What I’m Blogging

Rediscovered Hobby

When I was a lad, I spent a great deal of my time collecting and painting miniture soldiers. I had a Napoleonic and a Medieval army. Hours were invested in painting them. many more hours were spent engaged in “Little Wars”; battles in small scale using miniatures, dice, measuring tapes and a great deal of space in the basement. As I recall it was a great deal of fun.

This Christmas my Number One Son wanted to start his own collection. He and his friends are all hot for “War Hammer 40,000”; a battle game about battles with science fiction armies. The boy and I have been spending all week assembling and painting his force of “Necrons” (robots that look like skeletons). We are spending quality time, and I’m rediscovering an enjoyable boyhood hobby.

Finally Snow

It is the day after the day after Christmas and Santa was a little late with this gift. It is finally snowing here in Central Ontario. Perhaps santa was waiting to get a deal on the fluffy white stuff at a Boxing Day sale. Who knows?

All is now right with the world. It’s the Christmas season, I’m home with the family and there’s snow on the ground.

Wonder

The magic of the season is still in the faces of wonder on our children. Something to tresure amongst the hustle and bustle of our daily lives.

Today is Christmas Day. About 96 percent of Americans say that they celebrate Christmas in one way or another; but Christians didn’t start celebrating Christmas until the fourth century A.D. Apparently, the earliest Christians weren’t nearly as interested in Jesus’ birth as they were in his resurrection from the dead. Historians believe that the Gospel of Mark was the first Gospel to be written about Jesus, around 50 A.D., and it doesn’t even mention Jesus’ birth. It starts with his adult baptism.

… first mention of a Nativity feast appears in a Roman document from 354 A.D….

Only the Gospels of Luke and Matthew tell the story of Jesus’ birth, and they give slightly different accounts. In the Gospel of Luke, an angel appears to Mary to tell her that she will give birth to the Son of God. In the Gospel of Matthew, it is Joseph who learns in a dream that Mary is pregnant with the Son of God.

The Gospel of Luke tells the story of how Mary and Joseph went to the city of Bethlehem because of the Roman census, and since there was no room at the inn, they were forced to take shelter in the barn, where Jesus was born, wrapped in swaddling clothes and laid in a manger. The Gospel of Matthew tells how a group of wise men go to find the baby that has been prophesized as the future king of the Jews. They follow a bright star in the East until they find Jesus, and they offer him gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh.

Christian bishops only began to celebrate Jesus’ birth after a great debate over how human Jesus had really been. Some Christians believed he was just a spirit, with no body at all. But after much discussion, the church in Rome took the official stance that Jesus had possessed a real human body. Scholars believe that the church began celebrating Jesus’ birth as a way of emphasizing his bodily humanity. The first mention of a Nativity feast appears in a Roman document from 354 A.D., and that document is the first to list December 25 as his official birthday.

No one knows exactly why the date of December 25th was chosen, but it was probably because December 25th was the date set for a Roman festival honoring the sun god Mithras. It also coincided with the pagan festival of Saturnalia, which was widely celebrated throughout the Roman Empire.

Unfortunately for the church, Saturnalia was usually celebrated with drunken revelry. And for Christians, for the next thousand years or so, Christmas became the wildest party of the year. There were huge feasts and street parties that often led to riots. It was writers who helped turn Christmas into more of a domestic holiday. The poem “The Night Before Christmas,” published in 1823, was one of the first works of literature to suggest that Christmas should be focused more on children than adults. And Charles Dickens’s novel A Christmas Carol, in 1843, helped popularize the idea that Christmas should be about family.

What are You Having for Supper?

Science tells us that our most evocative memories are unleashed by our sense of smell. Nothing says “Christmas” more to me than the smell of a roasting turkey in the oven at Mom’s house. The exact blend of savory and sweet; rosemary and thyme with a hint of apple in the dressing. It’s the smell of childhood wonder and grown up contentment. Whether or not the “Jolly old Elf” makes an appearance, Christmas just isn’t the same without it.

Which Historical Lunatic Are You?
From the fecund loins of Rum and Monkey.

Born in England sometime in the second decade of the nineteenth century, you carved a notable business career, in South Africa and later San Francisco, until an entry into the rice market wiped out your fortune in 1854. After this, you became quite different. The first sign of this came on September 17, 1859, when you expressed your dissatisfaction with the political situation in America by declaring yourself Norton I, Emperor of the USA. You remained as such, unchallenged, for twenty-one years.

…The Census of 1870 listed your occupation as “Emperor”….

Within a month you had decreed the dissolution of Congress. When this was largely ignored, you summoned all interested parties to discuss the matter in a music hall, and then summoned the army to quell the rebellious leaders in Washington. This did not work. Magnanimously, you decreed (eventually) that Congress could remain for the time being. However, you disbanded both major political parties in 1869, as well as instituting a fine of $25 for using the abominable nickname “Frisco” for your home city.

Your days consisted of parading around your domain - the San Francisco streets - in a uniform of royal blue with gold epaulettes. This was set off by a beaver hat and umbrella. You dispensed philosophy and inspected the state of sidewalks and the police with equal aplomb. You were a great ally of the maligned Chinese of the city, and once dispersed a riot by standing between the Chinese and their would-be assailants and reciting the Lord’s Prayer quietly, head bowed.

Once arrested, you were swiftly pardoned by the Police Chief with all apologies, after which all policemen were ordered to salute you on the street. Your renown grew. Proprietors of respectable establishments fixed brass plaques to their walls proclaiming your patronage; musical and theatrical performances invariably reserved seats for you and your two dogs. (As an aside, you were a good friend of Mark Twain, who wrote an epitaph for one of your faithful hounds, Bummer.) The Census of 1870 listed your occupation as “Emperor”.

The Board of Supervisors of San Francisco, upon noticing the slightly delapidated state of your attire, replaced it at their own expense. You responded graciously by granting a patent of nobility to each member. Your death, collapsing on the street on January 8, 1880, made front page news under the headline “Le Roi est Mort”. Aside from what you had on your person, your possessions amounted to a single sovereign, a collection of walking sticks, an old sabre, your correspondence with Queen Victoria and 1,098,235 shares of stock in a worthless gold mine. Your funeral cortege was of 30,000 people and over two miles long.

The burial was marked by a total eclipse of the sun.

Buddha’s Big brother

The holidays are a time for family. A time to get together, share a pint and a laugh, catch up on things. Hope you are enjoying yours too…

Can you feel the love in my career? Well the nail has finally been put in the coffin of the contract neotiations. For extra safety, we drove a stake through its heart. The deal is done, signed, sealed, delivered, I’m theirs.

…exactly where I wanted to be…

So now I get to go back to the mayhem that is the TV Station for another four months at the money I originally asked for oh so long ago. I was told that it would never happen, I was told that I would be out on my ear. I accepted all of that and now look where I am, exactly where I wanted to be.

Funny how things go.

Now to enjoy the holiday - Wassail anyone?

It’s the birthday of the bohemian poet Kenneth Rexroth, born in South Bend, Indiana (1905). His father was a wholesale drug salesman, and Rexroth was offered a position in the business and that would have eventually made him one of the top executives. He spent a couple days thinking about that job offer and finally decided that he’d rather try to go off and become some kind of artist.

… I try to say, as simply as I can, the simplest and most profound experiences of my life…

He wasn’t sure what kind of artist he wanted to be, but in the 1920s he was drawn to the artistic community in Chicago’s West Side, where speakeasies with names like the Dill Pickle Club and the Wind Blew Inn were full of politics, theater, jazz, and poetry. It was there that Kenneth Rexroth became one of the first poets to try reading his poetry to the accompaniment of jazz music.

He eventually settled in San Francisco, and California changed the way he wrote poetry. His early poems had been full of references to Greek mythology and philosophy, but after his arrival in California, he began to write poems about camping trips and fly fishing and love affairs, in addition to politics.

Kenneth Rexroth said, “I’ve never understood why I’m [considered] a member of the avant-garde. … I [just] try to say, as simply as I can, the simplest and most profound experiences of my life.”

The Complete Poems of Kenneth Rexroth came out in 2002.