12.31.2008
12.30.2008
12.22.2008
The Night Before Christmas
'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;
And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter's nap,
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
"Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! on Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night."
-Clement Clarke Moore
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;
And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter's nap,
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
"Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! on Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night."
-Clement Clarke Moore
12.21.2008
Christmas Presents from T.S. Elliot
Burberry Brit perfume
Shell-painted gourd box
Hand-painted Chinese bottle
Sock cat ("Todd Jr.")
Badger Christmas card
Shell-painted gourd box
Hand-painted Chinese bottle
Sock cat ("Todd Jr.")
Badger Christmas card
Triumphant Cornbread
Ta da! The cornbread I made for the holiday potluck looked AND tasted great! (For once.) What a laugh riot!!
12.20.2008
Holiday Flick # 3
Ernest Saves Christmas (1988)
Yes, I watched this. I watch it every year, normally with mother and sister. Sadly, I had to watch it by myself this year while I cleaned house and baked cornbread. It was still good, though. You gotta keep up the traditions. (Actually, come to think of it, that's the first time I've watched it in Florida, where it takes place.)
LANDFALL
The curtains belly in the waking room.
Sails are round with holding, horned at top,
and net a blue bull in the wind: the day.
They drag the blunt hulls of my heels awake
and outrigged by myself through morning seas.
If I do land, let breakfast harbor me.
Waking in June, I found a first fruit
riding out the water on a broken branch.
Sleep was a windfall, and its floating seeds
steered me among the Cyclades of noise.
A coastal woman with a cricket in her hair
took soundings as the time chirped in her head:
I knew that night-time is an Island District;
curtains are my sails to shore.
Block and tackle string a butcher's dance
to hoist the sun on home: the bull
is beached and hung to dry, and through
his bloody noon, the island of his flank
quakes in the silence and disturbs the flies.
Flesh has crawled out on the beach of morning,
salt-eyed, with the ocean wild in hair,
and landed, land-locked, beached on day,
must hitch its hand to traces and resist
the fierce domestic horses teamed to it.
Drivers and driven both, the plowing heels
bloody the furrows after plunging beasts:
the spring of day is fleshed for winter fruit.
Fallen in salt-sweat, piercing skin, the bones
essay plantation in their dirt of home
and rest their aching portion in the heat's
blood afternoon. O if the sun's day-laborer
records inheritable yield, the script
is morning's alpha to omega after dark:
the figured head to scrotum of the bull.
Accountancy at sundown is the wine of night:
walking the shore, I am refreshed by it
and price the windrise and the bellowing surf
while, waiting for its freight of oil and hides,
a first sail starts the wind by snapping whips.
-Alan Dugan
Sails are round with holding, horned at top,
and net a blue bull in the wind: the day.
They drag the blunt hulls of my heels awake
and outrigged by myself through morning seas.
If I do land, let breakfast harbor me.
Waking in June, I found a first fruit
riding out the water on a broken branch.
Sleep was a windfall, and its floating seeds
steered me among the Cyclades of noise.
A coastal woman with a cricket in her hair
took soundings as the time chirped in her head:
I knew that night-time is an Island District;
curtains are my sails to shore.
Block and tackle string a butcher's dance
to hoist the sun on home: the bull
is beached and hung to dry, and through
his bloody noon, the island of his flank
quakes in the silence and disturbs the flies.
Flesh has crawled out on the beach of morning,
salt-eyed, with the ocean wild in hair,
and landed, land-locked, beached on day,
must hitch its hand to traces and resist
the fierce domestic horses teamed to it.
Drivers and driven both, the plowing heels
bloody the furrows after plunging beasts:
the spring of day is fleshed for winter fruit.
Fallen in salt-sweat, piercing skin, the bones
essay plantation in their dirt of home
and rest their aching portion in the heat's
blood afternoon. O if the sun's day-laborer
records inheritable yield, the script
is morning's alpha to omega after dark:
the figured head to scrotum of the bull.
Accountancy at sundown is the wine of night:
walking the shore, I am refreshed by it
and price the windrise and the bellowing surf
while, waiting for its freight of oil and hides,
a first sail starts the wind by snapping whips.
-Alan Dugan
12.18.2008
12.17.2008
The Snow Man
One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;
And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter
Of the January sun, and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,
Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place
For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.
-Wallace Stevens (1923)
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;
And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter
Of the January sun, and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,
Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place
For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.
-Wallace Stevens (1923)
This Just In
The cornbread was a raving success. I did NOT need, this year, to pitch any baked items into the woods outside my apartment.
12.16.2008
I'm going to attempt to make cornbread for our holiday potluck tomorrow. It's a fairly simple recipe, but I'm a fairly poor baker, so we shall see what happens. I'm intrigued by the idea, though. And I will make it with soy margarine instead of butter, of course, so I will be able to eat it too, which usually isn't the case with cornbread, though I love it.
Piggy Love
I have discovered that I love pigs.
I met a pig for the first time yesterday--a 4-H pig being housed temporarily at my friend's farm. It was a pink and black pig. You think of pigs as being cute and wriggly, but this one was...well, cute, but also very strong and kind of fierce. She was built like a pitbull, but stronger--just one solid muscle. I scratched her bristly, short hair and her coarse skin and she grunted and rubbed against the wire fence and snuffled her pink snout through the mesh. I poked the snout and got a little nibbly kiss and then a bite on the arm. Then she rolled in the hay and mud and looked very happy. My friend says I should've been a farm girl.
Now I know why bacon and ham are so delicious!
12.15.2008
O Christmas Tree...
If I had a Christmas tree of my very own, I would get one like this:
(Yes, it's upside down. Pretty cool.)
(Yes, it's upside down. Pretty cool.)
12.14.2008
12.13.2008
Crazy Kids & Cats
Visit the Wacahoota Wonders link under "Dixie-Endorsed Sites" for a hilarious picture of a kid asleep in a laundry basket and a kitty that's growing up to become the Cheshire Cat on LSD. Note the wild kitty eyes. Hahahahaha.
This year, instead of returning to ancestral (and frigid) New York for the Christmas holidays, I'm headed SOUTH...to the Everglades, or "River of Grass." I will be camping at a site called Flamingo, fifty miles into the Glades on the shores of gorgeous Florida Bay. Dear Gainesvillain friends have kindly loaned me much wonderful camping gear I would otherwise have had to purchase, including a cooler, hammock, tent, and foldable dishware.
The other treat comes from the West, in the form of another friend I've had since I was about six and have not seen in close to three years, with whom I will be sharing this adventure.
Will Santa find us? Who cares! For once I'm forsaking the travel, stress, and presents, and going on an epic journey to discover the True Meaning of Christmas. Woohoo!!
The other treat comes from the West, in the form of another friend I've had since I was about six and have not seen in close to three years, with whom I will be sharing this adventure.
Will Santa find us? Who cares! For once I'm forsaking the travel, stress, and presents, and going on an epic journey to discover the True Meaning of Christmas. Woohoo!!
12.12.2008
Holiday Flick # 2
This year I'm watching all my traditional holiday flicks off...ha ha ha...Netflix. Last night was Home Alone.
12.11.2008
It's Your Choice, Kids
You have a better chance of going to prison if you become the Governor of Illinois than if you become a murderer.
12.10.2008
12.09.2008
Smiling's My Favorite
It's that season for a little quality time with your favorite holiday flicks, like Elf, which I'm watching tonight.
12.08.2008
12.06.2008
12.05.2008
12.04.2008
12.03.2008
The Superhonky Vote
As the Georgia Senate election drags on...and on...and on...we see that fancy-named uber-conservative Saxby "Big Daddy" Chambliss has apparently developed Alzheimer's--publicly forgetting that it's NOT okay to grasp your teenage granddaughter's breasts during Thanksgiving dinner. Will this cost him the election???...Nah. It's Georgia, for God's sake.
12.02.2008
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