Bells.

The time draws near the birth of Christ:

      The moon is hid; the night is still;

      The Christmas bells from hill to hill

Answer each other in the mist.

Four voices of four hamlets round,

      From far and near, on mead and moor,

      Swell out and fail, as if a door

Were shut between me and the sound:

Each voice four changes on the wind,

      That now dilate, and now decrease,

      Peace and goodwill, goodwill and peace,

Peace and goodwill, to all mankind.

This year I slept and woke with pain,

      I almost wish'd no more to wake,

      And that my hold on life would break

Before I heard those bells again:

But they my troubled spirit rule,

      For they controll'd me when a boy;

      They bring me sorrow touch'd with joy,

The merry merry bells of Yule.

Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Welcome.

On our way homeward his heart seemed overflowing with generous and happy feelings. As we passed over a rising ground which commanded something of a prospect, the sounds of rustic merriment now and then reached our ears; the Squire paused for a few moments, and looked around with an air of inexpressible benignity. The beauty of the day was of itself sufficient to inspire philanthropy. Notwithstanding the frostiness of the morning, the sun in his cloudless journey had acquired sufficient power to melt away the thin covering of snow from every southern declivity, and to bring out the living green which adorns an English landscape even in mid-winter. Large tracts of smiling verdure contrasted with the dazzling whiteness of the shaded slopes and hollows. Every sheltered bank, on which the broad rays rested, yielded its silver rill of cold and limpid water, glittering through the dripping grass; and sent up slight exhalations to contribute to the thin haze that hung just above the surface of the earth. There was something truly cheering in this triumph of warmth and verdure over the frosty thraldom of winter; it was, as the Squire observed, an emblem of Christmas hospitality, breaking through the chills of ceremony and selfishness, and thawing every heart into a flow. He pointed with pleasure to the indications of good cheer reeking from the chimneys of the comfortable farm-houses and low thatched cottages. "I love," said he, "to see this day well kept by rich and poor; it is a great thing to have one day in the year, at least, when you are sure of being welcome wherever you go, and of having, as it were, the world all thrown open to you; and I am almost disposed to join with Poor Robin, in his malediction of every churlish enemy to this honest festival:—

"Those who at Christmas do repine,

And would fain hence despatch him,

May they with old Duke Humphry dine,

Or else may Squire Ketch catch 'em."

The Squire went on to lament the deplorable decay of the games and amusements which were once prevalent at this season among the lower orders, and countenanced by the higher: when the old halls of castles and manor-houses were thrown open at daylight; when the tables were covered with brawn, and beef, and humming ale; when the harp and the carol resounded all day long, and when rich and poor were alike welcome to enter and make merry. "Our old games and local customs," said he, "had a great effect in making the peasant fond of his home, and the promotion of them by the gentry made him fond of his lord. They made the times merrier, and kinder, and better; and I can truly say, with one of our old poets,—

"I like them well—the curious preciseness

And all-pretended gravity of those

That seek to banish hence these harmless sports,

Have thrust away much ancient honesty.

Washington Irving, from "Christmas Day" 

Peace.

Bouguereau, Song of the Angels, 1881

Luke 2:8-20

8 And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. 9 An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. 10 But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people. 11 Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord. 12 This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.”

13 Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying,

14 “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests.”

15 When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let’s go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has told us about.”

16 So they hurried off and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby, who was lying in the manger. 17 When they had seen him, they spread the word concerning what had been told them about this child, 18 and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them. 19 But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart. 20 The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things they had heard and seen, which were just as they had been told.

Waiting.

Nast, Santa Claus Waiting for the Children to Get to Sleep, 1857

Blake, "Walking in the Air"

Libera performs ...

Today's offerings.

Thanks, Jess.

Done.

Done and done.

HUZZAH FOR HEARTH SEATS!  Extra points for the well-laced Guinness glass.

Many thanks and warm wishes for a merry Christmas to Walker's Arms.  The images found there will always be fertile ground for my imagination.

Excellent.

Excellent books for young readers of all ages ...

“So, Master Harker,” the old man said, “we always used to say, ‘It’s the snow that brings the wolves out.’ Many a bitter night did we stand the wolf-guard. Now here, once more, they’re running. We must stand to our spears.”

John Masefield, from The Box of Delights

King's.

The 1954 BBC broadcast of Nine Lessons and Carols from King's College Cambridge, directed by Boris Ord ...

Answering.

Millais, Christmas Eve, 1887

CHRISTMAS EVE

Christmas hath a darkness

    Brighter than the blazing noon,

Christmas hath a chillness

   Warmer than the heat of June,

Christmas hath a beauty

   Lovelier than the world can show:

For Christmas bringeth Jesus,

   Brought for us so low.

Earth, strike up your music,

   Birds that sing and bells that ring;

Heaven hath answering music

   For all Angels soon to sing:

Earth, put on your whitest

   Bridal robe of spotless snow:

For Christmas bringeth Jesus,

   Brought for us so low.

Christina Rossetti

Woodward, "Ding, Dong Merrily on High"

Pray you, dutifully prime your matin chime, ye ringers!

Listened.

Alden, "They Went Around the House, Playing Under the Windows", 1908

The party now broke up for the night with the kind-hearted old custom of shaking hands. As I passed through the hall, on the way to my chamber, the dying embers of the Yule-clog still sent forth a dusky glow; and had it not been the season when "no spirit dares stir abroad," I should have been half tempted to steal from my room at midnight, and peep whether the fairies might not be at their revels about the hearth.

My chamber was in the old part of the mansion, the ponderous furniture of which might have been fabricated in the days of the giants. The room was panelled with cornices of heavy carved-work, in which flowers and grotesque faces were strangely intermingled; and a row of black-looking portraits stared mournfully at me from the walls. The bed was of rich though faded damask, with a lofty tester, and stood in a niche opposite a bow-window. I had scarcely got into bed when a strain of music seemed to break forth in the air just below the window. I listened, and found it proceeded from a band, which I concluded to be the waits from some neighbouring village. They went round the house, playing under the windows. I drew aside the curtains, to hear them more distinctly. The moonbeams fell through the upper part of the casement, partially lighting up the antiquated apartment. The sounds, as they receded, became more soft and aërial, and seemed to accord with quiet and moonlight. I listened and listened—they became more and more tender and remote, and, as they gradually died away, my head sank upon the pillow and I fell asleep.

Washington Irving, from the "Christmas Eve" entry in Old Christmas

Traditional, "The Holly and The Ivy"

The King's College Choir performs ...

Jerry Douglas, "All Through the Night"

Excellent.

An excellent movie ...

Resurrect The Chowder Society!

Frank & Bingo, "Jingle Bells"

A little toddy the body ...

Grit-mas.

Led Zeppelin, "Bron-Yr-Aur Stomp"

It's sandwich time.

Mandatory.

Oh, the times, they have changed ...

Can you imagine if this happened today?  The tears?  The screaming? How quickly it would end, once a eunuch slipped and fell, splitting a seam in his frail-cat suit?  

I would like to put forth legislation that required the mandatory participation in such an event of all members of Congress seeking reelection, with their constituents participating as well.. It would be called "Throw the Bastards Out" and work sort of like a bicameral Surviving the Game.  Survivors would be deemed truly worthy of rejoining the election process.  

Maybe God will have mercy.

Snowscapes.

Today's destination takes us through wintery snowscapes towards "The Waltz of the Snowflakes" from Tchaikovsky's ballet, The Nutcracker.

Coachman.

In the Autumn of 1984, I went alone to see a movie that changed my life ...

To win applause one must write stuff so simple that a coachman might sing it.

Mozart, from a 1782 letter to his father

After seeing Amadeus, I researched, listened, researched some more, ate rustic cheeses and drank wine out of dark green bottles while I listened.  Tapers lit my reading.  

Classical music was immediately stripped of its elitism and I fell in love with its ability to make my days simply magical -- more truthful, more beautiful, more good.  It could be invigorating, calming, and sentimental (thanks, Mum); suitable for cooking, studying, driving, reading, partying, working, being outside ...

The scene above has always struck me as a vision of happiness. I would have been in that audience.  The coachman in me will be forever grateful.

Scoop.

Drink a pot of ale, eat a scoop of Stilton every day, you will make "old bones."

Nineteenth-century saying

Memories.

We comfort ourselves by reliving memories of protection. Something closed must retain our memories, while leaving them their original value as images. Memories of the outside world will never have the same tonality as those of home and, by recalling these memories, we add to our store of dreams; we are never real historians, but always near poets, and our emotion is perhaps nothing but an expression of a poetry that was lost.

Gaston Bachelard, from The Poetics of Space

Holst, "In the Bleak Midwinter"

 The King's College Choir performs ...

Happy Birthday, Puccini

Giacomo Puccini was born on this date in 1858.

Elina Garanca and some other people perform "Vissi d'arte," from Tosca ...

Alone.

When we are alone on a starlit night; when by chance we see the migrating birds in autumn descending on a grove of junipers to rest and eat; when we see children in a moment when they are really children; when we know love in our own hearts; or when, like the Japanese poet Bashō we hear an old frog land in a quiet pond with a solitary splash—at such times the awakening, the turning inside out of all values, the “newness,” the emptiness and the purity of vision that make themselves evident, provide a glimpse of the cosmic dance.

Thomas Merton

Excellent.

An excellent album ...

Prepare Ye!

Genesis, "Dusk"

Duke covers it masterfully ... 

Velvet.

I see a small white chalet with a garden near the pine forests. I see it all very simple, with big white china stoves and a very pleasant woman with a tanned face and sun-bleached hair bringing in the coffee. I see winter — snow and a load of wood arriving at our door. I see us going off in a little sleigh — with huge fur gloves on, and having a picnic in the forest and eating ham and fur sandwiches. Then there is a lamp, there are our books. It's very still. The frost is on the pane. You are in your room writing. I in mine. Outside the stars are shining and the pine trees are dark like velvet.

Katherine Mansfield, from a letter to J.M. Murry

Excellent.

An excellent book ...

In my mind are all the tides, their seasons, their ebbs and their flows. In my mind are all the halls, the endless procession of them, the intricate pathways. When this world becomes too much for me, when I grow tired of the noise and the dirt and the people, I close my eyes and I name a particular vestibule to myself; then I name a hall.

Susanna Clarke, from Piranesi

Festive.

MUM'S BLUE CHEESE DIP

For a festive afternoon's-worth of family snacking ...

• 2 8-ounce packages Philadelphia cream cheese
• 4 cups Maytag blue cheese, crumbled
• 1 pound Nueske's Triple-Thick Butcher Cut bacon, baked on a rack, diced
• 1 head garlic cloves, minced
• ½ cup heavy cream 
• 4 hefty shakes Lea & Perrins Worcestershire
• 1 large pinch kosher salt
• freshly ground black pepper

Fully combine all ingredients in a crock pot. Warm.

For best results, serve with pumpernickel toast, coarsely-chopped green onion, and a roaring fire.

My Pop would smear this on a sandwich of leftover rib roast on the day after Christmas.

Thanks, Buff.

Consigned.

Thomson, Moonlight, 1916

AN OLD MAN'S WINTER NIGHT

All out-of-doors looked darkly in at him

Through the thin frost, almost in separate stars,

That gathers on the pane in empty rooms.

What kept his eyes from giving back the gaze

Was the lamp tilted near them in his hand.

What kept him from remembering what it was

That brought him to that creaking room was age.

He stood with barrels round him—at a loss.

And having scared the cellar under him

In clomping there, he scared it once again

In clomping off—and scared the outer night,

Which has its sounds, familiar, like the roar

Of trees and crack of branches, common things,

But nothing so like beating on a box.

A light he was to no one but himself

Where now he sat, concerned with he knew what,

A quiet light, and then not even that.

He consigned to the moon—such as she was,

So late-arising—to the broken moon

As better than the sun in any case

For such a charge, his snow upon the roof,

His icicles along the wall to keep;

And slept. The log that shifted with a jolt

Once in the stove, disturbed him and he shifted,

And eased his heavy breathing, but still slept.

One aged man—one man—can’t keep a house,

A farm, a countryside, or if he can,

It’s thus he does it of a winter night.

 Robert Frost

Pleasures.

Wyeth, North Light, 1996

Let there be a cottage, a real cottage, a white cottage, embowered with flowering shrubs, so chosen as to unfold a succession of flowers upon the walls, and clustering round the windows through all the months of spring, summer, and autumn—beginning, in fact, with May roses, and ending with jasmine. Let it, however, not be spring, nor summer, nor autumn—but winter, in his sternest shape. This is a most important point in the science of happiness. And I am surprised to see people overlook it, and think it matter of congratulation that winter is going; or, if coming, is not likely to be a severe one. On the contrary, I put up a petition annually, for as much snow, hail, frost, or storm, of one kind or other, as the skies can possibly afford us. Surely every body is aware of the divine pleasures which attend a winter fire-side: candles at four o'clock, warm hearth-rugs, tea, a fair tea-maker, shutters closed, curtains flowing in ample draperies on the floor, whilst the wind and rain are raging audibly without.

Thomas De Quincey, from Confessions of an English Opium-Eater

Marillion, "Fugazi"

Where are the prophets?  

Where are the poets?  

Where are the visionaries?

DR. OMEB, "Deck the War Pigs"

I love it when a cover is better than the original.

Bone.

There's never a dull moment between me and the bone.

Excellent.

An excellent book ...

Miracle.

Poortvliet, Hare, 1976

Look up at the miracle of the falling snow, - the air a dizzy maze of whirling, eddying flakes, noiselessly transforming the world, the exquisite crystals dropping in ditch and gutter, and disguising in the same suit of spotless livery all objects upon which they fall. How novel and fine the first drifts! The old, dilapidated fence is suddenly set off with the most fantastic ruffles, scalloped and fluted after an unheard-of fashion! Looking down a long line of decrepit stone wall, in the trimming of which the wind had fairly run riot, I saw, as for the first time, what a severe yet master artist old Winter is. Ah, a severe artist! How stern the woods look, dark and cold and as rigid against the horizon as iron!

John Burroghs, from "The Snow-Walkers"

Jethro Tull, "Ring Out Solstice Bells"

Peace.

My Mum instilled in me an appreciation for books and reading, art, music, and stillness.

She taught me how to cook.

She lived the importance of faith and patience, skills I still aspire to.

A mother is the truest friend we have. When trials heavy and sudden, fall upon us; when adversity takes the place of prosperity; when friends who rejoice with us in our sunshine desert us; when trouble thickens around us, still will she cling to us, and endeavor by her kind precepts and counsels to dissipate the clouds of darkness, and cause peace to return to our hearts.

Washington Irving

Today I'll raise a small glass ("not too much") of Johnny Walker Red, and toast her smile, her compassion, and her loving patience.

Happy Birthday, Parsons

Alan Parsons was born on this day in 1948.

The Alan Parsons Symphonic Project, "What Goes Up" ...

Excellent.

An excellent album ...

Published.

What we obtain too cheap, we esteem too lightly: it is dearness only that gives every thing its value. Heaven knows how to put a proper price upon its goods; and it would be strange indeed if so celestial an article as freedom should not be highly rated.

Thomas Paine, from The American Crisis, published on this day in 1776

Published.

Charles Dickens published A Christmas Carol: A Ghost Story of Christmas on this day in 1843.

The full text is HERE.

Neil Gaiman reads from Dickens' annotated text ... HERE.

Pudding.

Mrs. Crocombe of Audley End House demonstrates plum pudding ...

Religious.

Firchau, Rain Shadow, 2013

Life's biggest tragedy is that we get old too soon and wise too late.

Benjamin Franklin

For best results ...

• Slow down every single aspect of daily life (avoid pop culture and mass-media, take your TV to the dump, cook as many meals as possible on a charcoal grill, and take the scenic route to work).
• Open windows.
• Get outside and breathe deeply: eat outside, read outside, ride a bike outside (in cotton shorts and an old t-shirt, without a helmet), walk outside (in the woods, in the early morning and late at night, without a flashlight), sleep outside.
• Climb trees, then read and exclaim poetry while you're up there.
• Feed and admire birds.
• Go barefoot.
• Make wood fires, appreciating their smell and meditative properties.
• Swim in creeks and lakes.
• Draw in a sketchbook, with a pencil, sharpened with a pocketknife.
• Listen to more AC⚡DC and Mozart horn concertos than you usually do. Turn the volume up.
• Cook at home and, as much as politely possible, eat with your fingers.
• Smile. Look people in the eye and greet them with a hearty handshake. Laugh.  Tell jokes.  
• Read books that are older than you.

Performed with religious dedication, these exercises will reverse the aging process and redefine your understanding of wisdom.

Beware.

BostonReview asks, "To whom does the world belong?"...

AI developers will doubtless argue that they need to be able to exploit the products of their models in order to incentivize innovation; licensors will argue that they need to be financially rewarded for all their efforts in fine-tuning AI models to produce the kind of outputs they seek. Hollywood studios will ask: How can we put AI to use in generating marvelous images for the whole family to enjoy if any Tom, Dick, or Harry can “steal” the characters, plots, and graphics it generates for us? How can we devote our expertise in fine-tuning AIs to design drugs, pharmaceutical companies will crow, if we can’t recoup our investment by controlling the market with intellectual property protections? These industries are extremely skilled in influencing the legal frameworks under which they operate; their efforts to strengthen and extend their intellectual property rights have resulted in a staggering and unequivocal series of victories. How can we expect the public domain, which has no financial heft, no army of lawyers, no investors and no lobbyists, to compete with that?

Innovation lacking logic has given us front-loading washing machines, smart refrigerators, and LED lighbulbs.  Make yourself familiar with its odor and beware of its stain on intellectual property.

True-Born.

Happy Birthday, Beethoven

Stieler, Beethoven with the Manuscript for Missa Solemnis (detail), 1820

To play a wrong note is insignificant; to play without passion is inexcusable.

Ludwig von Beethoven, born on this day in 1770.

Kristian Zimerman performs the Piano Concerto No. 5 in E-flat Major, Op. 73, "Emperor" with Lenny and the Vienna Philharmonic ...

Duke, "The Carol of the Bells"

Happy Birthday, Simonon

Paul Simonon was born on this day in 1955.

Clash, "Clampdown"

Real.

It may be that when we no longer know what to do,

We have come to our real work,
And when we no longer know which way to go,
We have begun our real journey.
The mind that is not baffled is not employed.
The impeded stream is the one that sings.

Wendell Berry

Valuable.

Once considered so valuable to Jews in Eastern and Central Europe as a critical cooking fat, schmaltz was stored in vessels secured with padlocks. 

Thank you, Diane.

Do.

Kurt reminds me of the book my Pop was reading when he passed ...

Enemy-occupied territory—that is what this world is. Christianity is the story of how the rightful king has landed, you might say landed in disguise, and is calling us all to take part in a great campaign of sabotage. When you go to church you are really listening-in to the secret wireless from our friends: that is why the enemy is so anxious to prevent us from going. He does it by playing on our conceit and laziness and intellectual snobbery. I know someone will ask me, “Do you really mean, at this time of day, to re-introduce our old friend the devil—hoofs and horns and all?” Well, what the time of day has to do with it I do not know. And I am not particular about the hoofs and horns. But in other respects my answer is, "Yes, I do.” I do not claim to know anything about his personal appearance. If anybody really wants to know him better I would say to that person, “Don’t worry. If you really want to, you will. Whether you’ll like it when you do is another question.”

C.S. Lewis, from Mere Christianity

Sounds like something he'd say when he was merely talking to me in the garage. 

I believe that what we become depends on what our fathers teach us at odd moments, when they aren't trying to teach us. We are formed by little scraps of wisdom.

Umberto Eco

The Oyster Months Yuletide Songbook

Caldecott, The Yule Log, 1886

An Oyster Months-approved songbook of Yuletide drones and dirges ...

The pitchy gloom without makes the heart dilate on entering the room filled with the glow and warmth of the evening fire. The ruddy blaze diffuses an artificial summer and sunshine through the room, and lights up each countenance into a kindlier welcome. Where does the honest face of hospitality expand into a broader and more cordial smile—where is the shy glance of love more sweetly eloquent—than by the winter fireside? and as the hollow blast of wintry wind rushes through the hall, claps the distant door, whistles about the casement, and rumbles down the chimney, what can be more grateful than that feeling of sober and sheltered security with which we look round upon the comfortable chamber and the scene of domestic hilarity?

Washington Irving, from "Old Christmas," found in The Sketchbook of Geoffrey Crayon, Gent.

Winter

VOCES8

Silent Night: Early Christmas Music & Carols

Arianna Savall and Petter Udland Johansen

Yule

Trio Mediæval

Winter Songs

Ola Gjeilo, Choir Of Royal Holloway, and 12 Ensemble

On a Cold Winter's Day: Early Christmas Music and Carols from the British Isles

Quadriga Consort

Winter's Delights: Early Christmas Music and Carols from the British Isles

Quadriga Consort

On Yoolis Night: Medieval Carols and Motets

Anonymous 4

Sing Heigh Ho! Unto the Green Holly!

Folger Consort

Wolcum Yule: Celtic and British Songs and Carols

Anonymous 4

A Deep But Dazzling Darkness

Apollo5