SANTA AND FRUITCAKE

 

If your presents were a little late this might be the reason. He put a mighty dent in that fruitcake. Poor Rudolph. Fog doesn't stop him, can't fight the sugar high.

YOUR CAT

 

This meme is only partly true. Perhaps that cat was surrendered to a rescue because its human could no longer take care of their pet. People get old. They get sick. They get allergic, part of how I ended up with Midge again. Mom loved her, hated to give her up even though she was coming to me and I phoned her pretty much every day with kitty stories. Of course the pet doesn't know what happened or why. Thank heavens there are a lot more rescues out there than there were even ten years ago. I guess it's the almost self riteous attitude that bugs me. Here's hopig  you don't end up having to surrender this cat because of events that you can't control. 

I CAN'T SAY IT BETTER

 

I tried to come up with an entry to go with what he said. I can't. At least not today. 

A SOLSTICE FOR WINTER

 Heck with variations it works for summer too. From The Winter Solstice by John Matthews. I suspect Caitlin Matthews wrote the original litany

Stonehenge and the sun

For the return of the sun – Blessings and Peace

For the gifts we give…and receive – Blessings and Peace

For all the gift givers – Blessings and Peace

For the Children of Wonder – Blessings and Peace

For the children everywhere – Blessings and Peace

For sunsets and starlight – Blessings and Peace

For sunlight and moonlight – Blessings and Peace

For streams rippling under the winter’s ice – Blessings and Peace

For raging torrents rushing to the sea – Blessings and Peace

For rain and rainbows – Blessings and Peace

For the warmth of fire in the cold of winter – Blessings and Peace

For the trees on the hill – Blessings and Peace

For the tree in the corner – Blessings and Peace

For the candles in the window – Blessings and Peace

For the gifts of friendship – Blessings and Peace

For Bards and their gifts of poetry – Blessings and Peace

For Singers and the music they share – Blessings and Peace

For the prayers for peace – Blessings and Peace

For those who pray for peace where there is no peace – Blessing and Peace

The authors encourage you to adapt to include whatever you’re thankful for right now. I certainly did. The Matthew's have a soft spot for hand bell ringers, good food and that vital necessity. Good cooks. 

CHRISTMAS CHAOS

 This original story did not happen at Christmas. But it is way funny. And now picture everythng happening with Christmas decorations thrown in as everyone, including the cats, enters total chaos. 

You are in the kitchen, bottle of half frozen fizzy wine in hand ready to pull the cork when you hear the commotion in the other room. Still carrying the bottle you rush out to check. Distance and angle are just right when the cork shoots out of the bottle, followed by the stream of ice cold, semi frozen liquid to hit the fuzz ball on the top of the tipping tree. Total chaos. Cats, tree, ornaments, the angel, strings of lights flying everywhere. With luck you might get the war zone cleaned up by Christmas Eve. With a lot of luck. Chocolate is my go to for after disaster solace. In this case a LOT of chocolate. 

And a differnt Christmas chaos courtesy of Simon's Cats. Imagine that wine hitting the cat at the top of the tree.

Bugs and The Great Wine Explosion

By Franny Syufy

It all started soooo innocently...
DH and I were strolling down memory lane decided to revist our ill-spent youth by buying a bottle of Asti Spumonte, a sparkling wine that sort of tastes like apples. We wanted it for dinner and DH decided to put it in the freezer...where we promptly forgot about it.

When we got it out of the freezer, it looked pretty frozen. For reasons that can only be described as male, DH decided it to open the bottle just as Bugs, with his back turned to him, decided to eat some kibble half a kitchen away. Before I could yell, "Contents under pressure, you idiot!" DH popped the cork.

Which flew. Across the room. Hitting Bugs on the butt. With considerable force. He levitated four feet vertically into the air — just in time to meet the stream of Asti Spumonte ice winging its way through the air. Mid-air collision: cat, half-frozen wine, DH trying to save cat.

Howls. From Bugs and DH, who catches Bugs, claws first, because they are now fully extended and working with piston-like energy in full getaway mode because DH has the bottle, which is making splurting noises and foaming in an alarming manner, in the other hand . Bugs uses DH's chest as a launching pad and races off in blind panic through the livingroom, showering flecks of wine ice everywhere he goes.

And where does he take cover? In our bed of course, under the duvet, rolling wildly to get the nasty-smelling cold stuff OFF his back. Which meant, of course, that he had to have a bath, because not only is he sticky, but we're concerned that wine just can't be good for brown cats. Although Tum, whom we caught lapping at the pool of melted wine in the kitchen, clearly did not agree, given the protest he made when we locked him downstairs for the duration of clean-up.

Anyways, Bugs, wet and completely disgusted, has banished us to the bench for a prolonged time-out with prejudice. Anybody like a glass of winecicle?

- drunementon

Franny's Note: "the bench" refers to the "Mean Mommy Bench," aka MMB, where forum members are relegated for acts cruel and inhumane toward cats. You'll find one or more of us huddled there at any given time, sharing hot cocoa, ice tea, or wine, depending on the season and our degree of remorse.

IS ANYONE LISTENING/

 Ok I'm overdoing a little today. OK maybe a lot. But you manage to get on a roll these days you got with it. It's been awhile since I made our own Christmas cards. And I did it on a Mac. Not exactly compatible with a PC about two decades older than the long gone Blueberry IMac. 

So, I'm not sure if I paired Do You Hear What I Hear with this card front. If I did it was before I learned the story behind the Carol. When you reach a certain age, the sparkly lights and tinsel don't sparkle quite the sparkle theway they used to. And I believe I will stop right there. I believe a cat petting session is due right about now since I don't drink. (sometimes I wish I did)

DO YOU HEAR WHAT I HEAR

Said the night wind to the little lamb,
Do you see what I see
Way up in the sky, little lamb,
Do you see what I see
A star, a star, dancing in the night
With a tail as big as a kite
With a tail as big as a kite

Said the little lamb to the shepherd boy,
Do you hear what I hear
Ringing through the sky, shepherd boy,
Do you hear what I hear.
A song, a song, high above the trees
With a voice as big as the sea
With a voice as big as the sea.

Said the shepherd boy to the mighty king
Do you know what I know
In your palace warm, mighty king,
Do you know what I know
A Child, a Child shivers in the cold
Let us bring Him silver and gold
Let us bring Him silver and gold

Said the king to the people everywhere,
Listen to what I say
Pray for peace, people everywhere!
Listen to what I say
The Child, the Child, sleeping in the night
He will bring us goodness and light
He will bring us goodness and light

The piece was written by Noel Regney and his wife Gloria Shayne in 1962. 1962, the same year as the Cuban Missile Crisis. I’m not sure how close we actually came to pushing that first and final button but this carol was their answer. A plaintive call for peace. If those missiles had been launched there would have been no one left for the night winds to tell their secrets to. The trees would have been charred skeletons. Branches lifted to ash filled skies in final a futile prayer for their lives. The songs of seabirds and waves silenced. All that would have been left were the stars shining down on a world with no one from kings to shepherd boys left to see them.

NOT YOUR TRADITIONAL CHRISTMAS CARD

 

Raised by parents described as pacifists, the story is that his mother cried when he left for West Point. Just about the only way a smart young man from a farm family could get a college education. Honestly, outside of Jimmy Carter, the last president who really "got it." Imagine the reaction if you put this on the front of your Christmas cards. 

BUT IT WAS A GIFT

 

Lucky did leave us "gifts" but they were ususally left out of the enclosed back deck not a coffee cup or my slipper. There was the one that was still breathing. Out came the tongs and the paper towels. Poor little mousie. As long as they stayed outside they were OK. Once the mouse was in the house it was a onoe way to mouse heaven.

DON'T MESS WITH GRANDMA

 I'm digging through old picture files searching for pics I created for our own Christmas cards over the years. Well this isn't anywhere near christmas but I just had another birthday and this badass gal made me smile.

And it doesn't look like she's even out of breath or even messed up- her dress. 

TOO WEIRD FOR WORDS

 I did this one a few years ago. Too bad it fits right in with all the conspiracy theories floating through the social media semi madness. Recognizing that LGBTQ citizens exist is not going to change anyone else through some "magic" spell. I still believe that there is enough real weirdness in the world. There is no need to make it up. Although at this point no one was advocating wholesale murder of gays or sticking them in concentration camps. 

There was an article on Huffington Post a couple of days ago about a gal who refused an invitation to her son to attend a birthday party for a little girl with two dads. Turns out the story was a hoax perpetrated by a couple of radio dj’s whose names don’t really matter at this stage of the game. With luck they’ll be drawing unemployment this time next week. Don’t know what they thought they were going to prove. Stories about real bigots are easy enough to find without making them up. And it just makes it harder to get people to believe the real stories when they surface.

Did lead to some very interesting comments though. And I gotta tell ya, there are some folks out there that are even weirder than I expected. One of the odder commenters seemed to believe that somehow giving gays equal rights and allowing them to marry would lead to the extinction of the human race. Unfortunately that original comment has been deleted. Can’t imagine why, HP’s moderators get a little too zealous in their duties sometimes, in my opinion. As long as the folks aren’t cussin’, calling people names and so on, I can be fairly cool with that. But, apparently, according to this commenter there is a world wide conspiracy of gays to force us all into same sex unions or some equally outrageous actions.

Anyway this is the salvaged comment.
"You just live long enough to see a very large number of LGBTs hold Political offices all over the World. It is a mathematical certainty, once you start pairing Humanity man-man and woman-woman, then, you eliminate the manifestation of Babies. And this will affect everything, the Economy and all, once Humanity stops making babis, then, it is game over-Extinction Point reached. "

I did get a reply to my reply and I’m including that. It didn’t get posted either. If I could have replied it would have been along the lines of just because gays have the right to marry; it doesn’t follow that straights are going to stop getting married (although they seem to be doing that any way) and having kids (the kids are arriving with or without benefit of clergy, a justice of the peace or the local Marrying Sam). Most of us with two X chromosomes are still attracted to those humans with the XY combo. Gay rights won’t change that. Gay marriage won't change that. Biology is still biology and at seven billion plus we're in no danger of extinction on that front.

Too many cases of terminal stupidity just might do the trick though.

PAINTING WITH WORDS

 This is a blast from the past. From back when Sarah Palin hit the news. Hard to believe we're "blest" with some who are crazier than she was.

This meditation, essay whatever was brought on by the news that Sarah Palin’s contract with Fox wasn’t renewed. And both sides are saying it was their idea. Whatever. A sorrier example of verbal illiteracy I’ve seen yet.

So, this is a bit  of a departure from what I’ve been writing, but maybe not so much. Back when the boys were little we picked out a few books that we thought would be fun to have on hand to read from. Turned out to be a complete flop. Kids that wore out my Sleeping Beauty tape couldn’t sit still long enough to listen to one of Kipling’s Just So Stories. I was entranced by The Elephant’s Child. They weren’t. (very long sigh here) BTW I ran into the Elephant's Child when I stumbled across Reading Rainbow. Mr. Burton you were and are still wonderful.

My generation were probably the last to be verbally rather than visually oriented. Read Kipling. Read Dickens. They drew word pictures and your imagination was free to run riot. Dicken’s intro to A Christmas Carol is really priceless. The winter cold. The fog. The growing dark at three in the afternoon. Fog so thick it was creeping through the key hole in the door. Scrooge, who went through life with an icicle hanging from his nose in the middle of July.

The elephant’s child with his ‘satiable curiosity and endless questions setting off to find out what the crocodile has for dinner complete with a supply of melons (green) Sugar cane (purple) and bananas (the little red ones) in search of the great, grey green Limpopo River all set about with fever trees, where, he’s told, the crocodile lives. On the way he meets a bi colored python rock snake… and the crocodile. Only to find that today, he’s on the menu. And did I mention that up to this point elephants had noses that looked more like a boot than a trunk?

So, here’s the elephant finding himself in the middle of a tug of war between the crocodile who has hold of his nose and the snake who’s hanging onto the hind legs with all his snaky strength and advising

“Then the Bi-Coloured-Python-Rock-Snake scuffled down from the bank and said, 'My young friend, if you do not now, immediately and instantly, pull as hard as ever you can, it is my opinion that your acquaintance in the large-pattern leather ulster' (and by this he meant the Crocodile) 'will jerk you into yonder limpid stream before you can say Jack Robinson.' An ulster was a long coat with a built in elbow length cape. 

This is the way Bi-Coloured-Python-Rock-Snakes always talk.

Then the Elephant's Child sat back on his little haunches, and pulled, and pulled, and pulled, and his nose began to stretch. And the Crocodile floundered into the water, making it all creamy with great sweeps of his tail, and he pulled, and pulled, and pulled.

And the Elephant's Child's nose kept on stretching; and the Elephant's Child spread all his little four legs and pulled, and pulled, and pulled, and his nose kept on stretching; and the Crocodile threshed his tail like an oar, and he pulled, and pulled, and pulled, and at each pull the Elephant's Child's nose grew longer and longer—and it hurt him hijjus!

Then the Elephant's Child felt his legs slipping, and he said through his nose, which was now nearly five feet long, 'This is too butch for be!'

Then the Bi-Coloured-Python-Rock-Snake came down from the bank, and knotted himself in a double-clove-hitch round the Elephant's Child's hind legs, and said, 'Rash and inexperienced traveller, we will now seriously devote ourselves to a little high tension, because if we do not, it is my impression that yonder self-propelling man-of-war with the armour-plated upper deck' (and by this, O Best Beloved, he meant the Crocodile), 'will permanently vitiate your future career.” (Talented snake. He can do double clove hitches)

The crocodile the elephant and the bi colored python rock snake. 

I loved it. My nephews couldn't be bothered. They were too busy playing Super Mario Brothers. Heck I watch movies. I watch some TV. Not as much as I used to. But, we really lost something in the transition. The old authors painted pictures with words in a way that most film just can’t match. And that most writers can’t match either. No matter how many awards they get.

And that may be part what attracts me to the Celtic traditions. The old bards and poets were masters of the word. The best of the old poets could compose a satire that would topple thrones or cause a king who chose to ignore the rules of hospitality to break out in boils. So the old tales tell us. It was not wise to insult a bard.