itch. Mum quickly knit him tiny mittens of soft cotton so he could not scratch open sores.
It was a good Christmas, baring all the hardships. Somehow we had presents and fresh fruit, turkey and dressing, sweet 'taters and green beans. Somehow, aunts and uncles and cousins called us to feast with them, sing with them, worship God with them.
Somehow.....somehow, we made it through.
Somehow, God and family and hard times forged bonds that are still strong today.
"Somehow" is the omnipotent, all encompassing love of God. He provides and cares for us. It is as true today as it was 55 years ago.
Bless you all, beloved ones. Happy 4th day of Christmas!
We were a family, struggling.
My grandmother offered to give us a berth for a while in her little WWII house. That lasted about two months. Simply spoken, not enough room and way too many memories for Mom and Grandmother.
Dad found a small converted chicken coop out west in the rural, turning quickly suburban unincorporated township of Wheat Ridge. Like many folks in the rural communities west of Denver, Al Munger, an elderly and taciturn German farmer had transformed one of his chicken coops into housing for the Remington Arms Munitions plant south in Lakewood. He rented it to us a pittance.
We were a family, and growing.
Autumn arrived, I fed horses, and fished for Sunfish and Bluegill in one of the irrigation ponds.
My buds from school and I wandered about the fields in the waning afternoons...chasing rabbits and the errant pheasant, talking of shooting our first animal, bringing home meat for the table.
Some had BB guns, some had shot a .22. The cottonwoods turned from yellow to brown to empty skeletons.
Winter cold rolled in early, brutal and windy. It was Advent. Mum and Grandmother walked the fence line, picked up shapely tumbleweeds and lots of milkweed seed pods. The tumbleweeds, dusted with a bit of spray flocking and ornaments, became prairie Christmas trees. The milkweed pods, painted and decked with paper and sparkling flecks, turned into Christmas geese and ducks.
Christmas drew closer. Frigid wind days and snow speckled, black nights haunted us. My little brother and I slept in a low shed roofed room to the north. There was no heat in the room. Piles of flannel and heavy quilts kept us from the cold. Each night, bricks, heated in the kitchen oven and wrapped in a towel, were stuffed at our feet to help us keep warm.
Mum put up a small evergreen tree with a couple strings of lights, tinsel and ornaments from her childhood. Dad worked a second job as a night cashier for the local liquor store. I came home sick one day. Chickenpox. My infant brother caught the virus. Poor lil' feller whimpered at the itch. Mum quickly knit him tiny mittens of soft cotton so he could not scratch open sores.
It was a good Christmas, baring all the hardships. Somehow we had presents and fresh fruit, turkey and dressing, sweet 'taters and green beans. Somehow, aunts and uncles and cousins called us to feast with them, sing with them, worship God with them.
Somehow.....somehow, we made it through.
Somehow, God and family and hard times forged bonds that are still strong today.
"Somehow" is the omnipotent, all encompassing love of God. He provides and cares for us. It is as true today as it was 55 years ago.
Bless you all, beloved ones. Happy 4th day of Christmas!
28 December, 2010
The 3rd Day of Christmas
The Celtic Tradition
& Symbolism
The intertwining of Celtic and Christian traditions runs deep in the Anglican Church. The solstice and the birth of our Lord Jesus is enrobed in the refrain of the old Carol "The Holy and the Ivy." With the rising of the first sun of Winter, the Jesus' birth is recalled, a new beginning for us all. The running of the deer, killing the first stag of the year recalls the sacrifice of Christ on the Cross, to save us all. It is much like the old Jewish tradition of sacrificing an unblemished lamb at Passover. The intense imagery of a life given,again, to save us all in manifest in flesh. So it is with the ultimate sacrifice, Jesus, the Son of God made man and crucified to save mankind.
Both the Holy and the Ivy retain their green leaves through the winter, symbols of God's undying, and enduring love for his creation. The Holly with its pure white blossom, bitter bark, red berry and sharp thorn recall the whole life of Christ, his pure and virgin birth, the bitter wine of suffering, his blood shed to cleanse us and the pain of crucifixion, pierced by nails
The Anglican liturgical traditions are rich in symbolism. The Celtic flavor is a joyful fleshing out God's love for us.
Merry 3rd Day of Christmas!
& Symbolism
The intertwining of Celtic and Christian traditions runs deep in the Anglican Church. The solstice and the birth of our Lord Jesus is enrobed in the refrain of the old Carol "The Holy and the Ivy." With the rising of the first sun of Winter, the Jesus' birth is recalled, a new beginning for us all. The running of the deer, killing the first stag of the year recalls the sacrifice of Christ on the Cross, to save us all. It is much like the old Jewish tradition of sacrificing an unblemished lamb at Passover. The intense imagery of a life given,again, to save us all in manifest in flesh. So it is with the ultimate sacrifice, Jesus, the Son of God made man and crucified to save mankind.
Both the Holy and the Ivy retain their green leaves through the winter, symbols of God's undying, and enduring love for his creation. The Holly with its pure white blossom, bitter bark, red berry and sharp thorn recall the whole life of Christ, his pure and virgin birth, the bitter wine of suffering, his blood shed to cleanse us and the pain of crucifixion, pierced by nails
The Anglican liturgical traditions are rich in symbolism. The Celtic flavor is a joyful fleshing out God's love for us.
Merry 3rd Day of Christmas!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
