Ring Out Wild Bells, by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

It's a poem I love. Here it is in its entirety.

Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,

The flying cloud, the frosty light

The year is dying in the night;

Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

Ring out the old, ring in the new,

Ring, happy bells, across the snow:

The year is going, let him go;

Ring out the false, ring in the true.

Ring out the grief that saps the mind,

For those that here we see no more,

Ring out the feud of rich and poor,

Ring in redress to all mankind.

Ring out a slowly dying cause,

And ancient forms of party strife;

Ring in the nobler modes of life,

With sweeter manners, purer laws.

Ring out the want, the care, the sin,

The faithless coldness of the times;

Ring out, ring out thy mournful rhymes,

But ring the fuller minstrel in.

Ring out false pride in place and blood,

The civic slander and the spite;

Ring in the love of truth and right,

Ring in the common love of good.

Ring out old shapes of foul disease,

Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;

Ring out the thousand wars of old,

Ring in the thousand years of peace.

Ring in the valiant man and free,

The larger heart the kindlier hand;

Ring out the darkness of the land,

Ring in the Christ that is to be.

Afterward . . .

We take down the tree.

There is something sad about that activity. It signals the end of Christmas and an end to the gathering of family that comes with Christmas, an end to the bright eyes when someone gets a wished-for gift, an end to the reminiscing about Christmases past, times when we were all here together, funny things Wayne did that we'd love to see again. And an end to the singing.

Lola sat and played some Christmas songs for us, a lovely background music, and some of us sang along. Our traditional Far, Far Away on Judea's Plains. And I Wonder As I Wander, Let It Snow, Deck the Halls.  Later I went to Andrew's house for dinner, and we had a lot of spontaneous singing there, and I learned that George sings, and he knows the songs, words and music.

Andrew's family and their What Month Was Jesus Born In? were the hit of Christmas Eve. We demanded a second performance.  We had our regular chili and corn bread. (I'm thinking next year should bring a new something to eat on Christmas Eve. We'll see.)

We had a good time, but it's over, so today I have taken down the tree, put away the nativity scenes, the Santas and Christmas doo-dads, and the favorite wreath that Lola made for me.

Sad, yes, but also satisfying to put the house back in order. It's time to move forward. The new year, 2014, approaches. It will bring its challenges and heartaches, no doubt. But it will also bring that baby boy Larsen we have all been watching and waiting for. That will be a joy for all of us, especially Alyce and Ben. Our wish and prayer is for all to go well.

Christmas Morning

Up early, before 4 a.m., but only because I couldn't sleep any longer. Got my kitchen in order, dishes put away. Had breakfast and went to bed for a an hour or so.

I have listened to the Carpenters. I always think I hear her heart and soul in her singing. Still miss her. Their kind of music has passed away. I bought their Christmas album again the other day and put a bow on it. It's under the tree waiting for anyone who wants it. I really think everyone in my family already has the album, so if no one in my family wants it, I'll find someone who does.

Just now I am listening to The Messiah. How divine it is.

I cannot celebrate Christmas without music. And I must thank my mother for my love of music.

I have finished reading my mother's journal. Her final entry was September 18, 1979--five days before she died. I would say that it made me sad again, but I believe it is sad still. I am also happy and ever grateful for her and what I have and know because of her. A little bundle of energy and intelligence and music and work. She worked hard always and had such a difficult time obeying the doctor that month of September 1979 when he told her she should rest, take it easy, because of her heart. I did not know of this before today.

My children will be here soon, and we will open presents and miss our dad. But we'll have a good time. We had a good time last night. I think, though, that they will be unhappy with what I am giving them. Oh well.

Season's update

It's Christmas Eve eve. I'd like to get my voice back by tomorrow night. We are going caroling. I hope. I haven't been well enough to go to my neighbors and ask if we can come singing. I did speak to Shirley. She will be expecting us.

Snow remains on the ground, but the temperature is above freezing and much has melted. Footprints are again prominent and then there's my neighbor's bloody snow (the killing of the deer). So, all in all, it isn't as pretty as a "white" Christmas with new snow, but not much we can do about that. I love the look of it, newly fallen snow, but do not like the trouble it brings with it.

Warm back east, where Alyce and Ann live. In the 60s, and in New York, 70 degrees. Strange for Christmas. Except that where I grew up, Santa Monica, we had snow only twice in all the years we lived there, and none of it stayed on the ground. Most years our Christmas wasn't white but it was beautiful just the same.

But Christmas is about more than weather. I love this time of year, love to speak and sing about the birth of our Lord, to remember his birth and life and love for us, for me. And I am always happy when my family gathers here, thankful when they show love for each other. I have asked each of the three families to prepare a musical selection for Christmas Eve. I'll let you know how that turns out.                                                                                     



                                                                

On a soap box? Maybe

When I was young, but old enough to see that some people behaved in ways worthy of disapproval, I thought that when those people got older and had families they would somehow straighten up and become solid citizens. So they could raise their children properly. They would have standards and morality and would behave in socially acceptable ways.

Wrong. It doesn't happen with everyone. Look around. Some people never grow up, and some people have no morality, or so it seems to me. Is it because they did not see moral behavior in the homes they grew up in or what?

I don't know if I'm making a point here. How could I? The subject is too vast. But there is so much in this world or this country that is a shame, a crime, reprehensible. Children deserve better than what many are getting.

I'm done.

Oh well

Yesterday we sang at the Plantation Home for the elderly. 

I guess that's a way to say what the place was, a place the likes of which I hope never to call home.

Our audience was a mix of asleep, distracted, needing help to get in there and seated--late--fidgity, still as stone, and enthusiastically entertained and vocally grateful to be so. I guess I could say that about the audiences in most places we have sung, including our concert.

 It is what it is, as they say, and I thought I'd never allow myself to say it.

Holiday dinners at Mama's

Turkey and stuffing, ham,* her fabulous potatoes au gratin, some kind of vegetable, salad--usually with fruit (she loved fresh pineapple)-- and at Christmas time a steamed pudding--carrot usually and sometimes  persimmon--cooked in a Crisco can and served with her special sauce. Not a hard sauce, but a sweet, spicy sauce.

Now that I don't cook big dinners, and am pretty much relieved by that fact, I marvel that at age 80 she was still doing it.

A remarkable woman. Not just because she's my mother, but because she was remarkable. I always said she wore herself out for other people, mostly us and our dad, her beloved Wilford.

 *Mama made her own ham glaze from mustard and brown sugar and spread it all over the ham before baking. Just plain good.

About my mother

I have been reading my mother's journal again. This time it seems to go right into my heart. She did not keep a journal faithfully all her life, but she did keep one quite regularly during the last few years. And she wrote some about her early life, thank goodness. I love knowing about the sleigh rides and Paul Baliff, for instance.*

I have suffered with her through their move--in 1978--to Bountiful, Utah. Turns out it was a good thing because all her kids were there, except Janeen, and she planned to move up soon. But it was agony for my mom and dad to leave all their friends and Allie. They had lived in California for nearly 40 years, most of their married life. They had many friends, friends for life. So hard to leave.

And I suffered with her through Heber Eastman's infant botulism.  That's Eric and Lucile's baby boy, who survived and is a fine man, father of two. But it was six weeks in the hospital and many anxious days and many prayers.

Back to Mama.
Now it's getting harder and harder to read, because I know she has only a year to live. I know that. It doesn't sound, as I read, that she had any notion of that. Her days were spent taking my dad to the hospital for radiation treatments or helping someone in the family or staying with Lucile's children or having everybody over and fixing a big feast for them or just doing. She was one small package of talent and smarts. And she was always doing. Doing. That was her life. That and music. At age 79, she still played as soloist and accompanist and ward organist and still taught piano.

Of course, I am curious to see the last things she wrote but apprehensive, too. And I do not want her to die.
It has been 34 years since she did. Her journal brings her to life again for me. I see her so clearly, love her so much.

* Lola (my mother) was invited to go on a sleigh ride. Her mother said no, but her dad said yes. So she went. Such fun. But on that sleigh ride, Paul Baliff kissed her. I think on the cheek. Next school day the kids were teasing her, saying she loved Paul Baliff. Lola said, "If there's anyone I hate, it's Paul Baliff." I know she didn't mean it, but Paul didn't know that. He did not speak to her for the rest of Jr High and all through high school. Obviously, she noticed. I'm sure both of them were hurt.