Good Christian Men, REJOICE!

 

Good Morning! Merry Christmas!

                Good Christian men Rejoice! With heart and soul and voice! Give ye heed of what we say: Jesus Christ is born today! Ox and ass before him bow and he is in the manger now! Christ is born today, Christ is born to day!

                I’m going to start with something not typically thought of as a Christmas activity: Holy Communion.

                I’m not a stickler for wafer and wine, so if you have even a stray Cherrio and some breakfast juice that will be fine. The references will be from Matthew’s Gospel, chapter twenty-six

‘While they were eating, Jesus took the bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it, and gave it to his disciples, saying, “Take and eat, this is my body given for you.”

‘Then he took a cup, and when he had given thanks he gave it to them, saying, “All of you drink from this; this is my blood of the promise poured out for you and for many for the forgiveness of sin.”’

                And there you have it, the thumbnail of God’s gift to us. All of you know what happened next, Jesus was arrested, tried, then crucified. Three days later he arose fulfilling the promise of life.

                Merry Christmas!

 

Santa Claus

             This fell into my email in-box about twenty years ago, and I trot it out for inspection every now and then. Since I haven’t done so recently, this year I’ll abuse you with this.

                              A CHRISTMAS STORY

                   I remember my first Christmas adventure with Grandma.  I was just a kid.  I remember tearing across town on my bike to visit her. On the day my big sister dropped the bomb: "There is no Santa Claus," she jeered.  "Even dummies know that!"

                   My Grandma was not the gushy kind, never had been. I fled to her that day because I knew she would be straight with me.  I knew Grandma always told the truth, and I knew that the truth always went down a whole lot easier when swallowed with one of her "world-famous" cinnamon buns.  I knew they were world-famous, because Grandma said so.  It had to be true.

                   Grandma was home, and the buns were still warm. Between bites, I told her everything.  She was ready for me.  "No Santa Claus?" she snorted...."Ridiculous!  Don't believe it.  That rumor has been going around for years, and it makes me mad, plain mad!!  Now, put on your coat, and let's go."

                   "Go? Go where, Grandma?" I asked.  I hadn't even finished my second world-famous cinnamon bun.

                   "Where" turned out to be Kerby's General Store, the one store in town that had a little bit of just about everything.  As we walked through it's doors, Grandma handed me ten dollars.  That was a bundle in those days.  "Take this money," she said, "And buy something for someone who needs it.  I'll wait for you in the car."  Then she turned and walked out of Kerby's.

                   I was only eight years old.  I'd often gone shopping with my mother, but never had I shopped for anything all by myself. The store seemed big and crowded, full of people scrambling to finish their Christmas shopping.

                   For a few moments I just stood there, confused, clutching that ten-dollar bill, wondering what to buy, and who on earth to buy it for.  I thought of everybody I knew: my family, my friends, my neighbors, the kids at school, the people who went to my church.  I was just about thought out, when I suddenly thought of Bobby Decker.  He was a kid with bad breath and messy hair, and he sat right behind me in Mrs. Pollock's grade-two class.  Bobby Decker didn't have a coat.  I knew that because he never went out to recess during the winter.  His mother always wrote a note, telling the teacher that he had a cough, but all we kids knew that Bobby Decker didn't have a cough; he had no good coat.  I fingered the ten-dollar bill with growing excitement.  I would buy Bobby Decker a coat!

                   I settled on a red corduroy one that had a hood to it. It looked real warm, and he would like that.  "Is this a Christmas present for someone?" the lady behind the counter asked kindly, as I laid my ten dollars down.  "Yes, ma'am," I replied shyly.  "It's for Bobby."  The nice lady smiled at me, as I told her about how Bobby really needed a good winter coat.  I didn't get any change, but she put the coat in a bag, smiled again, and wished me a Merry Christmas.

                   That evening, Grandma helped me wrap the coat in Christmas paper and ribbons (a little tag fell out of the coat, and Grandma tucked it in her Bible) and wrote, "To Bobby, From Santa Claus" on it. Grandma said that Santa always insisted on secrecy.  Then she drove me over to Bobby Decker's house, explaining as we went that I was now and forever officially, one of Santa's helpers.

                   Grandma parked down the street from Bobby's house, and she and I crept noiselessly and hid in the bushes by his front walk. Then Grandma gave me a nudge.  "All right, Santa Claus," she whispered, "get going."  I took a deep breath, dashed for his front door, threw the present down on his step, pounded his doorbell and flew back to the safety of the bushes and Grandma.  Together we waited breathlessly in the darkness for the front door to open.  Finally it did, and there stood Bobby.  Fifty years haven't dimmed the thrill of those moments spent shivering, beside my Grandma, in Bobby Decker's bushes.

                   That night, I realized that those awful rumors about Santa Claus were just what Grandma said they were: ridiculous.  Santa was alive and well, and we were on his team.

                   I still have the Bible, with the coat tag tucked inside: $19.95  

 Author Unknown

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            If anyone knows this author, please let me know as well.

            I would normally draw something up in the Critters of Habit style to go with; not this year. Later maybe.

            Melanie, you may remember sending this out back in 2004, or not. In any case this chicken has come home to roost.

Dana “Madman” Hansen

“Honk If You WORSHIP the DEVIL”

    Bumper stickers.

The rolling Burma Shave signs of our existence.

 To those who’ve never heard of Burma Shave, they predate me, even. Burma Shave was something like Barbasol, Gillette and Schick, shaving soap. Their idea of advertising was to put a series of signs along the roadside, just big enough to contain a line of doggerel, like, “Does your husband / Misbehave / Grunt and grumble / Rant and rave? /Shoot the brute some / Burma-Shave”

You get the idea.

 As long as it can fit into something roughly twelve to eighteen inches long, and about five inches tall, you can say something meaningful (or not) and display it to the world. Everything from voter preference to food affiliation to (harking back aways) “Native” on a Colorado license plate background.

 A recent prank I saw on the doomscroll: the bumper sticker read: “Honk if you WORSHIP THE DEVIL”, and when someone did, the trunk would open up and reveal someone dressed as Jesus.

     Guerrilla Theater at its finest.

Click the link above for a sample.

In other news, …

In other news I’ve been watching old movies starring some of my favorites. I say ‘old movies’, but I’d never seen them before. Peter Sellers in ‘The Mouse That Roared’. Well, I’d seen that one a long, long time ago. George Martin’s ‘In My Life’, which included a pairing of Robin Williams and Bobby McFerrin on the song ‘Come Together’. ‘From Time to Time’, starring Maggie Smith (think Professor McGonigal or what’s-her-name’ from ‘Downton Abbey’), Robert Redford and Morgan Freeman in ‘An Unfinished Life’, and again Redford in ‘Lions for Lambs’, … And Paul Newman in ‘Fat Man and Little Boy’. I’ve not yet finished watching this film.

Unintentionally, many of these films have dealings with end-of-life, which is somewhat top-of-mind just now. I think I’m being overly concerned. What happens, happens.

The other things these films have in common is the taking our imperfect selves and rendering, not perfection necessarily, but the good, the best we are capable of. Of taking our good points, and even our flaws, and turning them into good results, of being a force for good, resisting evil, making the world a better place. Sometimes, even rendering minor miracles.

The overriding theme of this little stab in the dark, is ‘Yes, You Can!’

It is a lot of me taking what I have, or, in this case, what I have left, and stabbing at the world with the bludgeon of encouragement, the sword of love, the shield of faith (Paul had that right) to ward off the discouragements that are out there. I do not have a lot of strength left; all I can do is encourage, will my strength into those who follow.

Occasionally, like now, I take a break to eat a can of soup.

And listen to the Bear Cub dance and sing her heart and her joy. I love that kid!

 It’s the small things that keep us going.

 Good night.

 

Fiday funnys: Typos

 That should be: “Friday Funnies”, but typos are the name of the game today. 

With that in mind I’m recalling something from a book by Norton Mockridge[1], who was City Editor of the New York World Telegram and Sun. The book’s title is: A Funny Thing Happened …, and (Mr. Mockridge) recounts a story where a new restaurant had sent to the printer an order for menus, advertising matter, and other whatnot with its name, The Pink Pantry. This was about the time of that Blake Edwards film, “The Pink Panther”, and they were perhaps trying to capitalize on the name similarity.

When the material came back from the printer, however, instead of The Pink Pantry, it was The Pink Panty!

My Kingdom for a proofreader!

One hopes their Grand Opening was a great success, in spite of (or perhaps because of) the printer error.

J

Allong (oops) along similar lines is this example from Thoughtco.com[2] (12-feb-2020). As above, this is an atomic typo (a single letter difference, leaving behind a correct, though inappropriate, word):

"The Typo of the Year award went to Reuters for this in 2005: 'Quaker Maid Meats Inc. on Tuesday said it would voluntarily recall 94,400 pounds of frozen ground beef panties [emphasis mine] that may be contaminated with E.coli.' (Read 'patties,' presumably.)"

 Another ‘ooops’; the 11PM alarm has just sounded, and I need to be in bed if I expect to get up in a timely fashion tomorrow. So I need to finish this up quickly.

“Tomorrow” gives me a clue. There’s a song by the Kingston Trio called “To Morrow”[3], and it revolves around the town of Morrow, and the confusion between a traveler and a ticket agent about ‘tomorrow’ and how to get ‘to Morrow’ and back.

I’ll let you chase down the song: To Morrow

Good Night, Folks!

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Oh, and anything you've a mind to tackle, 

Yes, You Can!

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[1] Along the way I discovered much I never knew about Norton Mockridge, including his being part of an interview/discussion on Richard Heffner’s  “Open Mind”, discussing a free press in relation to trial by jury, and how the rights of the accused might be abused thereby.

In my opinion, of late much has been going on to sway the courts for this person or against that person, letting the court of public opinion effect jury nullification. The television program was: “The Courts and a Free Press” aired on NBC Television, Sunday, May 4, 1958, on the program THE OPEN MIND https://www.thirteen.org/openmind-archive/government/the-courts-and-a-free-press-part-i/

[2] Nordquist, Richard. "Typo: Examples of Typographical Errors." ThoughtCo, Jan. 17, 2021, thoughtco.com/typo-definition-1692479.

[3] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qp88oumRQvs

Rancor

This should have been posted yesterday. Sorry about that.

This’ll be short. This Thanksgiving our ‘Lustrous Potentate said that we needed to tone down the, and I quote: “Rancor.”

As I recall, I’m not the one who called half of the voting population ‘Terrorists’. So I say:

“People who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.”

‘Nuff said.

Have a great day, folks.