Christmas Eve

A week later it was Christmas Eve. Everyone stopped harvesting early that night and all the people from the district, men, women and children went down to the little church in the valley. They did it every year. They'd been doing it as long as he could remember, and he hoped they would always keep on doing it as long as he lived. For there was something about Christmas that made him feel different, almost as if he wanted to cry. The great Christmas tree rose up almost to the ceiling of the church, gleaming and sparkling with light near the steps of the altar. And when it was ablaze with hundreds of pretty candles it was as if fairyland and heaven had combined. In front of it sat the children, rows and rows of them, their faces bright from the light of the tree and the eyes brighter from their own radiance, nearby stood the little tableau of Joseph and Mary and the baby Jesus in his crib of straw in the stable — straw that seemed somehow to fit so naturally into the pattern of their own lives in the harvest season. Soon the organ started playing, and the people sang then as they never did for the rest of the year: the fine old carols that meant Christmas and nothing but Christmas — 'Hark the Herald Angels Sing' and 'The First Noel' and 'Silent Night'. The children sang too — special songs and items of Christmastide — and the pastor read again the story of the shepherds and the coming of the angel.

Then all the children filed past the tree to receive a gift and a great bulging bag of Christmas lollies before everyone went out into the mild summer night. And there was peace on earth and goodwill among men. The stars fairly glittered in the night sky and the land lay still and dark and quiet right up to the crests of the hills. Outside the church the people shook hands and laughed and gave each other Christmas wishes. Bruno thought it was wonderful for people to be so happy. Then at lays they began to trickle off home, some walking and some driving, to their own little Christmases in the parlours and the dining rooms, where there were still more Christmas trees with parcels to be unwrapped and shouts of glee and thanks and the lighting of candles and the singing of carols. And finally there were bottles of hop beer from the cellar and good things to eat and new presents to try out and a happy going to bed because tomorrow was Christmas Day.

Bruno fairly sang with the happiness of that Christmas. They went off to church again next morning, and although the great tree seemed strangely subdued after the glory of the previous night, the church was still full of its spirit, and the message and the music were still the same. Then there was a huge Christmas dinner, with Mum for once completely relaxed behind her mountains of food, and the boys fairly rolling wand wallowing with ham, turkey and Christmas pudding so that, after the washing-up, everyone had to lie down and sleep it off for an hour. Everyone except Brino. He couldn't bear to be idle when there were so many new things to test and explore. At last the others began to appear again; Mum organised the milking squad because of Christmas Day everyone helped with the milking except Dad, who of course was never called upon to do such a thing; and then the whole family went off to Obst's, where the Gunthers and the Geisters and the Scholzes had been invited for a mammoth Christmas tea.

Colin Thiele, The Sun on the Stubble

I want to take this opportunity to wish you all a very Merry Christmas, and a Safe, Healthy and Blessed New Year. Thank you for reading A Peaceful Day, and thank you, especially, for being my wonderful friends. I appreciate you all so very much, and look forward to learning more about you and your thoughts on things dear to your hearts in the New Year.
It's Christmas Eve. It has begun! We're doing the things that we do every year, and like Bruno, I hope we keep doing them as long as I live, because Christmas is special to me too, and I love the way it makes me feel, and the way people are nicer to each other, somehow, and how people sing more, and give special, thoughtful gifts to each other, and smile a lot. And then there is the food. Oh my! The food.
May God bless you all this festive season.
With lots of love

Jeanne and family. xxx

Father Christmas

It's a bit naughty, but we bloomin' well love it!!



Listen to what author Raymond Briggs has to say about it here:



And here, for completion, The Snowman.



We never miss either of them. Chuckle.

A Gingerbready Christmas

It's turned out a gingerbready sort of Christmas. First Jemimah felt a need to try her hand at gingerbread men (and gingerbread ladies, and gingerbread babies as well).

Here's the gingerbread recipe she used (watch the language).  It worked really well.  The dough was easy to roll, and the gingerbread was a little bit soft inside a nice crunchy exterior. Oishi. 8 minutes, exactly, did the trick.

Meet Mr and Mrs Claus. (They were a bit suntanned from their pre-Christmas holiday in Tahiti.  It looked nice and warm, and they decided on the spur of the moment to go.  Just the two of them.  They're spontaneous like that.)

Next Jemimah and the Princess Pea turned their hands to gingerbread houses for the gingerbread family to live in.

They are both much more talented than me and they did rather a fine job. Yes?

Then, coincidentally, the  Myer Windows this year featured Jan Brett's Gingerbread Friends, which was a most very pleasant surprise, and made everything seem sort of meant to be. In a Christmassy sort of gingerbready way.



Of course, seeing the windows lead to reading the book.  Which was very fun, as reading to the family always is.  It was a new story to us, and Jan Brett's pictures were just wonderful!

It was kinda cool being able to purchase one of Jan Brett's picture books in an Australian store. Because of the windows, of course. For some reason her books have never taken off Downunder, and I've never seen one for sale here before.  Fortunately, some of them are on YouTube.  Here's Jan, herself reading Gingerbread Baby.





I love this too - plus, I went to Stockbridge earlier this year with the beautiful Richele. Isn't that cool?



The Night before Christmas is now the next book on my 'must have or I'll just die' list.

I just adore the way she tells a second story in the borders.  In Gingerbread Friends, it is the story of Gingerbread Baby.  A completely different book.  That is just so tantalising!

Doesn't this make you want to bake warm spicy gingerbread yourself?  It makes the kitchen smell so good.  If you live somewhere that you can get Golden Syrup, then do give the recipe we used a try.  It's fantastic.  The rest of you will need to settle for Molasses, I guess.

If you don't have time to make and decorate a Gingerbread house, you can decorate a virtual one here.  It is a whole lot easier to clean up after than a real one, and Jemimah and I had quite a lot of fun with it.  Perhaps you will too.

The countdown to Christmas Day is really on now.  4 more sleeps.  Are you getting excited?  (I am.) Have you finished your Christmas shopping?  (I have.  Feeling smug.)  Have you been feeling gingerbready this year, or have you been baking something else or doing something extra crafty?

 I'd love to hear about what you've been up to!  Come and talk to me!

Drunken Parrots

Each year around this time we have a rather interesting problem. The Drunken Parrot Problem.  No, it's not too much Christmas glögg, either.

Musk parrots are a type of lorikeet, mostly green, with a yellow patch at the side of the breast. They have bright red forehead and ear coverts, which make them rather Christmassy, doesn't it?  Their call is a harsh, metallic screech, and they constantly chatter while they're eating.  'Muskies' are nomadic, travelling widely in search of flowering and fruiting trees, and we see them here a couple of times a year - when the eucalypts are in flower, and around Christmas for the pears.

Ah yes, the pears.

Each year the birds arrive in a large flock, ready to gorge on their Christmas dinner.  For a couple of days all is well, but then the birds begin displaying some very odd symptoms.  They get aggressive - even more pugnacious than usual - and lose coordination, falling out of trees and having difficulty in flying straight.  This is all very funny, but not long after, they start attacking their own reflections and fly, screeching loudly all the while, straight for our floor to ceiling windows.

Mostly, these foolish birds die in their noble attempt for supremacy, but enough survive to keep us busy rescuing them and keeping them safe and warm until they recover enough to fly away.  Those that fall into the pool are bravely rescued from a watery grave by Jemimah, who remains in her bathing suit at the ready.  At the height of the silly season we can fish up to twenty of these silly inebriated birds from the water each day.  They don't make it easy, either.  Often they manage to escape down the leaf trap under the deck, where rescue is far more difficult.

Australian poet, Judith Wright wrote a lovely poem about the parrots that came each year to feast on her loquats:

There’s not a fruit on any tree
to match their crimson, green and gold.
To see them cling and sip and sway,
loquats are no great price to pay.

We pay a much bigger price, I think - I would love it if they would leave a few of the pears for us - but I would be sad if they stopped coming to visit, with their funny antics and their beautiful red and green festive display.  We can always buy pears from the market.

Don't you love Jemimah's face?

Here's the rest of Judith Wright's poem.

Parrots

Loquats are cold as winter suns.
Among rough leaves their clusters glow
like oval beads of cloudy amber,
or small fat flames of birthday candles.

Parrots, when the winter dwindles
their forest fruits and seeds, remember
where the swelling loquats grow,
how chill and sweet their thin juice runs,

and shivering in the morning cold
we draw the curtains back and see
the lovely greed of their descending,
the lilt of flight that blurs their glories,

and warm our eyes upon the lories
and the rainbow-parrots landing.
There’s not a fruit on any tree
to match their crimson, green and gold.

To see them cling and sip and sway,
loquats are no great price to pay.

Judith Wright 1960

What does the spleen do?

 

This is really priceless. Better than the Ylvis version, methinks. Chuckle.

A visit to the dentist

You can tell you're CMers when a trip to the dentist ends up being a day when you get to watch a professional snake catcher, and he ends up telling you all about his work, and what he does with the snakes once he catches them and all that sort of stuff, and he's really nice, and he seems to really like kids and be happy to have them around, only not too close, of course, because the snake could be a brownie, and brownies don't like kids much at all.

After you settle down to have a bit of lunch, you spot a giant egret on the other side of the river, so you get pretty excited because you've never seen one of those in Swan Hill before, and you watch it for a while, and have a laugh at its antics, and can quite understand why ladies used to make hats from their feathers a long time ago, and you wish you had your nature notebook so you could make a quick entry.

Then lunch arrives, so you talk a bit with each other about how very happy you are that you don't even need to think about the dentist for another six months, and you drink some wine to help you forget that the experience ever happened, and you are glad you chose the curry, because it is really, really good.

Then you feed some of the absolute mountain of chips to a friendly little peewee, and eventually you having him eating out of your hand, which is really cool, and again you regret the nature notebook.

Then you manage to convince your wonderful husband that he really does have room for two desserts, because you can't decide between the New York Cheesecake and the Apple and Ricotta Cake that the waiter assures you is the best thing on the menu, and you want a bit of both, but you can't possibly fit in either.

Then you have a final chat about The Upper Murray Flag atop the paddle steamers, and you know all about them from when you learned all about the Mighty Murray a few years back, and you feel really smart and slightly superior, and then you set off on the drive home and you read a book aloud in the car and you realise that dentist or no dentist, it's been a pretty good day after all, and that you really, really love your family.

 

Snippets of home

 

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas.

 

It's all about the food

Madam could have scratched Oliver for designing to spoil her party. But bush-rangers were a subject on which everybody could talk—and did, over the blazing brandy fumes of the plumpudding; over the steaming mince pies, melting and golden; over the ruddy raspberry tarts, the tansy shortbreads, the queenpuddings frail with white of egg. There were strawberries in great silver dishes, and clotted cream in Doulton bowls, pale lakes of gooseberry-fool, yellow custard in fat cups of cut glass. Madeira and port took the place of sherry. The company grew mellow. Madam was happy again, and husbands looked at wives down the table-length and smiled. Danger might come with the morning, their eyes said, but we will take what the gods give to-night.

G. B. Lancaster, Pageant, 1933

 

20 Christmas books to read aloud

My friend, Penny, is after me to post a list of our favourite Christmas books, so here it is, my good friend - a list in size order from largest at the bottom to smallest as the top.  Which is as good a way of ordering them as any, I guess.

1. Yes, Virginia, There is a Santa Claus by Francis P. Church

Virginia's letter to The Sun is special enough, but when it is illustrated by Joel Spector's fabulous illustrations, it is just magical.  This is what Santa Claus really is.

If you see it in The Sun, it's so.

2. Great Joy by Kate DiCamillo

A sweet tale of warmth, empathy and compassion. Gentle and peaceful with knock-your-socks-off paintings by Bagram Ibatoulline.  One of my favourites.

3. The Snowman by Raymond Briggs

Not really a read aloud, because there aren't any words to read. It is a magical book to look at with kids, though.  We make time for the movie version every year too. Don't you just love Walking in the Air?



4. Eloise at Christmastime by Kay Thompson

Here she is at Christmastime
Complete with tinsel and holly
Singing fa la la la lolly
And over the roar of the jingle bells
You can hear hear hear her say
It's absolutely Christmas
But I don't mind a bit
I give everyone a present
For that's the thing of it
So when it's everly Christmastime
And you're under your Christmas trees
Simply tinkle a bell and have a trinkle
And remember
Me
Eloise

Okay. I'm just a sucker for Eloise. That is all. I don't need any other reason to include a book, do I?

5. Christmas Day in the Morning by Pearl Buck

A heartwarming tale of love and self sacrifice for all ages by a Pulitzer and Nobel Prize wining author with lovely illustrations by Mark Buehner. Check that you have tissues.

6. 'Twas the Night Before Christmas by Clement C Moore

Because you absolutely have to read this one of Christmas Eve.  I love Matt Tavare's black and white sketch drawings, and the original wording in this version.  There is something special about the way the words flow in this classic poem.

7. A Bush Christmas by C. J. Dennis

This Aussie classic poem written in 1931 paints a picture of an Australian Christmas in the bush - a Christmas still largely influenced by the traditions of 'The Old Country". Read my review and well as the whole poem here. At the bottom of that old post you'll find a bonus list of books in our Basket of Delights along with their covers in case you don't find enough here.

8. Christmas Tapestry by Patricia Polacco

Pull out your hanky for this one, you'll need it. A heartwarming story of love and loss and reunion and belonging. Lovely.

9. Wombat Divine By Mem Fox

Because I am Australian, and it just wouldn't be Christmas without it.

10. The Year of the Perfect Christmas Tree by Gloria Houston

A story of love and resilience, and the importance of family, perfectly illustrated by Barbara Cooney.

11. The Story of Holly and Ivy by Rumer Godden

Everyone needs somebody to love. A magical book, again illustrated by Barbara Cooney.

12. The Christmas Eve Ghost by Shirley Hughes

Here's my review of this book.  You can hear Shirley Hughes talking about the book there as well.

13. Annika's Secret Wish by Beverly Lewis

A book that explains some of our family's Swedish Christmas traditions, including hiding the almond in the rice porridge. Love and family and making wishes and eating rice porridge, all washed down with gorgeous, intricate illustrations byPamela Querin make this a must-read.

She knew that the almond could bring smiles and laughter, but only God could make a miracle.

14. The Gift of the Magi by O. Henry

Classic O Henry irony at its finest - an American short story classic. Beautifully illustrated by P J Lynch.

The magi, as you know, were wise men - wonderfully wise men - who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the wisest. Of all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest.

They are the magi.

15. The Christmas Miracle of Jonathan Toomey by Susan Wojciechowski

This beautiful book about grief and healing, illustrated by the incomparable P J Lynch, never fails to ring a lump to my throat.

16. The Polar Express by Chris Van Allsburg

At one time, most of my friends could hear the bell, but as years passed, it fell silent for all of them. Even Sarah found one Christmas that she could no longer hear its sweet sound. Though I've grown old, the bell still rings for me, as it does for all who truly believe.

A beautifully written book about imagination and believing.  Read it with a mug of hot cocoa and white nougat.



17. The Wee Christmas Cabin of Carn-na-ween by Ruth Sawyer

Quiet, peaceful and lyrical, best read aloud with a lilting Northern Irish accent, but okay in broad strine as well. Max Grafe's illustrations are beautiful. A magical Irish folk tale.

18. Angelina's Christmas by Katharine Holabird

We're not usually big fans of Angelina, but we make an exception for this one about a community celebrating Christmas together, and making it special for a lonely old man. Or is that mouse?

19. Little Grey Rabbit's Christmas by Alison Uttley

A sweet story with truly magical illustrations by Margaret Tempest.  Read my review and see some of those lovely pictures at the same time.

20. The Best Christmas Present in the World by Michael Morpurgo

A little book to renew your faith in mankind. Heart warming and sentimental.  A tear jerker. Beautiful watercolours.

The hearth cricket

Jemimah's Daddy, clever man that he is, recognised the author of our family Christmas read-aloud very quickly as Charles Dickens.  He has an inimitable style all of its own, doesn't he, (Dickens, that is, not my Best Beloved), florid, poetic and highly comical, and Dickens' special wit is highly evident from the very first page of The Cricket on the Hearth - A Fairy Tale of Home.

So far we've only read the first 'Chirp' of three of this novella, the third of Dickens' five Christmas books.  It is quiet, happy, peaceful, pretty and fun, the ideal Christmas read aloud, really. The story, so far, is about a Carrier, John Peerybingle, and his much younger wife, 'Dot', in the days leading up to their first wedding anniversary. Their acquaintance, the heartless Scrooge-like Mr Tackleton, is to be married himself to a younger bride, May Fielding, Dot's close friend. We're at the stage of wondering why on earth she would be marrying such a heartless man as Tackleton, but I'm sure it will all become evident soon enough.

Some of the main characters in the story so far are inanimate objects - the kettle, the cuckoo clock and that cricket on the hearth. For a cricket to live on your hearth, you need to be prosperous enough to keep your fire burning on cold English nights, and in various cultures it is a symbol of good luck and prosperity, a conscience (as it is in Pinnochio) or the spirit of a departed ancestor guarding his family. Often a cricket is considered protection for home and family, because they stop singing when anyone or anything approaches. The cricket in our read-aloud is revealed later in the book as a household fairy, but all of these other symbols of cricket-hood are evident through the book as well.

The cricket is particularly symbolic for our family, because amongst our Christmas decorations (which made their appearance yesterday), is our very own brass hearth cricket. Here he is below, see?

I am sure that as we read of this little creature we feel more kindly toward him as we think of our own little cricket sitting on our hearth.

To be honest, I am not a real cricket lover when they're in our home.  To loud, too locust-like for me.  I even squashed a cricket earlier in the day before I started reading, only to come to this:

"Bah! what's home?" cried Tackleton.  "Four walls and a ceiling! (why don't you kill that cricket; I would!  I always do.  I hate their noise).  There are four walls and a ceiling at my house.  Come to me!"
"You kill your crickets, eh?" said John.
"Scrunch 'em sir," returned the other, setting his heel heavily on the floor.

Oh dear. I am now characterised by my daughter as a Cricket Scruncher. The shame!!

The Cricket on the Hearth is one of the AO6 Free Reads.  It is also the book chosen for discussion by a group of ladies on the AO forum.  It's not too late to join in the fun there if you'd like to.  This is a link to the thread, but you'll need to be joined up first.

You can download the book for iPad or Kindle or even print a paper copy from the University of Adelaide eBook site here.

Oh, in case you're wondering, his name is Caleb.  The cricket's, I mean.