I. I gave my choir the week off last Sunday. They'd put on a full cantata the week before, then done a Christmas Eve service on top of it. I decided to just bring in my trumpet and play a simple special music with the organ. I also decided to bring in James, since J hadn't had a Sunday without both kids yet since she returned to work. James likes my church. He asked if he could help set up the chairs ("We don't need to, there's no choir today") and we retrieved his cart from the church nursery so he could wheel around George and Steven. Then he asked a couple more times why we didn't set up the chairs ("Daddy, we need to set up these chairs") and he didn't even hide behind my leg when I met with the organist. He got a piece of chocolate before we entered the service ("and you can have another one after the service if you're very good") and I brought him to my seat at the front.
As the prelude started I began to doubt my decision to bring him into the service with me. Nursery care was available...why didn't I just drop him off there? He was awfully fidgety. Oh well, too late now. The prelude finished, and I stood up to play the instrumental introit I'd prepared with the organist. The congregation was sparse today, maybe only forty or fifty people. Some of them were in their pajamas, which is a bit of a tradition the week after Christmas. As I started in on the In the Bleak Midwinter I heard a reedy little voice humming along with me, quite loudly and right on pitch. James was sprawled out on the pew, singing loudly enough for all the congregation to hear.
J and I talked afterwards, and though we puzzled for a few minutes we figured out that he must know the tune to In the Bleak Midwinter from the Uncles Christmas CD. It's the track right after his fravorite (God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen) and he always begins to cry (well, George begins to cry) if we don't immediately repeat back to the one he likes. He went through the entire tune with me, and after I'd finished the last note he sang Mi on his own in the silence of the church, apparently thinking we'd be going back for a second verse. As the note echoed and some of the congregants tittered in their pews he popped up and exclaimed in his loudest three-year old voice "YAY, GEORGE!"
II. It's very rare that J and I get to spend six conscious hours together, but the trip to Pennsylvania is always good for that. The first leg we were driving in separate cars, trying to return the rental car to Syracuse. (That's been nothing but calamity from start to finish, but it's mostly out of our hands now.) Then we switched the carseats over, were quickly out of range of the Bills game, and on the highway. There was a time not terribly long ago when we'd have to come up with interesting things to do and talk about on the Route 15 drive (it was I-81 this time) but with two boys now we usually haven't seen each other in so long that it takes us most of the trip just to get caught up. Items up for discussion on the Southbound trip included: Religious guilt, movies, recently visited friends, the practice of daily devotions, childhood prayers, the distinction between quality reviews, cooking, and the nature of religious discourse.
III. It appears that I have manifested the prophetic gift.
http://harmonious-smith.blogspot.com/2014/09/2014-buffalo-bills-season-preview.html
IV. It's happened this Christmas season that we've been in conversation with a number of people about spending Christmas at your in-law's. Several girlfriends and boyfriends that we know are visiting and trying to put on a brave and polite face as they find a place for themselves. Several newly married folks are figuring out the new normal Christmas through their homesickness. I know that I speak for J when I say that she loved Smith Christmas this year. She glowed the entire trip down as she recounted all the thoughtful gifts that were given between the infant-lapped siblings at the big white and red farmhouse on County House Road. It makes me happy to think about how happy she is with my family, passing the nieces and nephews about, drinking wine in old church pews around the kitchen table and laughing at clever Uncle jokes. And I think it makes her happy to see me and James excited as we pull into the gorgeous white and blue house with candles in the windows atop the hill on Fox Tail Drive, all splendidly arranged for Christmas with grandparents waiting to see their little boys again. We exchanged gifts with the Davises last night, and our boys now have helicopters, tools and blocks to knock around the floor as well. It's good to be part of two such wonderful families this time of year.
Showing posts with label Christmas. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Christmas. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 30, 2014
Friday, December 13, 2013
O Tannenbaum
We had three things to do today.
J had to teach a lesson at home, I had to teach two lessons at H---n, and we needed to pick up a Christmas tree. It was going to be a low-stress sort of Friday.
We've been playing up the Christmas tree thing quite a bit over the last few weeks for James, and he's finally been getting into it. He visited Alexa the other week, and she has a Christmas tree up at her house. When I picked James up I asked her if she had set up the tree with her Mommy and Daddy.
"No," she whispered "Santa."
Alexa has the most baleful deep brown eyes that have ever appeared on a child, and I think that for a second I believed her.
We loaded James into the Neon carseat and scraped the car off. This is not as easy as it sounds. First of all, the Neon is small car, and James is very heavy. Whenever you put him in the carseat, you have to hold a wriggling thirty pound bundle while stooping over and trying not to bonk either of your heads, and since it's been snowy out he usually gets you both soaked in the process. He also has developed a great love for brushing/scraping snow off the car, and he is deeply upset when you don't let him take part in the process. (I promised him that when he's a teenager he can scrape my car off every morning, but he doesn't want to wait that long.) So, I put him in his carseat while he wiggled and shouted and kicked snow all over me, and then scraped off the Neon and also scraped off the PT Cruiser, which we needed to drop off for some tire service.
That part of the trip went fine--it was starting to snow pretty heavily and traffic was bad, but the tire place is just down the street from us, as is Mt. Wegmans, which was our second stop. We picked up lights and ribbons for our tree--James, won't decorating the tree be fun?--and said hello to the train as we puttered around in our race-car shopping cart. He dropped George in the muddy parking lot on the way out, so George now has a filthy stain on his face as well as backside and paws. (Separate incidents.)
I loaded James into the car (and got us both soaked) again, and we drove to the P---d Farms Dairy, where a Christmas tree vendor was selling trees, stands, and festive woodcarvings. It bothered me to be purchasing a Christmas tree from someplace other than Hu-Lane Farm, where my grandparents have sold Christmas trees my entire life. I spent many winter breaks working there for them, helping to bale and load the trees or to clean the Christmas shop. More than anything else, the smell of wreaths and cinnamon bread in the front of their barn evokes the Christmas spirit for me. My cousin K has taken over the operation starting this year, but between the bad weather setting in and a hectic orchestra schedule next week, we agreed that there was no way we could make it all the way out to Albion and back to keep our Christmas purchase in the family.
We arrived at the Dairy and unloaded James into the snow. There was a dog and two cows outside, so he was immediately pleased. I looked at the prices on the Christmas trees, and was not. The cheapest trees were $65, and the tree stands would cost another $40 on top of that. Also, there was a big "cash or check only" sign up front. We had maybe $50 between the two of us. I asked whether there was an ATM in the dairy, and there wasn't. J and I huddled and talked through our options, and James began to cry as he suddenly realized how cold he was. We went into the dairy and used my phone to look up other sellers. There was a Boy Scout stand 20 min south of us in H--e Falls which I knew sold cheaper trees, and we decided to try our luck there.
J bought a latte while James ran around the Dairy and tried to touch all of the pies, and we received news that J's student had cancelled. "All we need to do is get this tree, and then I'll be done for the day!" she told me.
I picked up the snowy wriggling bundle and loaded him into the car again. The snowfall had turned from heavy to very heavy, and the rural roads to H---e Falls were completely coated with no signs of a plow. I could feel us slipping on the snow and ice, and J asked if I wanted to turn back.
"No," I said "We've worked all morning to get this blasted tree, and we're going to bring one back with us and have fun doing it!"
James was decidedly not having fun at this point. He wasn't crying, but we heard a lot of whining from the backseat as I crawled along in the snow and tried to keep my windshield clean and some sense of where the yellow lines might be.
When we finally arrived at the tree stand James immediately spotted a playground on the other side of the square. He was begging and reaching for it before we'd even unbuckled him. J told him maybe we could visit the playground and say hello once we'd picked up a tree? "Don't you want to help Daddy pick out a tree?" she asked. James just pointed to the playground and made more beggy whines. There was no one at the tree stand, but someone put up a big sign that read "Weekday shoppers please leave payment in the drop box outside the Scouthouse." The prices were much better, and in no time I'd found a suitable tree to load into the trunk of our car.
I threw it over my shoulder, and (proudly remembering the tree-hauling days of my youth) carried it back to our car where I was promptly informed that I would have to return it and select another. So, I threw it back over my shoulder and put it back where it came from, then found another tree and took it back to the car. (Have I mentioned that we were parked rather far away--the fond recollection of doing this when I was younger wore off very quickly.)
Meanwhile, J had attempted to take James over to the playground to "say hello"--this is Momspeak for "not actually play on any of the playground equipment since it is covered in snow" and they didn't even make it all the way over before James completely melted down. It was snowing so hard that they were both coated, and James was sobbing enormous two-year old tears. She loaded him into his carseat--and got soaked--and then we set about trying to load the tree in the car.
We opened the trunk and discovered it was full, of course. <2 year old screaming> There was a huge black trash bag filled with clothes we'd intended to take to Salvation Army, as well as a roadside kit and a box full of miscellaneous auto junk. I moved the trash bag to the backseat next to James <2 year old screaming>, which ripped in several places while I moved it, and he immediately protested it being next to him. We collapsed part of the backseat to slide the tree through, and pushed it as far into the car as it would go...and there was no way that the trunk would shut. <2 year old still screaming>
We both began digging for something to tie down the trunk, and I eventually found something small and elastic in the salvation army bag of clothes. The wind was blowing, the snow was everywhere, James was still screaming, and when J found that I was trying to use a thong to tie down the trunk she immediately yanked it away and put it in her coat pocket. I walked back up to the tree stand and rooted around in the muddy snow until I'd found a length of baler twine--we really could have thought some of this through ahead of time--and then came back to the car, where James was still screaming and I managed to tie down the trunk.
J had started the car and blasted the heat for James, who was still screaming. I walked over the scouthouse with forty dollars and found no evidence that there was or ever had been a drop box there. And that was how we stole our Christmas tree.
Eventually we got home and brought the tree upstairs, where it is currently leaning against a wall, since we forgot to buy a tree stand. James eventually stopped crying on the way back, and seemed to feel a lot better after he had a grilled cheese sandwich and some juice. I felt very good about getting the tree inside, even though it isn't set up, and after I left a message for the Boy Scouts inquiring how I might pay them, I went back out to close the trunk and discovered that the latch was broken, requiring a call to the locksmith. J, as far as I know, still has a thong in her coat pocket.
And that is the story of the 2013 Christmas tree.
UPDATE:
A locksmith repaired the back of the car, and I went to teach at Hochstein. I told J I'd pick up a tree stand on the way back. I went to the P---d Plaza and struck out at Rite Aid, Michaels, Bed Bath and Beyond, TJ Maxx, and Wegmans before giving up and coming home. The tree is still tied up and lying in the corner of our apartment. If we think we can survive it, we'll make another attempt to go out and find a stand tomorrow. Also, here is a picture of James on the trip back:
J had to teach a lesson at home, I had to teach two lessons at H---n, and we needed to pick up a Christmas tree. It was going to be a low-stress sort of Friday.
We've been playing up the Christmas tree thing quite a bit over the last few weeks for James, and he's finally been getting into it. He visited Alexa the other week, and she has a Christmas tree up at her house. When I picked James up I asked her if she had set up the tree with her Mommy and Daddy.
"No," she whispered "Santa."
Alexa has the most baleful deep brown eyes that have ever appeared on a child, and I think that for a second I believed her.
We loaded James into the Neon carseat and scraped the car off. This is not as easy as it sounds. First of all, the Neon is small car, and James is very heavy. Whenever you put him in the carseat, you have to hold a wriggling thirty pound bundle while stooping over and trying not to bonk either of your heads, and since it's been snowy out he usually gets you both soaked in the process. He also has developed a great love for brushing/scraping snow off the car, and he is deeply upset when you don't let him take part in the process. (I promised him that when he's a teenager he can scrape my car off every morning, but he doesn't want to wait that long.) So, I put him in his carseat while he wiggled and shouted and kicked snow all over me, and then scraped off the Neon and also scraped off the PT Cruiser, which we needed to drop off for some tire service.
That part of the trip went fine--it was starting to snow pretty heavily and traffic was bad, but the tire place is just down the street from us, as is Mt. Wegmans, which was our second stop. We picked up lights and ribbons for our tree--James, won't decorating the tree be fun?--and said hello to the train as we puttered around in our race-car shopping cart. He dropped George in the muddy parking lot on the way out, so George now has a filthy stain on his face as well as backside and paws. (Separate incidents.)
I loaded James into the car (and got us both soaked) again, and we drove to the P---d Farms Dairy, where a Christmas tree vendor was selling trees, stands, and festive woodcarvings. It bothered me to be purchasing a Christmas tree from someplace other than Hu-Lane Farm, where my grandparents have sold Christmas trees my entire life. I spent many winter breaks working there for them, helping to bale and load the trees or to clean the Christmas shop. More than anything else, the smell of wreaths and cinnamon bread in the front of their barn evokes the Christmas spirit for me. My cousin K has taken over the operation starting this year, but between the bad weather setting in and a hectic orchestra schedule next week, we agreed that there was no way we could make it all the way out to Albion and back to keep our Christmas purchase in the family.
We arrived at the Dairy and unloaded James into the snow. There was a dog and two cows outside, so he was immediately pleased. I looked at the prices on the Christmas trees, and was not. The cheapest trees were $65, and the tree stands would cost another $40 on top of that. Also, there was a big "cash or check only" sign up front. We had maybe $50 between the two of us. I asked whether there was an ATM in the dairy, and there wasn't. J and I huddled and talked through our options, and James began to cry as he suddenly realized how cold he was. We went into the dairy and used my phone to look up other sellers. There was a Boy Scout stand 20 min south of us in H--e Falls which I knew sold cheaper trees, and we decided to try our luck there.
J bought a latte while James ran around the Dairy and tried to touch all of the pies, and we received news that J's student had cancelled. "All we need to do is get this tree, and then I'll be done for the day!" she told me.
I picked up the snowy wriggling bundle and loaded him into the car again. The snowfall had turned from heavy to very heavy, and the rural roads to H---e Falls were completely coated with no signs of a plow. I could feel us slipping on the snow and ice, and J asked if I wanted to turn back.
"No," I said "We've worked all morning to get this blasted tree, and we're going to bring one back with us and have fun doing it!"
James was decidedly not having fun at this point. He wasn't crying, but we heard a lot of whining from the backseat as I crawled along in the snow and tried to keep my windshield clean and some sense of where the yellow lines might be.
When we finally arrived at the tree stand James immediately spotted a playground on the other side of the square. He was begging and reaching for it before we'd even unbuckled him. J told him maybe we could visit the playground and say hello once we'd picked up a tree? "Don't you want to help Daddy pick out a tree?" she asked. James just pointed to the playground and made more beggy whines. There was no one at the tree stand, but someone put up a big sign that read "Weekday shoppers please leave payment in the drop box outside the Scouthouse." The prices were much better, and in no time I'd found a suitable tree to load into the trunk of our car.
I threw it over my shoulder, and (proudly remembering the tree-hauling days of my youth) carried it back to our car where I was promptly informed that I would have to return it and select another. So, I threw it back over my shoulder and put it back where it came from, then found another tree and took it back to the car. (Have I mentioned that we were parked rather far away--the fond recollection of doing this when I was younger wore off very quickly.)
Meanwhile, J had attempted to take James over to the playground to "say hello"--this is Momspeak for "not actually play on any of the playground equipment since it is covered in snow" and they didn't even make it all the way over before James completely melted down. It was snowing so hard that they were both coated, and James was sobbing enormous two-year old tears. She loaded him into his carseat--and got soaked--and then we set about trying to load the tree in the car.
We opened the trunk and discovered it was full, of course. <2 year old screaming> There was a huge black trash bag filled with clothes we'd intended to take to Salvation Army, as well as a roadside kit and a box full of miscellaneous auto junk. I moved the trash bag to the backseat next to James <2 year old screaming>, which ripped in several places while I moved it, and he immediately protested it being next to him. We collapsed part of the backseat to slide the tree through, and pushed it as far into the car as it would go...and there was no way that the trunk would shut. <2 year old still screaming>
We both began digging for something to tie down the trunk, and I eventually found something small and elastic in the salvation army bag of clothes. The wind was blowing, the snow was everywhere, James was still screaming, and when J found that I was trying to use a thong to tie down the trunk she immediately yanked it away and put it in her coat pocket. I walked back up to the tree stand and rooted around in the muddy snow until I'd found a length of baler twine--we really could have thought some of this through ahead of time--and then came back to the car, where James was still screaming and I managed to tie down the trunk.
J had started the car and blasted the heat for James, who was still screaming. I walked over the scouthouse with forty dollars and found no evidence that there was or ever had been a drop box there. And that was how we stole our Christmas tree.
Eventually we got home and brought the tree upstairs, where it is currently leaning against a wall, since we forgot to buy a tree stand. James eventually stopped crying on the way back, and seemed to feel a lot better after he had a grilled cheese sandwich and some juice. I felt very good about getting the tree inside, even though it isn't set up, and after I left a message for the Boy Scouts inquiring how I might pay them, I went back out to close the trunk and discovered that the latch was broken, requiring a call to the locksmith. J, as far as I know, still has a thong in her coat pocket.
And that is the story of the 2013 Christmas tree.
UPDATE:
A locksmith repaired the back of the car, and I went to teach at Hochstein. I told J I'd pick up a tree stand on the way back. I went to the P---d Plaza and struck out at Rite Aid, Michaels, Bed Bath and Beyond, TJ Maxx, and Wegmans before giving up and coming home. The tree is still tied up and lying in the corner of our apartment. If we think we can survive it, we'll make another attempt to go out and find a stand tomorrow. Also, here is a picture of James on the trip back:
Sunday, February 17, 2013
Bears in the Garbage
I sat in our old well-worn armchair this morning with a carafe of fresh hot coffee beside me and the Pickwick Papers open on my lap. I was in my oldest and most comfortable pair of slippers, warm socks, pajamas, and my flannel bathrobe. The sun was coming in through the east windows, and I could see big flakes of snow gently coming down outside. I had several hours before leaving for church, and I had nothing to do but keep an eye on James and work on my book and my coffee.
It was perfectly peaceful and relaxing. The house was quiet.
The house was quiet.
...something was wrong.
Sure enough, I stood up and walked into the kitchen.
The lid was off of the trash can, and James was sitting on the floor sucking on his fingers, which he was reaching into the plastic carton of blueberry yogurt I'd had for breakfast. (Again.)
After I cleaned him up and found some toys for him to play with, I went back to one of my favorite chapters in Dickens, chapter 28 of Pickwick Papers. Here are some of the highlights:
"Christmas was close at hand, in all his bluff and hearty honesty; it was the season of hospitality, merriment, and open-heartedness"
"As they turned into a lane they had to cross, the sound of many voices burst upon their ears; and before they had even had time to form a guess as to whom they belonged, they walked into the very centre of the party who were expecting their arrival--a fact which was first notified to the Pickwickians by the loud 'Hurrah' which burst from old Wardle's lips when they appeared in sight."
"No I ain't, sir," replied the fat boy, starting up from a remote corner, where, like the patron saint of fat boys--the immortal Horner--he had been devouring a Christmas pie, though not with the coolness and deliberation which characterized that young gentleman's proceedings.
Whereupon Mr. Winkle gallantly inquired if it couldn't be done by deputy; to which the young lady with the black eyes replied "Go away"--and accompanied the request with a look which said as plainly as a look could do--"if you can."
When they were all tired of blind-man's bluff, there was a great game at snapdragon; and when fingers enough were burnt with that, and all the raisins were gone, they sat down by the huge fire of blazing logs to a substantial supper, and a might bowl of wassail, something smaller than an ordinary wash-house copper, in which the hot apples were hissing and bubbling with a rich look and a jolly sound that were perfectly irresistible.
The chapter following is the great story of Gabriel Glum and the goblin king, which is exactly the sort of thing that I would have been confused about and disliked (but what happened to the real story) before I was officially converted to Dickens. I could tell, even from the old Great Illustrated Classics versions of David Copperfield and Oliver Twist, however that Dickens' characters simply had to stick. They are too memorable to be boring, even if you're nine years old and all the humor is going over your head.
Maybe it was the Christmas joy and merriment from Pickwick (along with some beautiful upstate snow) that made the afternoon so wonderful. I met J and her parents for lunch at an old restaurant that used to be a train depot in Leroy, and had the most wonderful half an hour waiting for the them to arrive. As I sat at our table with menu in hand looking out the windows and around the dining room, I couldn't help grinning to myself knowing that my wife would be arriving and lighting up the room, dressed up in a cute outfit for church, the youngest and the prettiest in the room, and toting a cute baby boy to boot. (He was fascinated by a model train that ran upside down on the ceiling, and he made a great game of dropping silverware on the floor on purpose.)
And NOW I'm off for a whole week to play at home snowed in with both of them and to sleep, clean, practice, relax, eat, drink, and be merry. And to finish Pickwick Papers. And, apparently, to keep a better eye on the trash.
It was perfectly peaceful and relaxing. The house was quiet.
The house was quiet.
...something was wrong.
Sure enough, I stood up and walked into the kitchen.
The lid was off of the trash can, and James was sitting on the floor sucking on his fingers, which he was reaching into the plastic carton of blueberry yogurt I'd had for breakfast. (Again.)
 |
| Not the only type of bear who gets into garbage |
After I cleaned him up and found some toys for him to play with, I went back to one of my favorite chapters in Dickens, chapter 28 of Pickwick Papers. Here are some of the highlights:
"Christmas was close at hand, in all his bluff and hearty honesty; it was the season of hospitality, merriment, and open-heartedness"
"As they turned into a lane they had to cross, the sound of many voices burst upon their ears; and before they had even had time to form a guess as to whom they belonged, they walked into the very centre of the party who were expecting their arrival--a fact which was first notified to the Pickwickians by the loud 'Hurrah' which burst from old Wardle's lips when they appeared in sight."
"No I ain't, sir," replied the fat boy, starting up from a remote corner, where, like the patron saint of fat boys--the immortal Horner--he had been devouring a Christmas pie, though not with the coolness and deliberation which characterized that young gentleman's proceedings.
Whereupon Mr. Winkle gallantly inquired if it couldn't be done by deputy; to which the young lady with the black eyes replied "Go away"--and accompanied the request with a look which said as plainly as a look could do--"if you can."
When they were all tired of blind-man's bluff, there was a great game at snapdragon; and when fingers enough were burnt with that, and all the raisins were gone, they sat down by the huge fire of blazing logs to a substantial supper, and a might bowl of wassail, something smaller than an ordinary wash-house copper, in which the hot apples were hissing and bubbling with a rich look and a jolly sound that were perfectly irresistible.
The chapter following is the great story of Gabriel Glum and the goblin king, which is exactly the sort of thing that I would have been confused about and disliked (but what happened to the real story) before I was officially converted to Dickens. I could tell, even from the old Great Illustrated Classics versions of David Copperfield and Oliver Twist, however that Dickens' characters simply had to stick. They are too memorable to be boring, even if you're nine years old and all the humor is going over your head.
Maybe it was the Christmas joy and merriment from Pickwick (along with some beautiful upstate snow) that made the afternoon so wonderful. I met J and her parents for lunch at an old restaurant that used to be a train depot in Leroy, and had the most wonderful half an hour waiting for the them to arrive. As I sat at our table with menu in hand looking out the windows and around the dining room, I couldn't help grinning to myself knowing that my wife would be arriving and lighting up the room, dressed up in a cute outfit for church, the youngest and the prettiest in the room, and toting a cute baby boy to boot. (He was fascinated by a model train that ran upside down on the ceiling, and he made a great game of dropping silverware on the floor on purpose.)
And NOW I'm off for a whole week to play at home snowed in with both of them and to sleep, clean, practice, relax, eat, drink, and be merry. And to finish Pickwick Papers. And, apparently, to keep a better eye on the trash.
Friday, December 28, 2012
The Holidays
CHRISTMAS EVE
In the Smith house Christmas Eve is a night of solemn and reverent observance, a time for reflection, and most of all, a chance to make a lot of money in a hurry. Like Easter morning, it's a time when the big downtown churches are willing to pay through the nose to have a trumpet player participate in their service and enhance the worship experience by playing descants on hymns and repeatedly shouting out bad words. (More on that later.) This year I played three Christmas Eve services, a 5:00 service at a Catholic church downtown, the 8:00 service at my church in Gates, and then back to the Catholic church for midnight mass. Midnight mass doesn't start at midnight--it starts at 11:00 PM, and lasts for 25 hours until midnight of the next day. At least, that's what it feels like when you're actually in the service and waiting to drive home in the snow and go to bed.
All three services went well, except for the questionable language part. At the 5:00 service I sat down in the choir nook--this probably has a proper name like Chancellary or Vestibulillum, but I don't know it--and waited patiently through the prelude. When it was time for the processional, the priest asked the congregation to stand and to sing "O Come All Ye Faithful," number 481. I was already standing up as he asked this, holding my trumpet in my left hand and pulling up on the top of my music stand with my right. I gave it a jerk, and all of a sudden the entire top of the stand, music still perched, went flying up in the air. I managed to catch it in my right hand, but not before yelling (much more loudly than I expected to) "Oh CRAP!" Emitting a bad word in near silence helps you to appreciate the acoustic engineering of those classic Catholic cathedrals. The CRAP reverberated throughout the Chancellary, the loft, the ornate stained-glass windows, and round the sculpted heads of Mary, Joseph, and baby Jesus in the life-sized nativity. The three kings did not look impressed.
"Crap" was one of those words that we were definitely not allowed to say when the older batch of Smith children were growing up. Also forbidden were "sucks," "shut-up," and "oh my gosh." The rules have definitely loosened over time. It wouldn't be surprising at all to hear my parents respond to a tale from Martha's school day with "Well crap...that sucks." I try not to slip up too often around James with those sorts of borderline words. (This is hard when you "cheer" for the Buffalo Bills.)
Anyhow, the rest of the service went pretty well. I drove back to Gates, and managed not to curse at any point during the service. This was not easy, because I definitely made a "behind" of myself during the prelude. Our organist can be a little flighty, and he started the prelude for the service in the wrong spot. (Variations in service order are very offensive to Presbyterians, most of whom have followed the exact same Christmas Eve ritual since 288 B.C. The actual birth of the Christ child, being a break with tradition, was frowned upon in committee meetings of that particular year.) Knowing that I would have to be the fearless leader and cue in the choir for their Introit out of the regular order of the service, I stood up to ask the choir to stand...just as the bell choir was starting their prelude number. (Fortunately I covered my misstep rather seamlessly by sitting down immediately, pretending that I was smoothing out my robes, and turning bright red.)
I had enough time after the 8:00 service to drive home and see J's progress with the gift-wrapping, and then went in for the final Catholic service in a steady Christmas Eve snow. I sat patiently through the prelude, noted with some pleasure that a former professor of mine was serving as the priest, and stood up with the congregation to sing the processional hymn, "O Come All Ye Faithful." I pulled up on my stand.
"Oh CRAP!"
CHRISTMAS DAY
James isn't yet old enough to wake us up with Christmas Day excitement, but he did get up earlier than either J or I had intended on Christmas morning. She brought him into bed with us and we had a drowsy family snuggle in bed until 7:30, when we went downstairs to open presents under our Christmas shrub. We bought the shrub when we lived in North Carolina, and waited to set it up until James had gone to bed on Christmas Eve. (With good reason...the first 10 seconds he was left near it unattended he seized and broke an ornament.) There was fresh snow on the ground, and the shrub had never looked more festive. James helped unpack his stocking, and then J and I opened ours. (I'll be saving a full account of our Christmas loot for a later post, hopefully with pictures and braggy comments.) After we'd had some french toast for breakfast I brushed off the truck and we made ready to go to Christmas Part II at my parent's house.
Everyone passed out presents, we had plenty of coffee and pastry snacks, and there was much merriment in the Smith living room. James was not particularly interested in opening presents after his first or second turn, so J and I alternated chasing him around the house while everyone passed around the piles of gifts. I think my family is particularly talented at gift giving. There were just the right number of presents per person, and they were all very thoughtful. (As I said, the official list will follow later.) After most everything had been opened we recorded all 10 children/spouses and 2 grandchildren singing the Twelve Days of Christmas, and made ready for the Christmas feast. Somewhere along the way I kicked over my coffee cup, and walked around for most of the morning with only one sock on, while the other one dried. We also discovered a walnut ornament hanging on the tree that someone had stowed a message inside of through a small crack at the base. We made vain efforts to retrieve it without breaking the shell, but finally gave in, and found a little slip of paper that said: To the Dark Lord, I have removed the real horcrux, and I intend to destroy it as soon as I can. R.A.B. The kids all laughted uproariously, and Mom and Dad didn't have any idea why.
James went down for a nap (with J helping) after our enormous lunch, and I went to Christmas part III (the Grandparent Smiths) with an envoy. We wished our safe travels to the soon migrating Grandparent Smiths, caught up with some cousins, and nibbled on the remains of their Christmas Feast. A Very Uncles Christmas was distributed, and more loot was gotten, some of which hasn't been opened yet. (More on that later.)
We were back in Albion for Christmas part IV (Dudley Christmas in the barn) by supper time, and there were innumerable aromas there teasing our already overburdened bellies. The three feet closest to the barn floor at Dudley Christmas is an area scientists call the "toddlershphere." There are at least 20 small Dudley great-grandchildren, and I think several more might have been born and started to run about while we were there for Christmas. They all shout very loudly and want to run in circles clutching their new toys. Most of them are from farming stock, so between their clothes and their toys the barn looks like what you might expect the corporate day-care to be at the John Deere company. We left with a year's supply of free homemade jam and even avoided last year's tragic upending of the cold fruit-cup into J's lap. (Hayden sat with her own parents this year.)
We were on our way out. James was fried. We were both weary and over-full. We had been everywhere, we had seen everyone. We had been up way to late the night before. My Dad showed us a radar image of the storm that was coming in the next day, and we both got the same crazy idea. We debated it the entire drive back to Spencerport, and J (obviously) won. We would, after playing 4 Christmas Eve services between the two of us, then attending 4 different Christmases, drive to Pennsylvania that night with an overtired 13 month old in the back seat. Brilliant.
Actually, James did great. We turned around at our house in less than 20 minutes (though, of course, we forgot a lot of stuff) and he fell asleep almost immediately. I recaffinated and J, for whom I had brought 1000 Greek flashcards, for the purpose of keeping me awake and alert throughout the course of the drive, came up with lots of interesting discussion questions. (We didn't have to use a single flashcard!) We made the trip with no traffic, no red lights, and no pit stops. It took us 5 hours and 10 minutes.
And that was our Christmas
ST. STEPHEN'S DAY
Obviously, we slept in. We had Davis Christmas (loot list to follow) once we got up, and spent most of the day in pajamas. (Well, J was in pajamas...we forgot to bring two sets in the haste of our quick turnaround.) James loves the wide open spaces at Grandma and Grandpa Davis's house. He spent most of the day doing laps through the kitchen, dining, and living rooms while holding two plastic red spoons and shouting. (He likes to hear his echo.) He also found his favorite houseplant (the one he's not allowed to dig in) and a new houseplant that Mom and Dad said nothing about. (He dug out about a pound of dirt onto himself and the dining room floor before we found him.) Special honor was given to Steven Bear, since it was his feast day.
ST. JOHN'S DAY
We slept in again. James dug in his favorite plant again, and then ran in terror when we pulled out the vaccuum to clean up his mess. In a stroke of brilliant parenting, Grandpa Davis left the vaccuum parked in front of the plant. James hasn't been near it since. We also went down to the Great-Grand Weitzels with Uncle Dan and Aunt Emily to consume copious amounts of red meat, and (in J's case) shrimp. We went to bed at 8:30.
Friday, December 21, 2012
Three good, three bad
GOOD
1) I have 70 minutes left of LCS this month, and nothing to do but wrap up my practicing for the day. I have no private students, no Hochstein, no orchestra gigs, and no more Wednesday choir rehearsals until January. Vacation is about to start, and it is most welcome. I'll sleep in, play with James, lounge around in sweatpants, and make lots of coffee. There are still a few church gigs to be played here and there, but those won't be so bad. The holidays really will be lovely this year. We have a beautiful green wreath up in the living room, and soon the whole house will smell like cinnamon bread. (It smelled like pumpkin chocolate-chip muffins when I came home yesterday.) Yum.
BAD
1) The Gaxmobile (our PT Cruiser) is smelling more and more like a lemon. We bought it two months ago from a family friend in PA, and it's already needed two major repairs. J's mishap yesterday turned out to be a timing belt problem, and it will cost at least $600 to fix. I don't exactly why this is so expensive, but it's something to do with the way the front is engineered. Apparently the engine block (correct use of that term?) is so compact that everything has to be taken out before you can tinker around with it. This didn't seem to be a problem to me when we bought it, because my automotive tinkering skills are limited to checking/adding oil. As far as I know, the rest of the car runs by magic. Or calculus. Or some form of wizarding calculus you can only learn at Hogwarts. At any rate, this means that whether we have to replace a timing belt, recharge the defibrillator, or add more gurdyroots to the cosine, it's always going to be labor-intensive and budget-breaking.
GOOD
2) Tomorrow Flock of Uncles is recording "A Very Uncles Christmas." We have never actually sat down together and attempted to record the same musical number at the same time on purpose, so this will be an interesting experience. Since we need a quiet environment without distraction Hayden and James will be coming. Man-paste will be made, festive drinks will be passed around, and all musical ventures will surely be successful on their first attempts. If we can get a few tracks we like, the CD will be an excellent gift to the many relatives who we love dearly but can't afford to exchange gifts with on any regular basis. (Especially on the Dudley side, this would be like trying to get individual presents for the entire population of Portugal.)
BAD
2) J and I have five different Christmas Eve services between us, and only one functional car. The Gaxmobile, of course, will not be completed before Christmas Eve. (The bobotubers have to soak overnight before they form a parabola.) We aren't exactly sure how Christmas Eve will work. I suggested last night to J that I could drive her (and James) down to Warsaw at 3:30 and drop them off with enough time to drive back for my services at 5, 8, and 11. If I leave straight from midnight mass at 12:15, I should be able to pick her (and James) up by 1:30. Maybe we'll see Santa!
GOOD
3) We have money in the bank. We have money in the bank. I admit with some embarrassment that we are not particularly good at budgeting. We usually have some money left over at the end of the month because we are both thrifty by nature, but we are very VERY bad at sitting down with the bank statement and figuring out month-by-month exactly how much is left over in each budget category. (Or, in the case of groceries, how much we're in the red.) Thank goodness we've had lots of gigs and extra work these past few months, and we've had a little left over even after buying a PT Cruiser and a plane ticket to San Francisco and repairing the PT Cruiser the first time and buying Christmas presents for everyone. I sense, when I think about it, that we have no idea how fortunate we are most of the time.
BAD
3) We have a cute advent calendar hanging in our kitchen with little chocolate pieces inside the flap for each "day." We give James the advent chocolate after dinner every night, and he has decided he LOVES advent. He reminds us of the calendar several times a day, especially when he's in his high chair. There's an extra big piece for Christmas Eve, but a storm might be brewing when we get home on Christmas Night and the advent calendar has disappeared. The current plan is to get him really REALLY tired at Smith/Smith/Smith/Dudley Christmas and have him totally sacked out by the time we get home. (This won't be hard...I usually don't make it through the 3rd Christmas either.) Then we'll leave super early in the morning on December 26th (presuming we have a working vehicle) and maybe by the time we return from Pennsylvania he'll have forgotten about chocolate.
Or maybe we'll just keep more chocolate in the house. It doesn't seem like a bad idea.
1) I have 70 minutes left of LCS this month, and nothing to do but wrap up my practicing for the day. I have no private students, no Hochstein, no orchestra gigs, and no more Wednesday choir rehearsals until January. Vacation is about to start, and it is most welcome. I'll sleep in, play with James, lounge around in sweatpants, and make lots of coffee. There are still a few church gigs to be played here and there, but those won't be so bad. The holidays really will be lovely this year. We have a beautiful green wreath up in the living room, and soon the whole house will smell like cinnamon bread. (It smelled like pumpkin chocolate-chip muffins when I came home yesterday.) Yum.
BAD
1) The Gaxmobile (our PT Cruiser) is smelling more and more like a lemon. We bought it two months ago from a family friend in PA, and it's already needed two major repairs. J's mishap yesterday turned out to be a timing belt problem, and it will cost at least $600 to fix. I don't exactly why this is so expensive, but it's something to do with the way the front is engineered. Apparently the engine block (correct use of that term?) is so compact that everything has to be taken out before you can tinker around with it. This didn't seem to be a problem to me when we bought it, because my automotive tinkering skills are limited to checking/adding oil. As far as I know, the rest of the car runs by magic. Or calculus. Or some form of wizarding calculus you can only learn at Hogwarts. At any rate, this means that whether we have to replace a timing belt, recharge the defibrillator, or add more gurdyroots to the cosine, it's always going to be labor-intensive and budget-breaking.
GOOD
2) Tomorrow Flock of Uncles is recording "A Very Uncles Christmas." We have never actually sat down together and attempted to record the same musical number at the same time on purpose, so this will be an interesting experience. Since we need a quiet environment without distraction Hayden and James will be coming. Man-paste will be made, festive drinks will be passed around, and all musical ventures will surely be successful on their first attempts. If we can get a few tracks we like, the CD will be an excellent gift to the many relatives who we love dearly but can't afford to exchange gifts with on any regular basis. (Especially on the Dudley side, this would be like trying to get individual presents for the entire population of Portugal.)
BAD
2) J and I have five different Christmas Eve services between us, and only one functional car. The Gaxmobile, of course, will not be completed before Christmas Eve. (The bobotubers have to soak overnight before they form a parabola.) We aren't exactly sure how Christmas Eve will work. I suggested last night to J that I could drive her (and James) down to Warsaw at 3:30 and drop them off with enough time to drive back for my services at 5, 8, and 11. If I leave straight from midnight mass at 12:15, I should be able to pick her (and James) up by 1:30. Maybe we'll see Santa!
GOOD
3) We have money in the bank. We have money in the bank. I admit with some embarrassment that we are not particularly good at budgeting. We usually have some money left over at the end of the month because we are both thrifty by nature, but we are very VERY bad at sitting down with the bank statement and figuring out month-by-month exactly how much is left over in each budget category. (Or, in the case of groceries, how much we're in the red.) Thank goodness we've had lots of gigs and extra work these past few months, and we've had a little left over even after buying a PT Cruiser and a plane ticket to San Francisco and repairing the PT Cruiser the first time and buying Christmas presents for everyone. I sense, when I think about it, that we have no idea how fortunate we are most of the time.
BAD
3) We have a cute advent calendar hanging in our kitchen with little chocolate pieces inside the flap for each "day." We give James the advent chocolate after dinner every night, and he has decided he LOVES advent. He reminds us of the calendar several times a day, especially when he's in his high chair. There's an extra big piece for Christmas Eve, but a storm might be brewing when we get home on Christmas Night and the advent calendar has disappeared. The current plan is to get him really REALLY tired at Smith/Smith/Smith/Dudley Christmas and have him totally sacked out by the time we get home. (This won't be hard...I usually don't make it through the 3rd Christmas either.) Then we'll leave super early in the morning on December 26th (presuming we have a working vehicle) and maybe by the time we return from Pennsylvania he'll have forgotten about chocolate.
Or maybe we'll just keep more chocolate in the house. It doesn't seem like a bad idea.
Sunday, December 25, 2011
Merry Christmas!
Don't think for a moment that I would abandon a high Christology. Credo the Messiah was God with us, consubstantial with the Father, and let me never deny it. Only today, as we talk about that ineffable glory enfleshed in the weakest of vessels, a little infant, I would reflect on Jesus the man.
Today is the mass of Jesus, and it is precisely by looking at that man amidst the procession of church heroes, squarely between St. Ambrose and St. Stephen in the December calendar, that I am gladdened by the feast of his birth, and I understand the scriptural account of his coming. As I read the accounts of St. Matthew and St. Luke, the first light in which the man Jesus presented is as a prophet, prophesied by those prophets before him, coming out of the prophetic tradition, and then going as a prophet into the adult form where we know and meet him. We learn later that he should be our priest and savior and sacrifice; still later we learn he would be our King and God. But it is first in the echoes of Isaiah and strange foretellings of the days of Caesar Augustus that we meet our Lord as a child.
I usually hear one of two Christmas sermons. There is sometimes another sermon about the cross and forgiveness of sins, but I don't think that's a Christmas sermon. It's a Good Friday sermon that someone accidentally preaches in December, and I shall come back to it in a moment, for it's more telling than we might think. The first Christmas sermon, which is still special and instructive to all of us, is the portrait of the baby, and the staggering realization of what that baby means in a high Christology. I pass by that portrait this morning, not because I think it unimportant, but because it's best left to another voice. It's more suited to Grandfather's knee, and not your stiff and dour cousin. The second type of Christmas sermon probably comes from the narrative-deconstructing current of postmodernity, and is all about how dirty the stable and manger were, and how the little Jesus surely did not 'sleep in heavenly peace,' but wailed and fussed all through Christmas night, and therefore all of our old songs and nativity sets have it wrong. I don't know why we hear this sermon so often. Perhaps it comforts those many people in our time who feel, especially around the holidays, like they're losing some measure of control and sanity, and they are comforted by other dirty living rooms and screaming children. But again, I suspect that to the postmodern mind, it's simply more fun to knock things down that to try building and protecting anything complex.
On this feast of Christmas day, I raise a glass to the man Jesus. I marvel at the paradox of his incarnation, and I pause, as I should much more often, to think of his example and mighty deeds, especially, marvelous as they are, his deeds for me. And I then ask, now what? Should we preach Good Friday sermons on Christmas as well? If this baby were come only to be born sinless of a virgin and die an atoning death for sinners, why did his parents take him to the temple for circumcision, and not sacrifice? We know that Jesus meant to die when he entered Jerusalem thirty years later, but why were the thirty years necessary? What were they about? How, in other words, does the birth of Jesus lead, not only to his death and resurrection, but to his life?
This Christmas season and New Year, let us learn from our Lord what he meant as a prophet, when he began to describe a Kingdom of God that was coming into the world. Let us learn what he meant as a teacher, when he so resoundingly answered the lawyers and professors of his day. Let us understand who he was a priest, and how, in some way, we have been made members of his priesthood. Let us realize what it means to be citizens of the King, and what we must do to advance his rule while we await the King's return. Let us, as ever, remember he is our salvation, always an salvation lowly, from a baby in a stable to an executed criminal on a cross, that we should receive him in humility. And let us remember that this Christ-child is our hope, by his message, reign, atonement and resurrection, for us and for our people. Amen and Merry Christmas!
Today is the mass of Jesus, and it is precisely by looking at that man amidst the procession of church heroes, squarely between St. Ambrose and St. Stephen in the December calendar, that I am gladdened by the feast of his birth, and I understand the scriptural account of his coming. As I read the accounts of St. Matthew and St. Luke, the first light in which the man Jesus presented is as a prophet, prophesied by those prophets before him, coming out of the prophetic tradition, and then going as a prophet into the adult form where we know and meet him. We learn later that he should be our priest and savior and sacrifice; still later we learn he would be our King and God. But it is first in the echoes of Isaiah and strange foretellings of the days of Caesar Augustus that we meet our Lord as a child.
I usually hear one of two Christmas sermons. There is sometimes another sermon about the cross and forgiveness of sins, but I don't think that's a Christmas sermon. It's a Good Friday sermon that someone accidentally preaches in December, and I shall come back to it in a moment, for it's more telling than we might think. The first Christmas sermon, which is still special and instructive to all of us, is the portrait of the baby, and the staggering realization of what that baby means in a high Christology. I pass by that portrait this morning, not because I think it unimportant, but because it's best left to another voice. It's more suited to Grandfather's knee, and not your stiff and dour cousin. The second type of Christmas sermon probably comes from the narrative-deconstructing current of postmodernity, and is all about how dirty the stable and manger were, and how the little Jesus surely did not 'sleep in heavenly peace,' but wailed and fussed all through Christmas night, and therefore all of our old songs and nativity sets have it wrong. I don't know why we hear this sermon so often. Perhaps it comforts those many people in our time who feel, especially around the holidays, like they're losing some measure of control and sanity, and they are comforted by other dirty living rooms and screaming children. But again, I suspect that to the postmodern mind, it's simply more fun to knock things down that to try building and protecting anything complex.
On this feast of Christmas day, I raise a glass to the man Jesus. I marvel at the paradox of his incarnation, and I pause, as I should much more often, to think of his example and mighty deeds, especially, marvelous as they are, his deeds for me. And I then ask, now what? Should we preach Good Friday sermons on Christmas as well? If this baby were come only to be born sinless of a virgin and die an atoning death for sinners, why did his parents take him to the temple for circumcision, and not sacrifice? We know that Jesus meant to die when he entered Jerusalem thirty years later, but why were the thirty years necessary? What were they about? How, in other words, does the birth of Jesus lead, not only to his death and resurrection, but to his life?
This Christmas season and New Year, let us learn from our Lord what he meant as a prophet, when he began to describe a Kingdom of God that was coming into the world. Let us learn what he meant as a teacher, when he so resoundingly answered the lawyers and professors of his day. Let us understand who he was a priest, and how, in some way, we have been made members of his priesthood. Let us realize what it means to be citizens of the King, and what we must do to advance his rule while we await the King's return. Let us, as ever, remember he is our salvation, always an salvation lowly, from a baby in a stable to an executed criminal on a cross, that we should receive him in humility. And let us remember that this Christ-child is our hope, by his message, reign, atonement and resurrection, for us and for our people. Amen and Merry Christmas!
Friday, December 23, 2011
Friday Morning Reading
Christmas Break!!!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xam01uaj6Vg
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OfuUlZdUtbg
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PjBd8O5LtKg
While James and J are sleeping, I am reading Statius, who describes
Digna deae sedes, nitidis nec sordet ab astris...
...perspicui vivunt in marmore fontes.
nec servat natura vices: hic Sirius alget,
bruma tepet, versumque domus sibi temperat annum
A house worthy of the goddess, nor squalid after the shining stars...
...clear streams of water flow in marble.
Nor does nature serve in seasons, here the Summer is cool,
mid-winter is warm, and the house adjusts the turning year to itself.
...and Aquinas, who writes in the Summa Contra:
Caput 69, Quod Deus cognoscit infinita
ergo, frater iuvenior eius dixit ut cognoscit infinita plus unum.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xam01uaj6Vg
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OfuUlZdUtbg
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PjBd8O5LtKg
While James and J are sleeping, I am reading Statius, who describes
Digna deae sedes, nitidis nec sordet ab astris...
...perspicui vivunt in marmore fontes.
nec servat natura vices: hic Sirius alget,
bruma tepet, versumque domus sibi temperat annum
A house worthy of the goddess, nor squalid after the shining stars...
...clear streams of water flow in marble.
Nor does nature serve in seasons, here the Summer is cool,
mid-winter is warm, and the house adjusts the turning year to itself.
...and Aquinas, who writes in the Summa Contra:
Caput 69, Quod Deus cognoscit infinita
ergo, frater iuvenior eius dixit ut cognoscit infinita plus unum.
Monday, December 12, 2011
Gig, Gigere, Gigi, Gigatum
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6nYa1jc5u_s
It's gig season! I'm out the door in a few minutes to an RPO Phils rehearsal, followed by wrap-ups of our run-out shows later this week, and then a week of Holiday Pops, shows for two different brass quintets, Christmas Eve services, school concerts, and did I mention I played a Messiah in Buffalo? It's great, but I miss J and the baby, not to mention the other people (mostly brothers and sisters) who I'm not seeing as much as I'd like.
...continued after gigging...
There was finally a break! Yesterday we took James out to meet Uncle Lux for the first time (also meeting his Great-Grandparents Dudley) and had dinner with the Blessed Mother and Father. Here are some of the scatteratti going on in the Smith household:
-M Laine is becoming a more and more polished artist. I watched her yesterday add watercolor to exquisitely drawn greeting cards (done freehand, no less!) and marveled at her skill.
-I'm in the mood, at a very unlikely time, for a Great Clean. I want to clean my desk at school, my choir room, our whole house (except maybe the bathroom) and both of our cars. Whence comes this impulse? I ought to act on it before it passes, but I don't know when I'll have the time.
-This is the most interesting political idea I've heard in quite some time. Perhaps some credit to Neil Postman is order, for pointing out the discrepancy?
-I'm under constant temptation to provoke my coworkers at LCS by using the term X-Mas instead of Christmas, just to see what they'll do. It really is convenient shorthand.
-I read Hofstadter's The American Political Tradition, which is probably the first American political book I've read since the Education of Henry Adams. It was excellent, especially the essays on the Founding Fathers, William Jennings Bryan, and Herbert Hoover.
-This site and this site have become daily pleasures.
-Many thanks to Pax, who filled in for me at CPC so I could play a Rutter Gloria with the RPO brass at a church in Greece.
-I gave a short devotional at LCS last Wednesday, to be published shortly...
It's gig season! I'm out the door in a few minutes to an RPO Phils rehearsal, followed by wrap-ups of our run-out shows later this week, and then a week of Holiday Pops, shows for two different brass quintets, Christmas Eve services, school concerts, and did I mention I played a Messiah in Buffalo? It's great, but I miss J and the baby, not to mention the other people (mostly brothers and sisters) who I'm not seeing as much as I'd like.
...continued after gigging...
There was finally a break! Yesterday we took James out to meet Uncle Lux for the first time (also meeting his Great-Grandparents Dudley) and had dinner with the Blessed Mother and Father. Here are some of the scatteratti going on in the Smith household:
-M Laine is becoming a more and more polished artist. I watched her yesterday add watercolor to exquisitely drawn greeting cards (done freehand, no less!) and marveled at her skill.
-I'm in the mood, at a very unlikely time, for a Great Clean. I want to clean my desk at school, my choir room, our whole house (except maybe the bathroom) and both of our cars. Whence comes this impulse? I ought to act on it before it passes, but I don't know when I'll have the time.
-This is the most interesting political idea I've heard in quite some time. Perhaps some credit to Neil Postman is order, for pointing out the discrepancy?
-I'm under constant temptation to provoke my coworkers at LCS by using the term X-Mas instead of Christmas, just to see what they'll do. It really is convenient shorthand.
-I read Hofstadter's The American Political Tradition, which is probably the first American political book I've read since the Education of Henry Adams. It was excellent, especially the essays on the Founding Fathers, William Jennings Bryan, and Herbert Hoover.
-This site and this site have become daily pleasures.
-Many thanks to Pax, who filled in for me at CPC so I could play a Rutter Gloria with the RPO brass at a church in Greece.
-I gave a short devotional at LCS last Wednesday, to be published shortly...
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