#PIVOTS & NARRATIVES AND A SUMMER CHRISTMAS

PIVOT! 
silliness ahead, but first

joy of the season

    This lovely specimen is an Amaryllis and is generally known as a Christmas bloomer. At least that is normal but this gift to Lana from daughter Katherine has chosen summer to bloom.

   And to keep it interesting, a companion is also preparing to bloom.

    And all of this makes perfect sense as we have begun our tradition of "re-visiting" the past season's Christmas cards.

    A few years ago Lana suggested we spend a few minutes each evening after dinner looking at last season's cards, enjoying them again and remembering those who sent them.

    Though many have abandoned the "old" custom of sending cards, I remain hooked on the sentiment, beauty and civilized act. In the rush of the season the cards are often read hurriedly. Bringing them back for act II is fun, refreshing and stirs a wee bit of that spirit-lifting Christmas cheer. Now with the Amaryllis in bloom let me wish you A Merry Christmas.

     Dickens had it right.

#LET'S PIVOT

    So, lets drill down and unpack this journalistic narrative sans the big data and pivot to media jackals who must have decided not to go there, there being a moment to listen to themselves. Hashtag, #!

     How many times have you heard some talking head talk about the "pivot" to--who knows what all or whatever? In most recent usage it has been the pivot to the general election. But maybe they really want to pivot to # hashtag!

     It's one of those buzz words that are cliche' almost the moment they are uttered. Whatever!

     In the recent past there was the "let's drill down" a newer version of "let's unpack this" whatever.

     Oh you say you "don't want to go there?" Sorry. That's our "Narrative."  You know, narrative can also be historical.  What was the silliest thing I heard? "Barrack Obama's historical narrative was more important than Hillary Clinton's narrative and that's why he won 8 years ago."  

     You'd think narrative was maybe something they wore, or a body part, as important as it was. Could it have been a #narrative? 

      But we won't go there, since most people have decided they have already been there or figured being there wasn't so bad. So, maybe it is safe to go there. Whatever!

      And maybe going there is what gave everyone this uncontrolled desire to say hashtag. I must be utterly un-hip. When someone sneezes I want to say Hashtag! 

      So, so now when someone comments or begins to answer a question they frequently begin with So,.  That is so, with a pause.  Is that a thinking moment, a deep breath moment or whatever? I think maybe their brain is just about to do a #pivot.

      Not sure what the big data would say about any of this.

Whatever!

      Can we pivot to the #English teachers, #writing teachers, #journalism professors, #editors and ask WTF? When did whatever pivot from being the tool of hormonal teens to a frequently used word of illumination and enlightenment from #television experts?  Must have been a stealth pivot about the time Facebook became a journalistic institution. 

      #whatever

     See you down the trail.

BOXING DAY LEFTOVERS

GOOD

    Christmas dinner was cleared from the table and we were ready for a walk on the beach when we spotted this from the front deck. At some point there was even a small pop up shower. All interpreted as a good sign.

TRADITIONS

     The plastic icicle below is from Lana's childhood. She remembers when her mother brought home the glow in the dark speciality. It was 1950 and 65 years later both of our daughters have expressed an interest. Looks like the items are on the way to being antiques.

     The somewhat worn angel below is a second generation tree topper and comes with a bit of mystery. 
    

  It is a "new" version of the angel that topped the Christmas trees of my youth. It was my dad's favorite ornament and each year it was placed atop the pine with appropriate decorum and good vibes. I inherited the original, taped together, the spun glass barely recognizable and really a somewhat pathetic sight. Then in a Christmas shop with the kids one year I found her, the only one in inventory and even a mystery to the manager who was unsure of the price.
I took that to be a bit of Christmas magic. She has taken her place of honor for many years.

A TRADITION BEGINS

    A couple of years ago our eldest, Kristin, produced a heavenly batch of Yorkshire Pudding popovers. They immediately became one of her dad's favorites. Younger sister Katherine, who share's Kristin's culinary talents, has followed suit.  Though Kristin, weeks from becoming a mommy, could join us only by phone, those of us on the West coast enjoyed her recipe done expertly by Katherine. 

    PEACE.

    See you down the trail.

THE POWER OF THE GREETING

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

     Not sure what the stats show but it's my hunch fewer Christmas cards are being sent via US Mail. A) some folks no longer send cards and B) like so many things in life cards have also moved to cyberspace.

Snow Angel by Jacquie Lawson

          Lana has made our cards since we've been married. For several years she laments, "this is the last time I'm going to do it," but each year she is grabbed again by the old tradition. She creates the card and I write the message.

      I am a great fan of the tradition. I love receiving the beautiful works of art and am moved by the sentiment and message. Like my father before me and his before him, I love the Christmas Season, everything about it and especially the cards. Here is a chance to think about each of the recipients and to recall their role in your life and memories. As a youngster I didn't "get" the idea of the Christmas letter, of course the writer, the events and people were known by parents, for whom the message had significance. Now I look forward to the letters and notes and feel a special connection and bond.
       When the season ends, we put the cards away and then in June get them out and after dinner for a week or two read a few of the cards and messages again. 

     There is something good about the care, selection and pause in life for reflection that Christmas cards signify. Addressing envelopes, signing and adding messages, taking them to the mail box or selecting electronic cards and entering personal emails are an act of thoughtfulness, caring and decency.

     It is a simple thing in an increasingly complicated world. But for that moment that we gaze at a scene or read the words we may feel something, remember, connect and have a good human moment. That is something extraordinary.

     It is thought the first Christmas cards were sent in the 1840's in England. An industry and a culture has followed. What do you think about cards?  

And There Is Also This….

     There is a beautiful rhythm to the story behind this. My friend Ray calls and asks if we'll be around in the next day or two.  "I have a little something to drop by," he says.

     After our years in Cambria I know what that means, and I start salivating immediately.

    Terri, Ray's better half, could well be the undisputed Cheesecake champion of California and all points east. Her creations are tastes of heaven! I consider myself a bit of a Cheesecake connoisseur and Terri's are in a league all of their own.

     I'm not sure Ray had cleared the end of our driveway before I was untying the bow, had plates on the counter and the pie cutter ready to go to work.

     Yea, there's a lot to make this the most wonderful time of the year!

    See you down the trail.

      

COULD IT LAST FOREVER?

HOPE NEVER DISAPPOINTS

Awaiting the Light

December Sunrise in Cambria

   Our good friend Jim asked the other night, "Can you imagine how our parents felt? The Depression happened, a world war was underway, millions were being killed, everything was affected and no one knew how it would turn out."

    Our world, with Isis, mass shootings, discord and division and changing nature falls into a perspective doesn't it? "Was ever such!" There has always been trouble, trials and tribulations. Isn't that why this season is so precious? One need not be a Christian to find a cause for cheer, merriment, hope and joy at Christmas time.That's part of the magic.

      That magic was at work as we sat in historic Santa Rosa Chapel. Listening to the rich strings and angelic voices I thought how wonderful it would be if the moment could go on forever.

      Frequent readers may recall this candle lit night in the 145 year old Chapel on a hill overlooking Cambria's east village is a definition of sublime. Enveloped by sound and the good cheer of those fortunate enough to crowd in, something is triggered. It is as though this night is a portal to all good Christmas memories and feelings.

      It happens now as Bruce Black begins with hilarious tales of his little grandmother and then launches into his annual recitation of 'Twas the Night Before Christmas, I hear a second audio track, my fathers deep voice and inflection as he reads the story to my brothers and me. It is a memory cell in my brain. I love to hear it, again.

     The finest gift of the evening is Judith Larmore's Christmas Reflections. 

      She grew up in my mother's Indiana hometown and recounts places, things and feelings of home. This year's story, A Handsome Marine at the Door was exquisite and  again dampened my cheeks. Happy tears that added luster to the glow of candles. As Lana said her description of Christmas displays and the wooden floors in the Five and Dime take you back. She even made the glistening of snow and icy Indiana winters appealing. As Judith noted it's just not fair, the evening must end.

      So much of the transcendence of the evening is the music, simply world class.  Vocalists Molly Pasutti and Helen Robillard. 1st Violin Brynn Albanese, 2nd Violin Mario Ojedo, Viola Peter Jandula, Cello Grant Chase, Bass Ken Hustad, 1st Flute Suzanne Duffy, 2nd Flute Maria Apostoles,

Harp, Hammered Dulcimer, Button Accordion Jill Poulous. Guitar Justin Robillard, Banjo and Guitar Eric Williams, Bells Tim Novoa, Mandolin, Tenor Recorder Grand Chase. Cambria resident and composer John Neufeld provided a special arrangement of Pie Jesu. 

    I repeat myself, but I wish everyone could experience the unique magic that happens in this little chapel in the Santa Lucia mountain and sea side village of Cambria. It is an evening that should never end. I suspect that is the kind of thing Charles Dickens had in mind when he said we should keep Christmas in our heart all year.

    The madness of war, hate, the uncertainty of change, the suffering of loss will not abate, but neither will hope or chains of memories made on nights like this.

     "God rest ye merry folk, let nothing ye dismay."

     See you down the trail

    

The Best of the Season and The Best Turkey Sandwich

…AND ALL THE BEST TO YOU

Sunrise on Pineridge-Cambria Ca.

    The light has broken into our dark world and for a few hours at least there is a greater sense of peace, joy and hope.

    Tiny Tim, of the Dickens Christmas Carol is my most enduringly favorite character of this season. Of all the secular players, it is the innocence, hope and purity of the little lad that best aggregates this season of Advent.

    The season is full of touchstones that connect with memories. These old village houses were already well used when Lana was born in 1946. There are newer village scenes, but few with this much soul. Krisin, our eldest and spending her first Christmas with us in almost a decade, requested that her mom "set up the village."

THE TURKEY SANDWICH

    Christmas 1967 is a particularly nice memory.  I drove home to Indianapolis from my college job in a snow storm on Christmas eve. I needed to make the 60 mile return trip before sunrise so I could be back at work to sign on a radio station. Before I ventured out into the pitch black of 4AM Christmas morning, Mom gave me a sack and told me to have it for my Christmas dinner.  It was a turkey sandwich with a side of her unique potato dressing and a piece of pecan pie.  

    The snow of the night before continued in the pre-dawn and by the time I arrived those 60 miles away, the roads were deep and so were driveways.  I was supposed to work from 7am to noon. However as the morning continued other staff members called to say they were "snowed in" and I'd need to cover for them.  Being the junior member of the staff, a college kid who needed the hours and work I restrained myself from reminding them I had just driven an uncleared state highway and then county roads to get to the rural radio studio. We were a daylight only station, meaning at sunset, I signed it off and headed home.

    Home was a pretty typical college apartment. A bedroom, small living room and tiny kitchen over a garage. A television was not in my budget. Entertainment, other than studying, was a hi fi turntable with those detachable speakers and a nice table top radio.

     It took a while to get into town, across the campus and to my apartment, dark and cold.  I called my parents and spoke with them and family members who were getting ready for a second round of Christmas dinner. I wished them all the best and they all wished that I could be there.  I turned on the radio and found a Christmas special being aired on WCFL out of Chicago.  It was a creative blend of music, and hijinks of a very talented air staff, lead by Ron Britain, a master of voices and put ons. It was essentially the sort of thing that would air only on a holiday when it was assumed the only people listening to the radio where those who were shut in or who were without family or friends around. I was the perfect audience and the program was the perfect Christmas night gift.  As I listened, I opened a beer, put a paper towel on the table as my table cloth, arrayed the dressing on a paper plate, added the sandwich and pie. The wind whipped around the drafty windows, but I was warmed from the heart out.  Mom's care package was all I needed and that Turkey Sandwich may have been the best ever!

THROWBACK CHRISTMAS

     1956, Muncie Indiana and my dad's three sons show off our favorite gifts.  Little Jim liked that Drum. John is showing a view master and I couldn't wait to give that new basketball a go. This was a time when the hand me down jeans, from older cousins, had plenty of "growth room."  

Sweet memories.

NATURE'S ORNAMENT

MERRY CHRISTMAS 

AND/OR

THE VERY BEST OF THE SEASON TO YOU!

  See you down the trail.

A COUPLE OF CHRISTMAS GHOSTS

DECEMBER DREAMING
and ghosts-see below

WHERE THE PAST LIVES

     Snow had turned to freezing rain and the old wiper blades spread a smear of icy trails across the windshield. It was dark but the snow covered road shone in the headlights courtesy of the glaze of ice. It was late Christmas Eve and I seemed to be the only car on the highway and now on this county road.

      I saw the old beater off the road to the right with the hood up when a dark figure stepped around from the front of the car and stood there. It did not beckon or wave but  simply watched me approach as though resigned to see me drive by. The headlights caught the visage of an older black man in a threadbare overcoat. Ice crystals matted into his hair. He appeared surprised I was pulling the old Studebaker over to park behind his even older car, I think it was an Oldsmobile.  As I started to alight he walked toward me wearing a smile that shone.

     I had worked late at the commercial radio station in a city some 60 miles away. While my college was on holiday recess, I needed to be back at the station the next morning to sign it on at 6:00 AM. The winter storm had slowed my progress to get home to my parents house to spend a bit of Christmas. I knew my parents and brothers were probably concerned about my travel in the snow and ice. This was long before cell phones or adequate snow clearing equipment on county roads or state highways.

     Something "froze up" he said.  He was on his way to his daughter's house with part of their Christmas Eve meal.  He'd been there "a while" he said and the few cars that had passed slowed down, but sped by "when they got a look at me."  A black man on a county road.  

     He was headed for a neighborhood near the downtown of Indianapolis, a neighborhood I would not normally frequent nor drive through.  We chatted about how our Christmas fates had put us together as we navigated the ice covered road that led to suburban streets which in turn fed us into the car lined streets of old houses, commercial buildings and vacant lots.  Lights gleamed from windows, rimmed with Christmas decorations.  We chuckled at how a few of the homes had painted snow scenes on windows or doors.  No need for that now as the ice had turned back to snow and the drive crunched on.

     His daughter and son in law looked curiously out the door and then came down the steps when they saw the old man get out of the car. They were visibly surprised to see a young white man get out of the other door.  

     Two or three little faces peered out of the large window on the porch, their eyes were wide.  "Those little angels are my grand children," the man said, his smile even wider now.

     Both the old man and his son in law went to their billfolds as though to offer me money.  No way I said. It's Christmas Eve.  I'm just being a Santa's helper I added, looking at how other doors were opening and seeing people appear in windows.  The daughter wanted me to come in and warm up, have something to eat. I explained my family was waiting and I needed to get on.  We shook hands and his big grin had a special quality of that caused a tingle in my chest.

       As I picked my way back to the suburbs the aroma of the dish that had rested on the back seat continued to fill the car. It had a sweet scent that activated my hunger sensors and I began to think about my parents and brothers and how I hoped they had dined.

      When I made it to the driveway Dad was first out of the door, as Mom stood behind him, in her apron.

       "We were very worried about you," Dad opened the Christmas Eve conversations.

       Later when I had relayed the story and we had begun to eat the feast Mom prepared, I noticed she was sitting there, looking a bit distant, but smiling.

       "You did the right thing," Dad said, "but you took a chance in doing it."

        I never confessed my nervousness, in making the stop or driving into that neighborhood. It was the mid '60s and times were different.

        A ghost that visits me this time of year is that picture of Mom, sitting there and smiling. Later, and she would often remind me of the story, "you were a Christmas angel for that man."

        At least I was a young white lad who saw another traveler and realized color makes no difference. 

       The other ghost I recall is that heart warming smile. It spoke more than words.

        See you down the trail. 

VIRTUAL STOCKING STUFFERS-FREE SMILES-KITSCH-POWER OF THE SKY-THE WEEKENDER

LAUGH A LITTLE-CRY A LITTLE

AND WONDER 

   Two films to move you during this season and to give you reasons to celebrate, in a real way.

    THE BOOK THIEF, directed by Brian Percival with great acting from Geoffrey Rush, Emily Watson and a stunning child, Sophie Nelisse as Liesel Meminger, gives you sensitivity and love with force and power. 

    Set against the holocaust and the terror of Nazi Germany the clarity of human decency shines brightly. This film also goes a long way in answering a question that has long haunted, how and why did the German people tolerate or coexist with what we know was a great evil? This is a masterful attempt an understanding, plus so much more that will move you. 

     Author Markus Zusak does an extraordinary job of plumbing the human soul in this brilliant work.

    PHILOMENA is highly recommended if only to see the work of Judi Dench as Philomena, an Irish woman who after 50 years seeks the son that a convent forced her to give away. Dench is worthy of an Oscar nomination. Her counter part in the adventure is superbly played by Steve Coogan, who wrote the screen play. Coogan as a cynical former journalist teams with the devout, tough but troubled Dench to learn the fate of her son, in essence stolen from her by a maniacal head Nun, Sister Hildegarde played brilliantly by Barbara Jefford.  

     Director Stephen Frears delivers a few curves and does an insightful job of pricking at American culture, phony Reagan administration matters and evil Catholic practices. And, this is as they say, inspired by true events.  The credits match the real characters to the film events.

     This is a great film.

KITSCHMAS?

TRANSFORMATION

remembering there are many who struggle

LOOKING UP

FRAMING THE SKY

    See you down the trail.

A BULLET FOR PUTIN? A RADICAL STAR FOR THE POPE

VLAD AND THE POPE
A COSMIC ODD COUPLE

     "Please, just a couple of reverse angle shots Mr. President," the Russian State Television photographer said quietly as he moved his camera to stand behind Vladimir Putin, seated in the ornate chair in an elegant Kremlin grand room.

     "Make it fast!" Putin snarls.

     "Yes, This will do it," Serge grins behind the President, lowering the camera with his left hand as his right had snaps from his behind back and in an instant discharges a bullet into the back of Putin's skull."

      A bit melodramatic, but this snippet is a poetic sense of what the former KGB bad boy has done to another piece of freedom in Russia, at least faux freedom. In a single action, Putin has killed RIA Novosti a state news service and replaced it with Russia Today, a propaganda mill.  

      True it is that RIA was a state controlled service, but it had evinced a nod toward real journalism and even criticism of the Kremlin. Vlad the powerful has ended that, like a bullet to the head.

                            THE POPE IS A RADICAL

HE IS A CHRISTIAN

     We've watched self proclaimed Christians and a whole boatload of wing nuts get heart burn over the pronouncements and actions of Pope Francis. 

       That fat blowhard on the radio called him a Marxist, which underscores the big mouth indeed has a little brain.  Marx was a political theorist.  Pope Francis is a spiritual leader, espousing the teaching of a radical Rabbi who's plan for humankind was a tad bit more profound, and originated more personally. The Pope decried the worship or idolizing of money and materialism and he's said a few other things that make the comfortable and smug uncomfortable and mugged. His talk about sexuality has some putting on their best Salem Mass. attitude and logic.

      As we head through this (your choice) Advent, Christmas, Holiday, Kwanza-Season, could we have two better leading men that Vladimir and Francis?

      As a dedicated idealist I offer that Vlad is very much one of the best players in the power games of this planet. But Pope Francis is operating from higher ground. Service, sacrifice and love require giving. The Putins of the world are about taking. Mr Putin may continue to take, but this Pope continues to offer.  

      Putin, the blowhards and apoplectic narrow minded belong to the past. Not so this Pope, and I'm not even a Catholic. 

      A final deliberation -Could we have a better guardian angel of this year's season than Nelson Mandela, giver and forgiver?

FRAMING THE SKY

    See you down the trail.

DOWNTON ABBEY TALK BACK & A FINAL STOP ON THE GRATITUDE TRAIL-THE GREATEST GENERATION

ENTERTAINING HISTORY

     Their off and on romance engaged us and once they managed to get past all the obstructions we took delight in their marriage.  The birth of their child brought us no end of joy and then suddenly and shockingly Matthew was killed in a freak auto accident leaving Lady Mary a widow with a baby.

     Apparently many of us told Godfather Julian Fellowes we were unhappy with the plot-line he had crafted for his inhabitants of Downton Abbey, but in serialized drama, even elegant British Drama, soap operas need a few twists to keep us tuned in.

      The promotional season is underway and we countdown to the beginning of 2014 to see how our characters from the early 20th century transfer into the 1920's.  It is after all a century ago that we are so engrossed by.  Downton Abbey is a hit in 200 nations and is translated widely. 

      Though it is all fiction, Downton Abbey teaches history in a marvelous and rich way.  The British Empire is fading as the English aristocracy bumps into changing mores and social values and even technology.  Ideas of liberation, freedom, class discrimination, wealth transfer and management all perk along in the intricate script and plot turns. I was one of those guys who loved history back in high school, but oh how I wish teacher Donald Foreman could have played a few videos, as engrossing as Downton Abbey.

      Yes, it's only TV, but such good TV!  A masterful opiate for we masses. But still, did they really have to kill off Matthew?! And yes, we'll be there to see how poor Lady Mary copes.

OOPS

    Well, I goofed and apparently a few hundred of you also missed it.  Last week in a Thanksgiving post, I paid tribute to these "Turkeys."  Trouble is, I am told, they are Peacocks.  Sorry about that. Now, how is it that so many of you didn't catch me on it?  I guess we all need an editor, eh?

OF THE REASONS WE COUNT

MY MOTHER AND FATHER AND THEIR PEERS
A Last Stop on the Gratitude Trail

     Americans have rightly embraced Tom Brokaw's acclamation of the WW II generation as "the Greatest Generation."
     My father Karl and my mother Mary Helen played their part. Dad was in the infantry in the South Pacific.  Mom was like thousands of other women, waiting and praying for their men to come home from war.  When I made my first visit to the World War II memorial, I was there to pay respects to my parents and their peers, most of whom are gone.
     More than 16 Million Americans were involved, in some way in World War II.

   At first I felt a shudder of loss, seeing the 4,048 gold stars. Each star represented 100 deaths. More than 400 thousand American service personnel died.  After the shudder I felt an inexpressible sense of gratitude.

   This is a place you'll want to visit, next time you are in DC.

   And so we transition from the season of gratitude to the merriment of the "Holiday Season."

   I hope you have a wonderful and meaningful season of Advent, Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Solstice or even bah humbugging. Remember,'... you better not pout or you better not shout..."

    See you down the trail.