I Can Fly, Just Not Up

December 26

2011-12-26T16:38:00.004-05:00

Norman Rockwell, 1922.

Well, it's The Day After, people... and I don't know about you, but THIS Almighty Maker Of Christmas wants nothing more than to spend the day in bed.

Peace Out.

Welcome to our world...

2011-12-26T06:59:00.006-05:00

The Nativity, by Frederico Barocci, 1597

Welcome to our World
written and performed by Chris Rice

Tears are falling, hearts are breaking,
How we need to hear from God.
You've been promised, we've been waiting,
Welcome Holy Child,
Welcome Holy Child.

Hope that you don't mind our manger,
How I wish we would have known.
But long-awaited Holy Stranger,
Make Yourself at home,
Please make Yourself at home.

Bring Your peace into our violence,
Bid our hungry souls be filled.
Word now breaking Heaven's silence,
Welcome to our world,
Welcome to our world.

Fragile finger sent to heal us,
Tender brow prepared for thorn.
Tiny heart whose blood will save us,
Unto us is born,
Unto us is born.

So wrap our injured flesh around You,
Breathe our air and walk our sod.
Rob our sin and make us holy,
Perfect Son of God,
Perfect Son of God.

Welcome to our world.

December 25

2011-12-24T19:41:00.004-05:00

If Ye Would Hear the Angels Sing
Poem by Dora Greenwell; music by Peter Tranchell,
and performed by The Choir of King's College, Cambridge

If ye would hear the angels sing
"Peace on earth and mercy mild,"
Think of him who was once a child,
On Christmas Day in the morning.

If ye would hear the angels sing,
Rise, and spread your Christmas fare;
'Tis merrier still the more that share,
On Christmas Day in the morning.

Rise and bake your Christmas bread:
Christians, rise! the world is bare,
And blank, and dark with want and care,
Yet Christmas comes in the morning.

If ye would hear the angels sing,
Rise, and light your Christmas fire:
And see that ye pile the logs still higher
On Christmas Day in the morning.

Rise, and light your Christmas fire;
Christians, rise! the world is old,
And Time is weary, and worn, and cold,
Yet Christmas comes in the morning.

If ye would hear the angels sing,
Christians! see ye let each door
Stand wider than it e'er stood before,
On Christmas Day in the morning.

Rise, and open wide the door;
Christians, rise! the world is wide,
And many there be that stand outside,
Yet Christmas comes in the morning.

Wishing you all a very happy Christmas!
May you all be surrounded by the people you love best.
xo CGF

For Christmas Eve

2011-12-24T13:50:00.002-05:00

Lo, how a Rose e'er blooming
commissioned for, and performed live by

The Choir of King's College, Cambridge
at the 2009 Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols

DET är en ros utsprungen av Jesse rotoch stam.
Av fädren ren besjungen den står i tiden fram,
En blomma skär och blid,
Mitt i den kalla vinter i midnatts mörka tid.

Lo, how a Rose e’er blooming from tender stem hath sprung!
Of Jesse’s lineage coming, as men of old have sung.
It came a floweret bright amid the cold of winter,
When half spent was the night.

GERMAN TRADITIONAL
Swedish translation, THEKLA KNÖS
English translation, THEODORE BAKER
Music, MICHAEL PRAETORIUS
Arrangement, JAN SANDSTRÖM
Gerhmans Musikförlag

December 24

2011-12-23T20:25:00.000-05:00

The Cradle in Bethlehem
performed by Sara Groves

Sing sweet and low your lullaby,
Till angels say Amen,
A mother tonight is rocking
A cradle in Bethlehem.

While wise men follow
Through the dark,
A star that beckons them,
A mother tonight is rocking
A cradle in Bethlehem.

"A little child will lead them,"
The prophets said of old,
In storm and tempest heed Him,
Until the bell is tolled.

Sing sweet and low your lullaby,
Till angels say Amen,
A mother tonight is rocking
A cradle in Bethlehem.

A mother tonight is rocking
A cradle in Bethlehem.

A mother tonight is rocking
Her baby in Bethlehem.

The composer of this lovely carol, Larry Stock, was born in 1896, the son of a cellist with the New York Symphony Orchestra. He began attending the Juilliard School when he was twelve years old, and studied piano. After graduating at the age of 16, he continued his studies at The City College of New York. Stock also studied piano with a then prominent teacher, Clarence Adler.

Larry Stock spent nearly a half century of writing and composing, and turned out literally scores of popular songs, including Blueberry Hill (a major hit recording for Fats Domino), Umbrella Man (which ultimately surpassed Blueberry Hill in sales, selling over 50 million records and more than a million pieces of sheet music), and the Dean Martin classic, "You're Nobody 'Til Somebody Loves You".

He composed the music for The Cradle in Bethlehem with lyricist Alfred Bryan (who was born in Brantford, Ontario, Canada). The song was first recorded on Nat King Cole's album, "The Magic of Christmas", which was released in 1960.

For the children, big and small...

2011-12-23T18:42:00.002-05:00

From Raymond Briggs' bloomin' classic, "Father Christmas".

Because THIS is the kind of day it's been...

2011-12-23T16:50:00.002-05:00

I give you, "The Very Best Christmas Comic EVER".

December 23

2011-12-22T15:16:00.012-05:00

Adoration of the baby, by Gerrit van Honthorst, 1620

The Holy Boy
music by John Ireland, poem by Herbert S. Brown
performed by The Cambridge Singers
and also by pianist Eric Parkin

Lowly, laid in a manger,
With oxen brooding nigh,
The Heav’nly Babe is lying
His Maiden Mother by.

Lo! the wayfaring sages,
Who journey’d far through the wild,
Now worship, silent, adoring,
The Boy, The Heav’nly Child –
The Heav’nly Child!

Leave your work and your play-time,
And kneel in homage and prayer.
The Prince of Love is smiling
Asleep in His cradle there!

Bend your heart to the wonder,
The Birth, the Mystery mild,
And worship, silent, adoring,
The Boy, The Heav’nly Child –
The Heav’nly Child!

Dim the light of the lantern,
And bare the mean abode,
Yet gold and myrrh and incense,
Proclaim the Son of God.

Lowly, laid in a manger,
By Virgin undefiled,
Come worship, silent, adoring,
The boy, The Heav’nly Child –
The Heav’nly Child!

John Ireland was born in 1879, to parents who were cultured and "literary". Indeed, they were friends with many influential writers of the day, including Ralph Waldo Emerson. Sadly, Ireland was orphaned at the age of 14, when both of his parents died within just a few months of one another. Luckily, he had found music by this point in his early life, and was able to continue his studies at the newly-established Royal College of Music in London. He concentrated on piano and organ, with a focus on composition, under the tutelage of Sir Charles Stanford, who taught many of the English composers who emerged at the end of the 19th century: Ralph Vaughan Williams, Gustav Holst, Herbert Howells, George Butterworth, and many others.

Ireland seems to have been extremely hard on himself during his early years of composition: he destroyed almost every work that he wrote during his youth, and very little remains of his "juvenilia". However, near the end of The Great War, he became an overnight sensation when his Violin Sonata No.2 in A minor was extremely well received by audiences and critics. From then until his death in 1962, he worked as a composer and teacher at the Royal College of Music, where his students included Benjamin Britten and E. J. Moeran. One of my great-uncles also had the privilege of Ireland's teaching, and remained a devotee of his music and influence for the rest of his long life. John Ireland also served as organist and choirmaster at St. Luke's Church, Chelsea, in London.

Ireland's work has often been described as "musical impressionism". He tended away from writing heavier works for full orchestras-- he never wrote a symphony-- and preferred writing chamber music, and works for voice and piano. He was very strongly influenced by British poetry, and set the writings of A. E. Housman, Thomas Hardy, Christina Rossetti, John Masefield and Rupert Brooke to music. He also dearly loved the English countryside, and eventually settled in a converted windmill in Sussex, where he died on 12th June 1962.

The Holy Boy is perhaps one of John Ireland's best-known works, and it has been arranged for voice, choir, piano, and string orchestra. I also have a great fondness for his hymn, My Song is Love Unknown, composed in 1918, for lyrics written in 1664 by Samuel Crossman.

My very favourite piece, however, is The Towing Path, which was the first of John Ireland's music that I ever heard played. I was about nine years old when my very elderly great-uncle (who had been Ireland's pupil at the Royal College of Music) came to Canada with my grandmother for a visit. He brought a suitcase-full of sheet music with him, as he had heard that my mother was a gifted pianist. He must have been impressed by my mother's skill and interest in music, as he gave her copies of many of the pieces that she had admired before he left.

Whenever I hear Ireland's music, I am reminded of my great-uncle: a tall, foreboding looking gentleman, who was, in fact, soft-spoken, and possessed the gentle soul of a gifted artist.

December 22

2011-12-21T12:40:00.009-05:00

Dormi, Jesu
(The Virgin's Cradle Hymn)
Words by S. T. Coleridge, arranged by John Rutter,
and performed by The Choir of King's College, Cambridge

Dormi, Jesu! Mater ridet
Quae tam dulcem somnum videt,
Dormi, Jesu! blandule!

Si non dormis, Mater plorat,
Inter fila cantans orat,
Blande, veni, somnule.

Sleep, sweet babe! my cares beguiling:
Mother sits beside thee smiling;
Sleep, my darling, tenderly!

If thou sleep not, mother mourneth,
Singing as her wheel she turneth:
Come, soft slumber, balmily!

This is the scene that was waiting to greet me on the hall table when I came down the stairs this morning. Our family's version of The Nativity gets weirder and weirder as the December days wear on... There have been little visits to the manger by our resident "Elf on the Shelf" doll, as well as an assortment of lego and playmobil figures. One day about two years ago, I found that one of the girlies had taken the toy piano out of their dollhouse, and set it up in front of the Holy Mother. When a friend arrived at the front door and got an eyeful of the scene, she asked, "Is Our Lady nearly finished practising her scales?"

Today, behind Mary and Joseph, we find Rocky the Dinosaur (who, I've been assured, is a strict vegetarian.) I love the way his tiny arms stretch out, as if to tap Joseph on the shoulder and ask, "When do I get to hold Him??!"

Then, there is the other outsider... Some people believe that there was a Little Drummer Boy who sought out the Christ Child. We would seem to have attracted a Little Cymbal Monkey, instead. Go figure. Neither option would have been remotely plausable, if you ask me (I've been a post-partum mother, too.) Having just given birth, in a BARN, no less, it would seem HIGHLY unlikely that a woman as sensible and as exhausted as Mary would let either of those two characters darken her doorstep. What that girl would have wanted was for her baby to go to sleep, so that she could get an hour or two of rest, herself.

So, with that in mind, I offer you one of my favourite Christmas "cradle hymns". (I hope it helps.)

The lyrics of Dormi Jesu were collected by the poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge, while he was visiting Germany in 1799, with his good friend William Wordsworth. His diary states that it was in either Womarshausen or Giebaldhausen, both Roman Catholic villages in the vicinity of Mainz, where he visited a small inn, and came across a small engraving (pictured left). The wood cut illustration was by Hieronymus Wierix, and was entitled "The Virgin Sewing While Angels Rock Her Son to Sleep". Beneath it was a Latin verse that captured Coleridge's imagination to such a degree that he copied it down in his notebook. He later translated the Latin, and wrote a poetic version in English, which became The Virgin's Cradle Hymn. The poem was published in 1817, in his collection, Sibylline Leaves.

December 21

2011-12-20T09:47:00.013-05:00

Who Comes This Night
lyrics by Sally Stevens, music by Dave Grusin,
and sung by one of my very favourite artists: the great James Taylor

Who comes this night, this wintry night,
As to the lowly manger?
The shepherds and the kings did come
To welcome in the stranger.

Who sends this song upon the air
To ease the soul that’s aching?
To still the cry of deep despair,
And heal the heart that’s breaking.

Brother Joseph bring the light!
Fast, the night is fading.
And who will come this wintry night,
To where the stranger’s waiting?

Who comes this night, with humble heart,
To give the fullest measure?
A gift of purest love to bring,
What good and worthy treasure.

Brother Joseph bring the lamb,
For they are asking for Him.
The children come this starry night,
To lay their hearts before Him.

For those who would the stranger greet
Must lay their hearts before Him,
And raise their song in voices sweet
To worship and adore Him.

Brother Joseph bring the light!
Fast, the night is fading.
And who will come this wintry night,
To where the stranger’s waiting?

Brother Joseph bring the lamb,
For they are asking for Him.
The children come this starry night
To lay their hearts before Him.

Pure of heart this starry night
To lay their hearts before Him.

Dave Grusin is a ground-breaking contemporary composer, who has been at the forefront of the music industry, and is most famous for his movie soundtracks. He was the composer for the legendary Oscar-winning film, The Graduate, which is noted for being one of the first films to integrate popular songs into a score. His other credits have included sountracks for two of my favourite films: On Golden Pond (1981), and Tootsie (1982).

James Taylor has been such a tremendously influential musician for so many years, he hardly requires an introduction. His work has spanned many generations, and what constantly amazes me when I attend his concerts is the wide range of ages in the audience-- indeed, I have seen older people bringing their grandchildren along-- and everyone has clearly memorized every word of all the songs.

My sister and I have followed James Taylor for years, and have tried our hardest to attend every concert he has performed in Toronto for the past two decades. I will never forget a night at the Molson Amphitheatre at Ontario Place: an outdoor stadium, with limited protection from the elements. The rain and wind that night were of Biblical proportions, and yet Mr. Taylor played and sang for well over two hours, as the jumbotron screen swayed dangerously in the not-so-gentle breeze behind him. He made a few cracks about the distinct possibility of being electrocuted, but not once did he complain: his music and his audience were the most important things to him. We sat squelchily in our seats as the torrents poured down on us, and loved every minute of it.

Later that night, I discovered that I had brought home an unusual memento of the show. I had been wearing a new, inexpensive purple rain coat for the event, and I guess my exposure to the elements was so extreme that night, the dye released from the fabric and coloured the back of my neck and my arms an alarming shade of grape for about two and a half weeks.

It was worth it.

Mr. Taylor has an incredible website, which I highly recommend. On this site, he is now including a series of short guitar lessons, which give explanations of some of the techniques that he has used in his compositions over the years.

He is also a very active and generous philanthropist. One cause that he supports that I find particularly appealing raises funds to renovate and preserve historical community theatres and music houses around the United States. He plays concerts in these venues, and then donates money for their preservation and upkeep.

"I don't know much about God. But if everything does originate with God, then certainly songs do as well... I believe one hundred percent in the power and importance of music."

--James Taylor

December 20

2011-12-19T15:13:00.010-05:00

Pre-Raphaelite Stained Glass Window, by Edward Burne-Jones

In The Bleak Midwinter
from a poem by Christina Rossetti,
musical arrangement by Robert Chilcott,

and performed by The Empire Brass and the Master Chorale of Tampa Bay

In the bleak midwinter
Frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron,
Water like a stone;
Snow had fallen,
Snow on snow,
Snow on snow,
In the bleak midwinter,
Long ago.

Our God, heaven cannot hold him,
Nor earth sustain;
Heaven and earth shall flee away
When he comes to reign;
In the bleak midwinter
A stable place sufficed
The Lord God incarnate,
Jesus Christ.

Enough for him, whom Cherubim
Worship night and day
A breast full of milk
And a manger full of hay.
Enough for him, whom angels
Fall down before,
The ox and ass and camel
which adore.

Angels and archangels
May have gathered there,
Cherubim and seraphim
Thronged the air;
But his mother only,
In her maiden bliss,
Worshipped the Beloved
With a kiss.

What can I give him,
Poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd
I would bring a lamb,
If I were a wise man
I would do my part,
Yet what I can I give Him —
Give my heart.

Many years ago when I was a teenager, I made a trip to visit family in London, England. While I was there, I was determined to find the grave marker of one of my favourite poets, Christina Rossetti, who is buried in Highgate, a spectacularly beautiful Victorian cemetery just a short walk from my uncle's house. We arranged for a guided tour (the only way in which visitors may enter the property), but sadly, when I made my special request, I was told that the Rossetti plot was "off limits", at the request of the descendents. The kind tour guide did, however, take me to the end of a row of headstones, and while we stood together on the pathway, he pointed to the area in which the Rossetti family lies, while I peered furiously into the distance.

Christina was the daughter of Gabriele Rossetti, and grew up in an artistic and politically aware household. One of her brothers was Dante Gabriel Rossetti, who was a painter and a poet. The other was William Michael Rossetti; a leading art critic and editor. It was William who edited her complete works in 1904, 10 years after her death.

At one stage she was engaged to painter James Collinson, who was a member of the Pre-Raphaelite brotherhood, but the engagement was broken off in 1850. Although Christina methodically destroyed all of her correspondence during her lifetime, several "secret" poems were found after her death which suggested that she was, in fact, deeply in love with James Collinson, after all. It is thought that mental and physical health problems may have been the main reason why she did not feel able to follow through with the marriage.

Christina suffered with poor health for much of her life, and as a result, she rarely went out or received visitors. She lived, for much of the time, with her mother. A great deal of her poetry is characterised by an overwhelming sense of melancholy. It is very true that Christina struggled with depression, perhaps exacerbated by a thyroid problem. She was also a deeply pious Anglican woman, and worked tirelessly for causes that would help others.

The poems from her canon of work that I feel are most remarkable include "Goblin Market" (a cautionary tale, which is richly descriptive and paints the most incredible mental images for the reader), published in 1862, and the thoroughly entrancing "Sing-Song, A Nursery Rhyme Book", published in 1872. Notably, her short poem, "Who has seen the wind?" inspired the title of the quintessential Canadian novel, written by W. O. Mitchell, and published in 1947.

Another significant fact about Christina Rossetti is that she was a breast cancer survivor, and underwent radical surgery to prevent the disease's spread in 1892. This prolonged her life until 1894: no small feat for the medical treatment of the time.

The poem, "In The Bleak Midwinter" was written for a Christmas edition of Scribner's Magazine, in 1872. It was set to music by the great composer, Gustav Holst, in 1906. This is the familiar tune that most of us associate with the poem today.

Over the past several years, I have become an ardent fan of Robert (Bob) Chilcott, a former choir boy and choral scholar at King's College, Cambridge, and a twelve-year member of The King's Singers. Mr. Chilcott is a hugely talented and prolific composer, and has written new arrangements many traditional Christmas carols, including "O Little Town of Bethlehem", and "Remember Thou, O Man" (which was featured on this blog for two years in a row, because I love it so much).

December 19

2011-12-18T09:09:00.007-05:00

Bist du bei mir
from the Notebook of Anna Magdalena Bach, BWV 508
and performed by Dame Janet Baker

Bist du bei mir, geh’ ich mit Freuden
zum Sterben und zu meiner Ruh’.
Ach, wie vergnügt wär’ so mein Ende,
es drückten deine lieben [schönen] Hände
mir die getreuen Augen zu!

Be thou with me, and I’ll gladly go
To death and to my repose.
Ah, how my end would bring contentment,
If, pressing with thy hands so lovely,
Thou wouldst my faithful eyes then close.

Nineteen years ago today-- on the 19th day of December-- this piece was sung at my wedding in Stratford, Ontario. It is a beautiful, sweet little aria (or "lied", as it would have been termed in German) that has become immensely popular for marriage ceremonies of all sorts. Although the lyrics would seem to have a distinctly secular feeling, I loved it because I could easily find within the words a meaning that reflected my own personal religious faith, as well. Because my husband-to-be leaned towards agnosticism, the piece was a perfect choice for us both.

Although the music for this aria is attributed to J. S. Bach, there are many scholars who believe that credit for the tune should be given to another composer, one Gottfried Heinrich Stölzel (1690-1749). Although Stölzel was one of the most well-respected composers of the time, most of his work has since been lost. Bach, himself, was very familiar with Stölzel's work, and often hand-copied Stölzel's pieces into his students' exercise books, so that they could be used for practise. Copies of Stölzel's Partia in G Minor from his Clavierbüchlein have been found in the exercise book belonging to J. S. Bach's son, Wilhelm Freidemann, as well as one Bach created for his second wife, Anna Magdalena. Transcribing music, or copying it, was also a popular teaching strategy. Not only did the work help students to reinforce their developing skills in musical theory, it also encouraged them to study great works in minute detail.

Thus, collecting and/or copying music without a proper citation was extremely common in the Baroque era. It may have been done innocently and inadvertently, it may have been due to general carelessness, or it may have been stolen outright.

Anna Magdalena was a trained singer and the daughter of a musician. She often copied music: she became her husband’s musical amanuensis, as her handwriting quite closely resembled his. They created Anna Magdalena's famed "notebooks" together, and this method of transcription may well be the reason why J. S. Bach's name became automatically linked to the piece, "Bist du bei mir". Apparently, the melody was "lifted" from a part of Gottfried Heinrich Stölzel's opera, Diomedes, oder die triumphierende Unschuld, which was performed in Bayreuth on November 16, 1718. The author of the lyrics is unknown. This piece may have been transcribed and set by Johann Sebastian as a solo aria appropriate for his wife’s voice, and she may also have had to do some of the copying. No one will ever know how the actual transmission occurred.

December 18

2011-12-17T17:09:00.013-05:00

Donkey Carol
by John Rutter, and performed by
The Choir of Clare College, Cambridge

Donkey riding over the bumpy road,
Carry Mary, all with her heavy load;
Follow Joseph, leading you on you way
Until you find a stable, somewhere to rest and stay.

Donkey watching over the Jesus child,
See the baby, all with his mother mild;
Hear the angels singing their song on high:
‘Nowell, nowell, nowell’, their caroling fills the sky.

Donkey resting all in a manger stall,
With the oxen worship the Lord of all.
Hush, he lies asleep on his bed of hay
While Mary sings so sweetly ‘Lulla, lullalay.’

Donkey waking all at the break of day,
See, a new light shining with brightest ray.
Long the weary journey you soon must start,
But you will travel gladly; God will make brave your heart.

Donkey skip for joy as you go your way;
Alleluia, Jesus is born today.
Hark, the bells ring out with their message clear:
Rejoice and sing that Christ our Saviour divine is here.

I've had a lovely day with my parents here in Stratford, and the little girlies and I mooched all around the downtown, in order to finish the last of the Christmas shopping.

Our absolute favourite store is the wonderful Fundamentals Books and Toys... No matter what I am researching or teaching at any given time, I can always be sure that if there is a good children's book available out there somewhere, the friendly staff will not only know exactly what I am asking about, but more often than not, they will be able to produce a copy for me.

Today, as we walked through the door, we were confronted with an enormous holiday book display. Front-and-centre was a new children's Nativity book that I have never seen before. "Through the Animals' Eyes" is a beautiful rendition of the Christmas story, accompanied by the most exquisite wood-engraved illustrations.

Author and artist Christopher Wormell began his early career when he learned lino-cutting from his father. The Wormell family created their own series of Christmas cards each year. Eventually, their work became so popular, it turned into a "cottage industry", in which Christopher, his brothers and sisters produced hand-made cards by the hundreds.

When his first child was born, Christopher Wormell created and published two alphabet books for his son, Jack, which earned rave reviews and several prestigious awards for illustration. His other books for children include "Teeth, Tails & Tentacles", "Mice, Morals & Monkey Business", the "Blue Rabbit" series, "Animal Train", "George and the Dragon", and "Swan Song", which is a collection of poems by J. Patrick Lewis about extinct animals.

What I like best about "Through The Animals' Eyes" is that Mr. Wormell does not stop at simply re-telling the Christmas story, and showing it from the animals' unique point-of-view. At the end of the book, he lists the animals who have been featured in his illustrations, and gives a short description of each one. As well as the camel, the sheep, the cow, and the donkey that we would normally associate with the story of Jesus' birth, he also features symbolic animals such as the dove, the honeybee, the lion, and the griffon vulture, carefully explaining the significance of each, and his reasons for including them in this work.

Of the Asiatic Donkey, he writes:

A small, surefooted animal preferred by Hebrews over packing animals. When families traveled over rocky, uneven trails of the Holy Land, women and children would ride these animals as the men guided them along.

December 17

2011-12-16T07:32:00.018-05:00

Toccata from Symphony No. 5

by Charles Widor, and performed by organist Peter Hurford

For my parents, who have been "manacled together" for 45 years today.

Just a little over half a decade ago, I broached the subject of another significant anniversary celebration with my mum and dad. When I call home, they often pick up separate phones, mostly because they love me, but also so that they can both join in the conversation, and needle one another:

Me: So... the big 4-0 is coming up fast, eh?

My Mother: Yes... BASIL. Our FORTIETH WEDDING ANNIVERSARY is coming up! What are we going to do about it?

My Father: (dryly) Get a divorce.

This conversation became the catalyst for a mammoth heist on the part of my brother, sister and me, which turned into a surprise party of epic proportions. I say "epic", not because of the size, lavishness or expense of the celebration, but because of the simple fact that my siblings and I successfully managed to "pull the wool over the eyes" of the two people in our lives with whom we have NEVER gotten away with ANYTHING.

Dear Mum and Dad:

It goes without saying that my admiration and immense gratitude for you both knows no bounds... so I will spare you any nauseating, mushy tributes here, and will treat you to dinner, instead-- so long as you both promise to share one entree, and lay off the booze. (Kidding! Kidding...)

--Your Loving Daughter

December 16

2011-12-15T10:53:00.008-05:00

Bethlehem Down
performed by the Choir of Guildford Cathedral

"When He is King we will give Him a King's gifts,
Myrrh for its sweetness, and gold for a crown,
Beautiful robes", said the young girl to Joseph,
Fair with her first-born on Bethlehem Down.

Bethlehem Down is full of the starlight,
Winds for the spices, and stars for the gold,
Mary for sleep, and for lullaby music,
Songs of a shepherd by Bethlehem fold.

When He is King they will clothe Him in grave-sheets,
Myrrh for embalming, and wood for a crown,
He that lies now in the white arms of Mary,
Sleeping so lightly on Bethlehem Down

Here He has peace and a short while for dreaming,
Close-huddled oxen to keep him from cold,
Mary for love, and for lullaby music,
Songs of a shepherd by Bethlehem Down.

This is another haunting, gorgeous carol by Philip Arnold Heseltine, who was best known as the Anglo-Welsh composer, Peter Warlock (1894–1930). For his text, he used a poem written by journalist and poet Bruce Blunt (1899–1957).

I find the story behind this, one of my favourite carols of the season, to be almost impossible to believe-- it comes close to spoiling my enjoyment!! I have learned that Warlock wrote it to finance an "immortal carouse" (a heavy bout of drinking) on Christmas Eve, 1927, for himself and Blunt, who were experiencing financial difficulty. The pair submitted the carol to the Daily Telegraph's annual Christmas carol contest... and won. Necessity being the mother of invention, it must have been a very happy Christmas, after all.

December 15

2011-12-14T19:01:00.003-05:00

The Huron Carol
performed by Chanticleer

'Twas in the moon of wintertime
when all the birds had fled
That mighty Gitchi Manitou
sent angel choirs instead;
Before their light the stars grew dim
and wondering hunters heard the hymn:
"Jesus your King is born, Jesus is born:
In excelsis gloria!"

Within a lodge of broken bark
the tender babe was found;
A ragged robe of rabbit skin
enwrapped his beauty round
But as the hunter braves drew nigh
the angel song rang loud and high:
"Jesus your King is born, Jesus is born:
In excelsis gloria!"

The earliest moon of wintertime
is not so round and fair
As was the ring of glory on
the helpless infant there.
The chiefs from far before him knelt
with gifts of fox and beaver pelt:
"Jesus your King is born, Jesus is born:
In excelsis gloria!"

O children of the forest free,
O seed of Manitou
The holy Child of earth and heaven
is born today for you.
Come kneel before the radiant boy
who brings you beauty peace and joy:
"Jesus your King is born, Jesus is born:
In excelsis gloria!"

Yesterday, I received a lovely email from a reader in Australia, who has been following this blog for several years. She asked if I could please play "The Canadian Carol", as she has enjoyed its inclusion in the Musical Advent Calendar in years past. Although I don't usually take requests, this one was impossible to turn down, as I have a deep love of this carol, myself, living just a short distance from the area where it was composed and first sung.

The words of this Christmas hymn were written in 1643, by Jean de Brébeuf, who was a Jesuit missionary at Sainte-Marie among the Hurons, near Midland, Ontario, Canada. Brébeuf wanted to tell the Christmas story in a way the Hurons could understand, so he composed this Christmas carol, using the native language of the Huron/Wendat people. The song's original Huron title is "Jesous Ahatonhia" ("Jesus, he is born"). The melody is a traditional French folk song, "Une Jeune Pucelle" ("A Young Maid"). The essential message - of the miracle and promise of new life and new hope in the midst of dark and bitter winter - was very "acceptable" to the Huron people, and is one we can all share today.

Even after Jean de Brebeuf's death in 1649 at the hands of the rival Iroquois, the destruction of the Sainte-Marie settlement, and the dispersal of the remaining Huron people, the survivors of the brutal attack still celebrated the nativity each winter and kept the carol alive through the oral tradition. Almost 100 years later, another Jesuit priest heard the carol and wrote it down. It was translated into French under the title "Jesus est ne." In 1926, poet J.E. Middleton wrote an English interpretation that is widely known today.

I highly recommend the spectacular book, "The Huron Carol", which is beautifully illustrated by Frances Tyrrell. It includes the music for The Huron Carol, the only surviving verse in the old Huron language, and two verses from the eighteenth century French translation.

December 14

2011-12-13T16:41:00.003-05:00

Bogoróditse dyévo (O Mother of God)
a Russian carol, by Arvo Pärt
performed by the choral ensemble, Chantage

Bogoróditse dyévo, raduisya,
Blagodatnaya Mariye
Gospod s Toboyu.
Blagoslovenna Ty v zhenakh,
I blagosloven plod chreva Tvoyevo,
Yako Spasa rodila yesi dush nashikh.

Rejoice, O mother of God.
Virgin Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee;
blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb,
for thou hast borne the Saviour of our souls.

Arvo Pärt's Bogoróditse Djévo takes as its text a part of the Russian Orthodox liturgy. It was composed as a commission for King's College, Cambridge's Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols in 1992, and reflects the composer's own religious heritage.

This piece is an example of Pärt's signature tintinnabuli technique, which combines melodic voices moving between tonic chord tones, giving the effect of continuous tonic resonance. Pärt has compared this technique to "...the dichotomy of the spirit and the flesh, or of the heavenly and the earthly."

As you listen to the work, you can hear this concept emerge in the texture of the music, as well. The carol begins as a religious chant which is sung as a sustained chord, softly punctuated by the sounds of the words of the text. Then, the solemnity changes to a celebration, as the chords become more harmonious and "active", with jubilant melodic lines. By alternating back and forth between these two musical styles, the composer achieves contrasting expressions, both of which effectively express "divine joy".

A bonus...

2011-12-13T08:44:00.002-05:00

A dear friend of mine sent me this video this morning, and I love it... I give you:
The Hallelujah Chorus, Northern-style!

Hallelujah Chorus -Kuinerrarmiut Elitnaurviat 5th Grade - Quinhagak, Alaska

(And, for the record... The teacher has promised that his students' first lesson of the New Year will address the correct use of the apostrophe!! He sounds like my kind of guy.)

December 13

2011-12-12T19:48:00.005-05:00

A Tender Shoot
performed by The Choir of King's College, Cambridge

A tender shoot has started up from a root of grace,
as ancient seers imparted from Jesse's holy race:
It blooms without a blight, blooms in the cold mid-winter,
turning our darkness into light.

This shoot Isaiah taught us, from Jesse's root should spring;
The Virgin Mary brought us the branch of which we sing;
Our God of endless might gave her this child to save us,
Thus turning darkness into light.

The lyrics of this carol describe Christ as the ‘tender shoot’ that sprang from the root of Jesse, as written in the book of Isaiah, Chapter 11. These verses are a prophecy that are an important part of many celebrations of Lessons and Carols (including those at King's College Chapel, in Cambridge, England on Christmas Eve):

And there shall come forth a rod out of the stem of Jesse, and a Branch shall grow out of his roots:

And the spirit of the LORD shall rest upon him, the spirit of wisdom and understanding, the spirit of counsel and might, the spirit of knowledge and of the fear of the LORD;

And shall make him of quick understanding in the fear of the LORD: and he shall not judge after the sight of his eyes, neither reprove after the hearing of his ears:

But with righteousness shall he judge the poor, and reprove with equity for the meek of the earth: and he shall smite the earth: with the rod of his mouth, and with the breath of his lips shall he slay the wicked.

And righteousness shall be the girdle of his loins, and faithfulness the girdle of his reins.

The wolf also shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the kid; and the calf and the young lion and the fatling together; and a little child shall lead them.

And the cow and the bear shall feed; their young ones shall lie down together: and the lion shall eat straw like the ox.

And the sucking child shall play on the hole of the asp, and the weaned child shall put his hand on the cockatrice' den.

They shall not hurt nor destroy in all my holy mountain: for the earth shall be full of the knowledge of the LORD, as the waters cover the sea.

(Isaiah 11:1-9)

Isaiah again returns to this imagery in Chapter 53, verse 2:

For he shall grow up before him as a tender plant, and as a root out of a dry ground: he hath no form nor comeliness; and when we shall see him, there is no beauty that we should desire him.

The carol, A Tender Shoot was written by the German pianist, conductor and composer Otto Goldschmidt (1829–1907). He settled in England in 1858 with his wife, the famous Swedish soprano Jenny Lind, who was nicknamed ‘The Swedish Nightingale’. The original German lyrics were translated into English by William Bartholomew (1793-1867). Interestingly, the carol was first made famous by its regular inclusion at the Advent Carol Services at St John's College, Cambridge under the direction of the late Dr. George Guest. One of the choir's most popular recordings of A Tender Shoot was made in the early 1960s.

December 12

2011-12-11T19:00:00.006-05:00

We Wish You a Merry Christmas
performed by The Muppets

"Piggy pudding??!"

"No, FIGGY pudding... it's made with figs."

"Oh! Sorry!"

"And bacon."

"What??!"

December 11

2011-12-10T15:45:00.005-05:00

It Came Upon The Midnight Clear
performed by Sara Groves

It came upon the midnight clear,
That glorious song of old,
From angels bending near the earth,
To touch their harps of gold;
“Peace on the earth, good will to men,
From Heaven’s all gracious King.”
The world in solemn stillness lay,
To hear the angels sing.

Still through the cloven skies they come
With peaceful wings unfurled,
And still their heavenly music floats
O’er all the weary world;
Above its sad and lowly plains,
They bend on hovering wing,
And ever over its Babel sounds
The blessèd angels sing.

Yet with the woes of sin and strife
The world has suffered long;
Beneath the angel strain have rolled
Two thousand years of wrong;
And man, at war with man, hears not
The love-song which they bring;
O hush the noise, ye men of strife
And hear the angels sing.

And ye, beneath life’s crushing load,
Whose forms are bending low,
Who toil along the climbing way
With painful steps and slow,
Look now! for glad and golden hours
Come swiftly on the wing.
O rest beside the weary road,
And hear the angels sing!

For lo! the days are hastening on,
By prophet-bards foretold,
When with the ever circling years
Comes round the age of gold;
When peace shall over all the earth
Its ancient splendors fling,
And the whole world send back the song
Which now the angels sing.

The words for this carol were written by American poet Edmund H. Sears, and first published in the Christian Register in 1849. Sears is said to have written these words at the request of his friend, W. P. Lunt, a minister in Quincy, Massachusetts. It was first sung at the 1849 Sunday School Christmas celebration. There are several musical settings for the tune, one of the most popular (although rather "stodgy"-sounding, in my opinion) was adapted from a traditional English tune by Sir Arthur Sullivan, who, although most famous as the musical-half of the composer/librettist team, Gilbert and Sullivan, was a brilliant and prolific composer in his own right. The other, and perhaps more familiar tune (to North American ears, I suspect) was written in 1850 by Richard S. Willis.

I'm usually extremely skeptical when popular music artists attempt to re-create "old standards" at Christmastime. Indeed, most most of the music I have been forced to endure as I've made my way through crowded shopping malls this year has made me want to cover my ears and sprint, screaming, for the parking lot. (Yes, Justin Bieber, I am talking about YOU. And, sadly, many others.) However, this rendition of the carol performed by Sara Groves proved to be a pleasant surprise, perhaps because I have never felt particularly attached to the original tunes. Seeing as this piece has American origins, I think that the "gospel"-style of singing the angel chorus near the end to be unique, and somehow... appropriate.

December 10

2011-12-09T14:46:00.005-05:00

Madonna and Child in Glory with Cherubs
by Giovanni Battista Salvi da Sassoferrato

What Child is This?
performed by The Choir of St John's Church,
Elora, Ontario, Canada.

What Child is this who, laid to rest
On Mary's lap is sleeping?
Whom Angels greet with anthems sweet,
While shepherds watch are keeping?

This, this is Christ the King,
Whom shepherds guard and Angels sing;
Haste, haste, to bring Him laud,
The Babe, the Son of Mary.

Why lies He in such mean estate,
Where ox and ass are feeding?
Good Christians, fear, for sinners here
The silent Word is pleading.

Nails, spear shall pierce Him through,
The cross be borne for me, for you.
Hail, hail the Word made flesh,
The Babe, the Son of Mary.

So bring Him incense, gold and myrrh,
Come peasant, king to own Him;
The King of kings salvation brings,
Let loving hearts enthrone Him.

Raise, raise a song on high,
The virgin sings her lullaby.
Joy, joy for Christ is born,
The Babe, the Son of Mary.

"What Child Is This" was written by English poet and lay theologian William Chatterton Dix as a poem entitled "The Manger Throne". It was first used as a hymn text in Sir John Stainer's Christmas Carols New and Old, 1871. Its well-known tune, "Greensleeves", is a traditional English ballad with an interesting history. The earliest known publication of this tune is in two books of 1580. One is by Richard Jones, entitled "A new Northerne Dittye of the Lady Greene Sleeves", and the other is by Edward White: "A ballad, being the Ladie Greene Sleeves Answere to Donkyn his frende".

William Shakespeare mentions it twice in "The Merry Wives of Windsor":

I would have sworn his disposition would have gone to the truth of his words; but they do no more adhere and keep place together than the Hundredth Psalm to the tune of 'Green Sleeves.'

(Act II, Scene one)

Let the sky rain potatoes; let it thunder to the tune of 'Green Sleeves.'

(Act V, Scene five)

Another one of its early appearances as a hymn tune was as the setting for “Carol for New Year’s Day, to the tune of Green Sleeves". "The old year now is fled" is from a black-letter collection printed in 1642, and can be found in the Ashmoleon Library in Oxford.

December 9

2011-12-08T16:02:00.015-05:00

Nativity at Night by Geertgen, 1484-90

Veni, Veni Emmanuel
(O Come, O Come Emmanuel)
performed by The King's Singers

Veni, veni Emmanuel,
Captivum solve Israel,
Qui gemit in exilio
Privatus Dei Filio.
Gaude, gaude! Emmanuel
nascetur pro te, Israel.

Veni, o Jesse Virgula;
Ex hostis tuos ungula,
De specu tuos tartari
Deduc et antro barathri.
Gaude, gaude! Emmanuel
nascetur pro te, Israel.

Veni, veni, o Oriens
Solare nos adveniens;
Noctis depele nebulas
Dirasque noctis tenebras.
Gaude, gaude! Emmanuel
nascetur pro te, Israel.

Veni clavis Davidica;
Regna reclude caelica;
Fac iter tutum superum,
Et claude vias inferum.
Gaude, gaude! Emmanuel
nascetur pro te, Israel.

Veni, veni Adonai,
Qui populo in Sinai
Legem dedisti vertice,
In majestate gloriae.
Gaude, gaude! Emmanuel
nascetur pro te, Israel.

O come, O come Emmanuel,
And ransom captive Israel,
That mourns in lonely exile here,
Until the Son of God appear.

Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel!

Oh, come, oh, come, great Lord of might,
Who to Thy tribes on Sinai's height
In Ancient times once gave the law
In cloud, and majesty and awe.

Oh, come, strong branch of Jesse, free
Thine own from Satans tyranny;
From depths of hell Thy people save
And give them vict'ry o'er the grave.

Oh, come, Thou Key of David, come
And open wide our heavenly home:
Make safe the way that leads on high
And close the path to misery.

O Come Thou Dayspring, from on high
And cheer us by Thy drawing nigh;
Disperse the gloomy clouds of night,
And death's dark shadows put to flight.

O come, Thou Wisdom from on high,
And order all things, far and nigh;
To us the path of knowledge show,
And cause us in her ways to go.

O come desire of nations, bind
All peoples in one heart and mind;
Bid envy, strife, and quarrels cease;
Fill the whole world with heaven's peace.

This is a carol with most ancient origins, and is the last of the seven great "O Antiphons" that are sung for Advent, beginning one week before Christmas. These antiphons—short devotional texts chanted before and after a psalm or canticle—are sung before and after the Magnificat, the Song of Mary, at Vespers.

The text for this, the last antiphon for Christmas Eve, is based upon the Biblical prophecy from Isaiah 7:14

Therefore the Lord himself shall give you a sign; Behold, a virgin shall conceive, and bear a son, and shall call his name Immanuel.

Hebrew עִמָּנוּאֵל "God [is] with us" consists of two Hebrew words: אֵל (’El, meaning 'God') and עִמָּנוּ (ʻImmānū, meaning 'with us').

Matthew 1:23 states fulfillment of this prophecy in the birth of Jesus of Nazareth:

Behold, a virgin shall be with child, and shall bring forth a son, and they shall call his name Emmanuel, which being interpreted is, God with us.

The Twelfth Century Latin verses were translated by the Nineteenth Century English carol writer John M. Neale, who also wrote "Good King Wenceslas." The tune that we recognize today was adapted from a number of Twelfth Century plainsongs which were chanted according to the natural rhythms of the words. Some believe that the music originates from a processional sung by Franciscan nuns in the Fifteenth Century, but it may well have Eighth Century Gregorian origins.

December 8

2011-12-07T16:36:00.005-05:00

Yorkshire moor in winter

Sweet Bells
a lovely folk version of "While Shepherds Watched"
performed by "The Barnsley Nightengale" a.k.a. Kate Rusby

I do love this charming version of the more formal (and, if I may say so, more than slightly whine-y sounding) "While Shepherds Watched". I have never been very fond of the traditional carol, and confess to stooping to the more juvenile lyrics, "While shepherds washed their socks by night, all seated on the ground..." Being a knitter with a weakness for all things woolly, of COURSE I imagine those shepherds cleaning their beloved hand-knits with extra care (using nothing but eucalan, of course!)

However, ever since hearing Yorkshire lass Kate Rusby's beautiful Christmas album for the first time last year, I have been resolved that if I ever have a primary class of my own, THIS TUNE shall be the one I choose to have my students perform at the holiday musical-- with bells on! "While Shepherds Watched" turns up in many forms in the South Yorkshire carol tradition, sung to a wide selection of tunes; including Cranbrook (better known nowadays as Ilkley Moor Baht'at).

The lyrics of the carol "While Shepherds Watched" were written by Nahum Tate and Nicholas Brady, and were some of the earliest "poetic paraphrasing" of the traditionally-sung Psalms of David. The tune most usually chosen was "Winchester Old", from Este's Psalter of 1592. Tate and Brady's words appeared in 1696, and were "allowed" by the King in Council, in place of the Old Version of the hymnal of 1556.

December 7

2011-12-06T16:02:00.007-05:00

The Sons of Knute Christmas Dance and Dinner
Written and performed by the incomparable
Garrison Keillor

Garrison Keillor says of Christmas:

“A lovely thing about Christmas is that it's compulsory,
like a thunderstorm, and we all go through it together.”

At no time does this feel more true to me than when I'm fighting my way through crowded malls, shopping bags in tow... and then suddenly look up and lock eyes with another mother. Perhaps she is staggering around with her own packages. More often than not, she is pushing a stroller containing an overtired,overstimulated toddler. Like me, she is "under-the-gun" of The Holidays, and all of the accompanying pressures and deadlines. It's a sort of anonymous solidarity we share, as we smile in recognition and relief at one another, for that one blessed moment. We are just two mums together, making Christmas for our families. Sure, it's hard. If we've done it right, we're completely exhausted by the night the Big Fat Man In Red arrives (and takes ALL the credit, thank-you-very-much. Isn't that just like a man...)

It's the same solidarity I share with my sister on Christmas Eve, as we race for that finish line, wrapping presents with such desperate speed and ferocity that we usually wind up with scotch tape in our hair, collapsed on the floor, giggling like idiots until tears run down our cheeks and trickle into our ears...

It's Motherhood. It's all about giving everything we've got, and then some.

And amazingly, it's worth it.

“Thank you, dear God, for this good life
and forgive us if we do not love it enough.”

--Garrison Keillor, from his book, "Leaving Home"

December 6

2011-12-05T16:21:00.005-05:00

The Nativity with Adoration of the Shepherds

by Georgio Vasari, 1546

Tyrley, Tyrlow

Arranged by Peter Warlock

Performed by The Allegri Singers

About the field they pipèd right,
So merrily the shepherds began to blow.
A-down from heaven that is so high.
Tyrley, tyrlow, tyrley, tyrlow, tyrley, tyrlow.

Of angels there came a company
With merry songs and melody,
The shepherds anon gan them aspy.
Tyrley, tyrlow …

The shepherds hied them to Bedlem
To see that blessed sun his beam.
And there they found that glorious leme.
Tyrley, tyrlow …

Now pray we to that meke child,
And to his mother that is so mild,
The which was never defiled.
Tyrley, tyrlow …

That we may come unto his bliss
Where joy shall never miss.
Then may we sing in Paradise.
Tyrley, tyrlow …

I pray you all that be here
For to sing and make good cheer
In the worship of God this year.
Tyrley, tyrlow …

Peter Warlock was a pseudonym of Philip Arnold Heseltine (30 October 1894 – 17 December 1930), an Anglo-Welsh composer and music critic. He used the pseudonym (and several others) when composing, and is now probably best known by this name. As Peter Warlock, he wrote arrangments for many lovely carols, including Adam Lay Ybounden and Bethlehem Down. The music for Tyrley, Tyrlow was written in 1922.

Warlock was greatly influenced by Renaissance poetry, and the lyrics to this carol date back to the middle of the fifteenth century.

December 5

2011-12-04T18:12:00.009-05:00

Christ Child Asleep by Bernardino Luini

Sleep

composed by the brilliant Eric Whitacre

lyrics written by Charles Anthony Silvestri

and performed by Polyphony

The evening hangs beneath the moon

A silver thread on darkened dune

With closing eyes and resting head

I know that sleep is coming soon

Upon my pillow, safe in bed

A thousand pictures fill my head

I cannot sleep my minds a flight

And yet my limbs seem made of lead

If there are noises in the night

A frighting shadow, flickering light

Then I surrender unto sleep

Where clouds of dreams give second sight
What dreams may come both dark and deep
Of flying wings and soaring leap

As I surrender unto sleep

This piece, although not strictly a "Christmas Carol", is one that I am particularly drawn to this year, for the holiday season. The words put me in mind of a child on Christmas Eve, filled with excitement and trying desperately to stay awake for Santa Claus... but ultimately surrendering to slumber. Whitacre's ability to create a "sound-scape" never ceases to amaze me, and if you listen carefully, you can envision the child's breathing changing to a shallow, rhythmic pace by the end of the piece.

Last year, it was Eric Whitacre's "Lux Arumque" that captivated me at a magnificent carol service at St. John's Church in Elora, Ontario. I have, since then, been completely fascinated by this brilliant young composer's work, both in live performance, and with his "virtual choir" performances, which are readily available on the internet via Youtube, as well as on Mr. Whitacre's own website.

"Sleep" has a most unusual-- and nearly tragic-- story behind it. Thank heavens the piece was rescued by poet Charles Anthony Silvestri. In Mr. Whitacre's own words:

In the winter of 1999 I was contacted by Ms. Julia Armstrong, a lawyer and professional mezzo-soprano living in Austin, Texas. She wanted to commission a choral work from me that would be premiered by the Austin ProChorus (Kinley Lange, cond.), a terrific chorus in which she regularly performed.

The circumstances around the commission were certainly memorable. She wanted to commission the piece in memory of her parents, who had died within weeks of each other after more fifty years of marriage; and she wanted me to set her favorite poem, Robert Frost’s immortal Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening. I was deeply moved by her spirit and her request, and agreed to take on the commission.

I took my time with the piece, crafting it note by note until I felt that it was exactly the way I wanted it. The poem is perfect, truly a gem, and my general approach was to try to get out of the way of the words and let them work their magic. We premiered the piece in Austin, October 2000, and the piece was well received. Rene Clausen gave it a glorious performance at the ACDA National Convention in the spring of 2001, and soon after I began receiving letters, emails, and phone calls from conductors trying to get a hold of the work.

And here was my tragic mistake: I never secured permission to use the poem. Robert Frost’s poetry has been under tight control from his estate since his death, and until a few years ago only Randall Thompson (Frostiana) had been given permission to set his poetry. In 1997, out of the blue, the estate released a number of titles, and at least twenty composers set and published Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening for chorus. When I looked online and saw all of these new and different settings, I naturally (and naively) assumed that it was open to anyone. Little did I know that the Robert Frost Estate had shut down ANY use of the poem just months before, ostensibly because of this plethora of new settings.

After a LONG legal battle (many letters, many representatives), the estate of Robert Frost and their publisher, Henry Holt Inc., sternly and formally forbid me from using the poem for publication or performance until the poem became public domain in 2038.

I was crushed. The piece was dead, and would sit under my bed for the next 37 years because of some ridiculous ruling by heirs and lawyers. After many discussions with my wife, I decided that I would ask my friend and brilliant poet Charles Anthony Silvestri (Leonardo Dreams of His Flying Machine, Lux Aurumque, Nox Aurumque, Her Sacred Spirit Soars) to set new words to the music I had already written. This was an enormous task, because I was asking him to not only write a poem that had the exact structure of the Frost, but that would even incorporate key words from “Stopping”, like ‘sleep’. Tony wrote an absolutely exquisite poem, finding a completely different (but equally beautiful) message in the music I had already written. I actually prefer Tony’s poem now…

And there it is. My setting of Robert Frost’s Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening no longer exists. And I won’t use that poem ever again, not even when it becomes public domain in 2038.

December 4

2011-12-03T11:54:00.014-05:00

"How far is it to Bethlehem?"

performed by The Choir of King's College, Cambridge

How far is it to Bethlehem?
Not very far.
Shall we find the stable room
Lit by a star?
Can we see the little child,
Is he within?
If we lift the wooden latch
May we go in?

May we stroke the creatures there,
Ox, ass or sheep?
May we peep like them and see
Jesus asleep?
If we touch his tiny hand
Will he awake?
Will he know we've come so far
Just for his sake?

Great kings have precious gifts,
And we have naught,
Little smiles and little tears
Are all we brought,
For all weary children
Mary must weep.
Here, on his bed of straw
Sleep, children, sleep.

God in his mother's arms,
Babes in the byre,
Sleep, as they sleep who find
Their heart's desire.

This beautiful poem is by Frances Chesterton, who was the wife of the famous author, G. K. Chesterton. Mrs. Chesterton was a lovely and talented woman, who also taught Sunday School. Concerning Frances teaching a group “of little Devils”, G. K. wrote that when the children look up, “ ... they will see the most glorious and noble lady that ever lived ... with a halo of hair and great heavenly eyes that seem to make the good at the heart of things almost too terribly simple and naked for the sons of flesh ....”

The couple were devoted to one another, and there has, over the years, been some dispute as to which author should be attributed credit for the writing of several pieces of poetry. One such poem has been featured in my Musical Advent Calendar in years past: "Here Is The Little Door" is a mesmerising carol that is written from the point of view of the Wise Men, as they end their long journey and approach the infant Christ in the stable in Bethlehem. It is my own belief that the words to the carol were actually penned by Frances Chesterton, as there are definite similarities between that piece, and other poems that she wrote for the Christmas celebration.

I have very vivid memories of singing "How far is it to Bethlehem?" as a very small child, myself. I remember being trussed up in a snow-white choir gown and a tiny beanie hat, firmly secured to my head with innumerable bobby pins. We in the primary choir had processed into the loft ahead of the seniors, and I can still feel the trembling of my innards as we children stood to pipe out the tune in our little bird-like voices.

It fascinates me that as a grown-up, some thirty-five years later, I have difficulty remembering important information like people's names, telephone numbers and computer passwords... and yet, I can still remember every single word of the lyrics I learned as a member of the choir, many moons ago.

December 3

2011-12-02T17:16:00.010-05:00

"Toy Packaging"

performed by Sara Groves

Let the games begin, people... IF you can get the @#$%*&!! package open, that is.

And, to answer your question: YES, I do own one of these gadgets.
I just can't find the damn thing.

December 2

2011-12-01T15:57:00.009-05:00

Maybe This Christmas
performed by Canadian Ron Sexsmith

This is another one of my favourite new Christmas tunes, which was made popular by the hugely entertaining British film, "Nativity!" last year. If you haven't seen it, be sure to pick it up over the holiday season... It's the best thing since "The Best Christmas Pageant Ever"! Trust me.

And speaking of all things wonderful, not to mention Canadian... here is a suggestion for any child's Christmas book collection: a quintessential "Canuck" rendition of another carol altogether, "A Porcupine in a Pine Tree". Those of you who have followed this blog in years past will know and remember my general loathing of "The Twelve Days of Christmas", not only for it's nauseating repetitive nature, but for the serious over-play we are forced to endure, usually performed by some of the very worst, "up-and-coming entertainers" of the new millennium.

This lovely little book has given me pause for thought, however, and a whole new way for me to chime in at holiday sing-a-longs... and drat the funny looks I may receive!!

This IS The Great White North, after all.

December 1

2011-11-30T17:50:00.025-05:00

It's December at last!

A very warm welcome to you all on this snowy day, as we begin our annual Musical Advent Calendar here at "I Can Fly, Just Not Up". Every day until Christmas, I will feature a new carol for your listening enjoyment. Be sure to check in regularly, as each musical selection will only be posted for twenty-four hours. Every piece of music has been carefully chosen to reflect what I believe are the most beautiful arrangements available this Christmas season, and I hope that you will enjoy each one.

There is nothing I love more than sitting quietly and listening to music, especially at Christmastime. During this often frantically busy season, it is good for the soul to take a few moments for oneself, to remember what all of the hoopla and celebrations are really about: the birth of Jesus Christ.

Relax, rest and enjoy, my friends. And, a very happy Christmas to you all.

The Wexford Carol
"Carul Loch Garman", "Carúl Inis Córthaidh"

Performed by: The Cambridge Singers

Good people all, this Christmas time,
Consider well and bear in mind
What our good God for us has done,

In sending his beloved son.

With Mary holy we should pray,

To God with love this Christmas Day;

In Bethlehem upon that morn

There was a blessed Messiah born.

The night before that happy tide,

The noble Virgin and her guide

Were long time seeking up and down

To find a lodging in the town.

But mark how all things came to pass:

From every door repelled, alas!

As long foretold, their refuge all

Was but a humble ox's stall.

Near Bethlehem did shepherds keep

Their flocks of lambs and feeding sheep;

To whom God's angel did appear,

Which put the shepherds in great fear.

"Prepare and go," the angels said,

"To Bethlehem, be not afraid;

For there you'll find, this happy morn,

A princely babe, sweet Jesus, born."

With thankful heart and joyful mind,

The shepherds went the babe to find,

And as God's angel had foretold,

They did our Saviour Christ behold.

Within a manger he was laid,

And by his side a virgin maid,

Attending on the Lord of life,

Who came on earth to end all strife.

There were three wise men from afar

Directed by a glorious star,

And on they wandered night and day

Until they came where Jesus lay.

And when they came unto that place

Where our beloved Messiah was,

They humbly cast them at his feet,

With gifts of gold and incense sweet.

This beautiful Irish carol originates from Enniscorthy, County Wexford, and is one of the most ancient in the European tradition. The tune is somewhat unusual, as it seems far too "jolly" and lilting to reflect Medieval music, and yet neither does it exactly fit the Irish folk music of the time. Presumably, this carol was originally written not only to tell the tale of Christ's birth, but also to express the joy of Christmastime... such is the beauty of the carol tradition: a departure from the solemnity of religious rites, and an expression of human celebration. The words may well have changed through the years of oral tradition, and then through translation into different languages, but the lovely sentiment remains.

Dating from the twelfth century, "The Wexford Carol" is one of the best known of the Kilmore Carols Cycle. In total, there are thirteen carols in the cycle, eight of which are sung during the Christmas period. The first is sung at Mass on Christmas Day, and the last on the Sunday that is nearest to the Twelfth Day. The annual singing of this ancient carol cycle has occurred at the tiny village church in Kilmore for over two hundred years. They were first introduced to the parish by the Very Rev. Peter Devereux, who was Parish Priest circa 1751. The beautiful carols are handwritten in a leather-bound book- the work of Mr. Richard O'Neill, a famous old schoolmaster.

It has long been a tradition at this church that these carols be sung by men only. The singers consist of six local gentleman, and the group has always included a member of the Devereux family, a tradition that is being continued to the present day. The singers divide into two groups of three, and each group sings alternate stanzas.

A little bit of awesome...

2011-11-27T18:07:00.004-05:00

Arthur Christmas!

If you are feeling like I am this November, you are probably in need of a serious drop-kick into some "Christmas Spirit". Well, a few hours of this film should do you very nicely, just as it did me this very afternoon, with my own girlies, my sister, and a couple of nephews in tow. The 3-D effects are spectacular, and giggle-fests abound! It's the first thing I shall purchase in the New Year, once it hits DVD... one of the best holiday films I've ever seen, which I plan to enjoy with my family over and over again, in years to come.

It's been a very busy few weeks, as I've been teaching my very first grade three class! Next to the births of my children, it's been the hardest and most rewarding thing I've ever done in my whole life...

But I'm now feeling refreshed, renewed and downright EXCITED to begin writing this year's Musical Advent Calendar... Stay tuned, dear readers, as I plan once again to post some of the Christmas season's most beautiful music.

See you on December 1st!

November-- ALREADY??!

2011-11-02T09:58:00.021-04:00

Holy cow, it's been awhile, people.

I wish I knew a better way to jostle my way back into the blog-o-sphere than to just bombard you with random "bullets"... but honestly, after so many months away from you all, I can't figure out a more efficient way to catch you all up.

So, here goes:

-I DID IT. My greatest accomplishment this year was to be hired on to teach for a major Ontario board of education. It took several years of volunteering in schools, some fairly shameless schmoozing, and finally, ASKING certain people-of-influence to help me obtain an interview opportunity. Considering that we graduate over 20,000 new teachers in this province every June, and there are countless more unemployed educators just champing at the bit for work... just my getting in the door for a preliminary chat-and-once-over was no small feat. It was nothing short of miraculous to finally be selected from the thousands upon thousands that applied. Now, I'm eligible to apply for "LTO" (long-term occasional) work, and am hoping to be called fairly regularly for daily supply jobs, until I manage to somehow magic up a contract opportunity. Teaching is what I was meant to be doing, all this time-- I think I've known it since I was a very small child. But, as the Dixie Chicks put it, I guess I just took "The Long Way Around". After all, sometimes the detour makes you appreciate the final destination that much more. It's still going to be a struggle to find a "niche" for myself, and I'm wrestling with a certain amount of nervousness and lack of self-confidence... but, I'm trying. I'm pushing myself. I'm learning.

-KNIT THROUGH IT. I've been taking my mantra of the past four years very much to heart these past months. Whenever things have seemed impossible, or dire, or just plain glum-- I've picked up my needles. The worse I feel, the more complicated the knitting pattern needs to be. There has been lace: openwork so full of yarn-overs, and fibres so fine, I haven't been able to think of anything more than the movements of my fingers, and the constant counting (and cursing) in my head. It's wonderful when a project is done, to think that something beautiful came out of a period of time when a nervous breakdown might otherwise have been in order. On the flip-side, there have been other projects; much calmer ones in straight garter or stocking stitch, simple enough to be done while having coffee with friends, relaxing in front of a movie, or just sitting in my car, waiting for one of the girlies to emerge from school or an extra-curricular activity. I knit through everything. It has become my version of "yoga": my meditation, my way of finding serenity. And, I'm a lot warmer because of it. Winter's coming, and this IS Canada, after all...

These felted clogs have been The Pattern of
The Fall this year-- double and triple strands of wool felt into the most deliciously warm footwear I have ever owned-- it's like having two little ovens on the far ends of my legs!! Heaven!!

These French Press Slippers are the footwear of choice for Child Number Two, however... She lamented only this morning that she wished she could wear them to school.

These slippers are for Child Number Three, who wants warm ankles as well as feet. They're knitted in squares, then folded up like an origami project and stitched together before felting. I might just need a pair for myself, when all is said and done...

These Wellie Warmer socks are for ME, and are a wonderful alternative to the polar-fleece rip-offs being sold in major shoe stores, to accompany the three hundred dollar "Hunter" brand rubber boots that are so popular these days. I bought my own wellington boots at our local grocery store for thirty-five bucks (which is an outrageous price for this farm-country girl, actually), and fancy that my hand-knit cuffed socks will actually be warmer, as well as more attractive, than the high-fallootin' version. So there.

Did you all swoon over Part Two of the Harry Potter "Deathly Hallows" movie this year?? I sure did... The knitwear alone had me scouring the internet for patterns the moment I was sprung from the theatre. This Hermione hat knit up beautifully from a fine angora, and all three girlies want one for fall...

...to be accompanied by fingerless, elbow-length gloves. Two out of three girlies are now playing flute, so these will keep those muscles warm during rehearsals!

All you Potter-philes out there will not be surprised to learn that there is an entire pattern book chock-full of beautiful designs, for knitters of all abilities. We've done a six-foot long Hufflepuff scarf and matching tam in grey-and-gold, and I'm still working on my own version of the beloved Weasley jumper!!

CONFESSION: I want to be Molly Weasley when I grow up...

(I actually jumped out of my seat and CHEERED for this scene, much to my children's accute embarassment...)

How did he affect my life?

2011-10-06T08:32:00.004-04:00

This morning, at 8am:

Child Number Two: Mummy, can I use my tooth fairy money to buy a new app for my itouch?

In every way imaginable...
Thank you, Mr Jobs.
For everything.

The Swing Coat

2011-05-26T19:54:00.006-04:00

Oh, I'm so happy that this project is finally done... just in time for the last of the cool spring rain and fog! I've been knitting away (slowly) at this beautiful Diamond merino since last September, and in spite of the endless garter stitching and careful counting, I am SO glad I stuck with it. Now I match the lilac bush at the bottom of the garden, to boot.

My list of UFOs (un-finished objects) is steadily shrinking... and family and friends have several new pieces to wear and enjoy. Currently, I'm still working away at the hot pink bolero, and have picked up two new projects: a ripple scarf made of lightweight ribbon, and a short-sleeved cotton pull-over in a beautiful pastel stripe... Let's just see if I can get THOSE finished before Christmas, shall we???!

Yay, me!

This is the Day

2011-05-19T11:02:00.006-04:00

This Is The Day

composed for The Royal Wedding, by John Rutter,

and performed by The Choir of Westminster Abbey

This is the day, the day which the Lord hath made,
We will rejoice and be glad in it.
This is the day, the day which the Lord hath made,
We will rejoice and be glad in it.
This is the day.

O praise the Lord of Heaven,
Praise Him in the highest!
Praise Him all ye angels of His,
Praise Him all ye souls!
Praise Him sun and moon,
Praise Him all ye stars and light!
Let them praise the name of the Lord.

For he shall give his angels charge over thee,
To keep thee in all thy ways.
The Lord Himself is my keeper,
The Lord is my defense upon my right hand,
So that the sun shall not hurt thee by day,
Neither the moon by night.

The Lord shall preserve thee from all evil,
Yea, it is even He that shall keep thy soul.
The Lord shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in
From this time forth, forever more.
He shall defend thee under his wings.

Be strong,
And He shall comfort thine heart.
In Whom shall I trust?
I trust in the Lord.

Put thou thy trust in the Lord.

Drears.

2011-05-18T09:16:00.010-04:00

Would you believe that while making my rounds of the blog-o-sphere, "DREARS" was the little code word I was required to type in order to make a comment on my own blog this morning??

Fitting, I must say.

For dear readers, it has been RAINING here. With a vengeance. Heck, I think that even VANCOUVER has had it better in the weather department than we have had here, in my little corner of Ontario.

I complain... while being mindful that in a matter of just a few short weeks, I expect that my garden will be overheated and parched, baking under a summer sun. My rain barrel will likely be empty by then, and I'll be lying on the crunchy, brown grass out back, straining up at the sky in the hopes of seeing one fluffy, promising little cloud.

I only wish that I could send some of our current weather conditions over to the good people of Northern Alberta this week... There, wildfires burn out of control, destroying everything in their path. While evacuees are apparently safe in shelters, I can only imagine the anxious agony they are feeling today, as they await news of whether they have any homes to return to. Several summers ago, I had the good fortune to be the guest of one of my best friend's parents at their beautiful log home, three hours north of Edmonton. The area is one of the best kept secrets in our country-- it was nothing short of heaven to relax for ten days with some of the finest people of my acquaintance, in the beautiful lake district, at the enormous log cabin and garden that they designed and built themselves. Today, I'm praying for them, as eighty forest firefighters depart Ontario to join the team battling the blazes out West.

In the meantime, I'm making the very best of my own time. The game room in the basement has been completely renovated, during this period of being forced indoors. I've stripped ancient, textured wallpaper off of walls, and had to re-plaster and sand down the works. In spite of wearing all manner of protective masks, goggles and clothing, the dust that somehow accumulated in my hair was so thick, I had to book an appointment with my hairdresser. She dutifully scrubbed at the gook and rinsed it all out for nearly half an hour, to get me back to my regular appearance. Disgusting, yes. But the head massage was much appreciated!! Once the painting was done, I stripped and refinished the dark wood wainscotting on the lower part of the room. Even the fireplace surround was refurbished, and the whole effect is such an improvement, it hardly looks like the same place. The three solid weeks of hard slog was so worth it. The room was probably last decorated when the basement was renovated in the late 1980's, and I fancy that I've managed to drag it into the new millennium!

Last fall, I spent the first two weeks of September teaching myself the art of upholstery, in order to ease the pangs I felt when my children returned to school (and I did not). We had an old Sterns and Foster pull-out couch that we acquired with the house, since it was so heavy, it could not be lifted and manouvered up the basement stairs when the former residents moved out. This old couch was comfortable, functional, but pathetically ugly. (So ugly, I couldn't even bring myself to take "before" pictures.) Suffice it to say that it was striped in the shades of several very badly-made pea soups. Disgusting. When I was home in Stratford at the end of last summer, I lucked-out and purchased about a dozen yards of rather lovely velvet upholstery fabric in a muted colour... The whole project turned out remarkably well. Upholstery isn't very difficult, as it turns out. The most challenging part is removing the old fabric carefully enough that it can be used as a template for the new pattern pieces. Once this is done, pretty much everything else can be managed with the help of a good, sturdy nail gun. (Those of you who have been reading awhile will remember my great love of power tools...) The "new" couch cost me approximately $70, including nails, new batting, and decorative tacks.

I've also managed to sew a new cover for my old futon, which is a sofa/bed that I bought twenty five years ago, and is still so comfortable to relax and sleep on, I can't bring myself to part with it. Once again, the fabric store in Stratford held a treasure in the form of this mill-end of fabric. The finished effect is quite satisfactory, and the sitting area is now nearly complete.

This week, new curtains and cushions are running off of my ancient Janome sewing machine. I've spray painted old lamps, and made them seem new again. And best of all, the art work I'm using for the walls has all come from my own camera-- every photograph holds a family memory. They are all framed in black (inexpensively purchased at Walmart and Michael's craft store), and arranged in groups, so that viewers can sit or stand and gaze at them for as long as they like. Over the years, it has been so easy to snap literally thousands of photos, and then download them onto a hard drive. As a result, my photos have been filed away, seldom printed, and almost never viewed. It has been very rewarding to spend chunks of these rainy days poring over these memories, and seeing the happy development of my girlies. Now, the best of the bunch are finally up on the walls for all to see.

The downstairs hallway and the game room are fresh and bright and comfortable... If this rain keeps up much longer, I'm going to be forced to face the final fronteer in this house: the guest bedroom, which doubles as my craft and fabric storage area. Yeek. It desperately needs a good cleaning and sorting-out... But, hopefully THAT can wait until the dog days of summer are upon us, and it's just too darned hot to go outside.

It IS May, believe it or not... and sooner or later, the sun will shine, and those knee-high weeds outside will be ripe and ready for yanking out of the ground. The rain and chill has kept me from being tempted to visit my favourite garden centre and blow the wad on bedding plants that would only die of cold, if I were to violate my mother's strict guideline, "NOTHING before the end of May!!" When that time finally comes, the dirt will fly, let me tell you!

But for now, I will continue to fiddle with fabric and pins, the hum of the sewing machine will join the music of the rain on the roof, and the purring of contented cats.

On the Wedding Eve...

2011-04-28T21:10:00.005-04:00

Years ago, my English Granny sent me postcards with first-edition stamps on the eve of a different Royal Wedding.

Tonight, I am snuggling up in my childhood home, with my own three daughters. We've got the breakfast all laid out, and the tea kettle filled with water, as it will be an ungodly hour at which we will be arising to watch, to listen, and to make a new memory.

With everything in me, I'm hoping and praying that THIS time, the pomp and circumstance will be followed by a true marriage-- one of mutual respect, support, genuine affection, and fidelity. I want the world to see that this is possible, as another beautiful Cinderella once sang.

Blessings, my dears. Good luck to you tomorrow, and always.

See you in the morning.

Spring cleaning. Part 1

2011-03-28T10:33:00.015-04:00

It's that itchy time of year again.

And before you ask, NO, we do not have bugs in this house.

The itchiness I'm speaking of is that feeling I get every year, when spring is technically here (and by technically, I mean it's STILL FREEZING where I live, and trying to turn over the earth in the garden results in a bent-up spade), but for a variety of reasons, this fresh, new season seems to be just beyond my grasp. In order to soothe the itchiness and quell the urge to just bust right on out of my skin, screaming for mercy from all the cold and grit and SALT that's caked all over EVERYTHING around here... I have decided to undertake some clean-up projects, instead.

I'm not just talking about household-domestic projects... I'm talking about some general lifestyle changes and emotional clean-ups, too.

1. I let you in on some of my personal knitting shame in my last post. Although I've been steadily working away to finish a bunch of the projects-- I actually completed three projects in two days last week-- I have decided to release myself from some knitterly guilt. I actually FROGGED (as in RIP-IT, RIP-IT... OUT!!!) three other projects, as well. And do you know what??? Because I was really not enjoying those projects, the process of ripping out all those thousands of stitches was actually therapeutic. It felt GOOD!! That hideous tam, the blue pull-over, and the pale green summer sweater are HISTORY, people. Now, I can concentrate on a few things that will give me good feelings. FYI: My mother's sweater? Was not one of those frogged. Hell, no one's THAT good at conquering guilt.

2. I purged my facebook friends. Yes, I admit it-- I'm on facebook. At first, I signed up in order to keep an eye on my teenager, who was also dipping her big toe into the pool of cyberspace... And, a good thing, too-- there have been more than a few occasions upon which the Big Bad Mother has had to step in and curtail a few inappropriate comments from Child Number One's "circle" (needless to say, those kids have been notified and duly "blocked"). However, when I went back to school last year, I discovered that facebook was THE most convenient way in which to communicate with my colleagues, most of whom averaged about twenty-two years of age. We were able to instant-message one another, and the ability to share information quickly and conveniently was hugely beneficial. However. Now that I am actively seeking employment, I do worry about having too much of a "presence" on the world-wide web. Besides, what twenty-two year old do YOU know really cares that a 40-something-year-old woman is spending the day doing laundry, car-pooling the kids, and scheduling endless trips to the orthodontist?? Not very many, I can tell you that. Most of my former classmates can do without me-- and if they need me, they have my email address. Only my nearest and dearest need to see my facebook status: because YES, I AM THAT BORING.

3. I finished the final assignments for my university course. I am NOT taking any more courses this spring. Therefore, I NEED TO PURGE PAPER IN MY OFFICE. The shredder isn't going to know what hit it. Neither are my burly recycling guys.

4. In a vain effort to conquer the last of the crapola in this heap we call home, I have decided to redecorate the basement. Have I mentioned that we have a lower floor?? Probably not-- because it resembles the closest thing to Armageddon that I ever wish to see. It is a combination of late 1980's testosterone (think the dark-panelled bar in the tv show "Cheers") and the main play-area of "Romper Room". The resulting chaos makes me feel physically ill, whenever I have to venture down there. My laundry room is right off of the furnace area, and is chock-a-block with a higgledy-piggledy of random discarded articles that are too "precious" to actually throw away. I have decided that I can no longer stand it. SO. Out come the paint cans and overalls!! I am going to strip wallpaper, sand surfaces, and paint out the grime. Purging is always easier when you actually empty the room for a reason such as this: by the time I'm done with it, the place will look too damn good to shove all the crap back in there. It's going to take awhile, and it's going to get much, much worse before it gets better... but, this mammoth project should last me until the ground outside thaws, at least.

4. I used to sew. A lot. And, because of this, I have an enormous fabric stash that was carefully parcelled into large packing boxes, when my sewing room was dismantled upon the birth of Child Number Three. At the moment, I am working to create the costumes for a musical being put on by the public school that hosted me for my first teaching practicum (I'm so happy to be able to "give something back" to them!!), and the pleasure I'm discovering from sewing again has got me riled up to do MORE. Once the basement is done, I'm going to set up a proper station for myself upstairs, and get back to doing more of the needlework I enjoy. Of course, the main challenge will be establishing an organization system, so the whole thing doesn't get out-of-hand... That's one of the reasons why I packed it all up, years ago-- you can't have babies crawling around amongst the pins, getting tangled in thread and fabric scraps... Well, you CAN, but the results aren't pretty.

There will be more. And, as I get going, there will be photographs... Nothing is quite so satisfying as "before-during-and-after" posts!! Especially the AFTER.

What are YOU doing to stay sane this spring?

Post of shame.

2011-03-22T17:06:00.021-04:00

Knitters-with-a-capital-K often confess to having a "problem" with knitterly fidelity.

Those of us who have a real obsession with yarn are seldom monogamous to one piece of stitchery. Like so many people with obsessive-compulsive challenges, we like to spread ourselves around a little. (Ok, a LOT.) We tend to have a few things on the go at once. You know, just in case we get a little bored with one thing... we can always trade projects for something different, until the interest in the first item is piqued again.

Ahem. Do I sound a little too much like Tiger Woods?

Yeek.

'Tis true, dear readers.

My name is Candygirlflies, and I have A Problem.

I? Am a Knitwit.

My friend Lynn and I were chatting today, as I browsed around her beautiful yarn store, exploring all the new arrivals, and laying my hands on all of the softest, most enticing fibres.

"You looking for anything in particular?" asked my dear friend (who, as it turns out, actually qualifies as a Pusher, as well as my Supplier).

"Nope," I freely replied, "I'm just here to make myself feel good."

Okay. So, feeling up yarn makes me feel better about myself. So what? Is that such a crime??

I was beginning to feel slightly less ecstatic, as the realization sank in.

I spend a LOT of time in the yarn shop these days. Hell, I've got the stash to prove it. And, it was Lynn-- not I-- who took a trip to sunny Florida this year.

However, I've also got the warm, handmade GARMENTS to prove it. So do many of my friends and relatives, for that matter. It can't be ALL naughtiness, can it?? Even my husband sports a wide, woolly scarf, as he huddles in the wind-tunnel every morning, awaiting his train to work. And, as a child of the sixties who was forced to wear MACRAME, he still wrestles with a personal demon who opposes draping oneself in handicrafts. (This winter was particularly bleak. Warmth won out for a few brief and shining moments. BUT. He still refuses to sport the hat.)

"What's on YOUR needles these days?" I quizzed my friend, not-so-innocently.

"I just cast on a cardigan this morning," replied Lynn, with a humourously guilty look in her eyes. The snort of laughter that followed this statement confirmed what I had hoped: Lynn was not a one-project-woman, either. How could she possibly be, with such a heavenly, wall-to-wall assortment of constant temptation??

So. I decided, then and there, that we would make a pact: no more yarn, until the stuff that's on the needles is DONE.

Okay, MOSTLY done.

(Hell, I'm human, after all. And, I've got the legal documents to prove it.)

Here's the plan: I'm going to confess my "sins" publicly, here... "air out my stash baskets". The big ones, anyway. Okay. The WINTER-SPRING baskets. The ones I keep at my bedside, and by the arm of the livingroom sofa. (The basement stash is still too embarrassing.)

Here's what I'm currently working on:

-a beautiful, soft merino hat for my dear old dad. I found this pattern on the Yarn Harlot's website (oh, Stephanie, how I love thee!!), and I've been whipping up quite a few of them. They're quick, they're a "no-brainer" that can be completed accurately during even the most exciting and engrossing movie, and they're portable. Great for the car, whilst waiting outside of schools for children to emerge. Dad's off to Scotland in a few days, so I'd better get cracking, and put this in the mail.

-a lovely, wavy ribbon-scarf for my mum. It's a birthday present, so SSSSSHHHH. Her birthday's this weekend, so it's a good thing this one is only 6 stitches long, and goes quickly. She's going to look fantastic in it.

-a tam-style hat. I hate this hat. I started it in November, and I just can't get past this point. Argh. Child Number One has expressed an interest in wearing it, but on the condition that it's done before June.

-an entrelac scarf. This was a good idea at the time: I was feeling fleetingly frugal, and decided that this would be an excellent way to use up all my lovely ends of Noro Silk Garden. Unfortunately, in order to knit entrelac, you have to count. Accurately. Turns out, when I'm in the middle of writing an enormous academic paper, the last damn thing I want to do before I pass out at night is COUNT. And, accuracy isn't my strong-point, either.

-a Debbie Bliss swing coat. This? Will be fantastic for Spring. It will be my nouveau-poncho. I have too many ponchos, and I wore them hunkered down in front of my computer all winter. I need to free myself from the confines of the poncho, and swing outdoors in this new coat!! Hopefully, Debbie will forgive me for using my favourite Diamond merino, instead of her name brand. (Tough luck, Ms. Bliss-- Diamond's cheaper, where I come from!!) The pattern is great, but I don't usually tend to knit stuff in pieces... I wish I could have done this as a sort of neck-down project, in the round. I'm just praying that I'll have the wherewithal to actually sew the damn thing together once I'm finished the endless reams of purple garter stitching.

-another coat. This one is truly shameful. My mother bought a kit for me to do up, nearly two and a half years ago. I promised I would make it for her. I promptly and heedlessly knit the two front pieces-- in two different sizes. I have a horror of having to completely rip out the second piece, and begin all over again. This project sits at the top of my basket at all times, and I swear the enormous balls of Marble yarn TAUNT ME whenever I look at them. The prospect of attacking this sweater makes me want to scream with frustration and tear out all of my hair, as a punishment for my hubris and general stupidity. But, because I am who I am, and of guilt-ridden Scottish descent, I cannot bring myself to confess my sins to my mother. I can't even bring myself to snip it to pieces with my sharpest scissors, and then flush all evidence down the toilet. I fear that I will still be dreading this project on my death bed.

-socks. I need some. Great for pulling out of my purse and knitting while waiting in loooong grocery line-ups, traffic jams and doctors' offices. Also perfect for hiding under the table during interminable meetings at school.

-a top-down sweater for Wee Three. At Christmastime, Wee Three decided that she no longer LIKES to wear pull overs. Sigh. It's a woman's prerogative, I guess, even if she IS only six... I might just rip this one out.

-a log cabin blanket. This one's crochet. So, technically, it doesn't count. People have been sneaking around and using it, and the unfastened row of stitches has been steadily unravelling. This is a problem. The other problem is, my idea for deciding when it would be finished was when I ran out of yarn. I keep going out and buying more yarn, so this thing might not get done until I'm completely bankrupt.

-a cotton shrug. I bought this kit, and my best-knitterly-friend bought one, too. We had a race to see who would finish first. Guess who lost?

-a short-sleeved summer sweater. I must put this on a round needle and get it done before it's wintertime again.

-a long-sleeved summer cardigan. Luckily, because of the long-sleeve factor, it really doesn't matter which season it's ready for. So long as I'm still breathing by the time it gets done.

God, that was shameful. Thank you for your fortitude.

Now-- do me a favour. If any of you catch me within five blocks of a yarn store, please grab the largest metal object you can find and whack me on the back of the head with it.

At least then I won't have to rip out my mother's sweater.

March "Break".

2011-03-21T18:54:00.011-04:00

...because Noro "Silk Garden" makes EVERYTHING better.

Well, it's Monday.

Specifically, it is the Monday AFTER March "Break".

Who on earth decided that a week off of school constituted a "break", anyway?! This person was obviously not a parent.

This morning, I dutifully dragged my (exhausted, whiny) progeny off to their respective schools, returned home to the Steaming Heap...

And flipped on the computer.

Yes, I hear you. This SHOULD have been the day upon which I was filled with sudden bursts of joyous energy, and began my spring cleaning (it being the second day of spring, and all).

Or, better yet: I should have been rendered so elated by the departure of all the dear ones from my immediate vicinity, that I skipped off to spend the day at the nearest, cheapest manicure-and-pedicure joint.

Nope.

Instead, today, I accomplished what I have long thought would be impossible: I completed and submitted the final, mammoth assignment that will (hopefully!) qualify me to teach secondary school.

Yes, that means TEENAGERS. You know, those strange, lanky creatures that one sees "hanging out" around shopping malls (strangely, during school-hours), squealing excitedly in unison into cellular telephones, and who are capable of rendering their parents apoplectic with the flick of a wrist and the exclamation, "What-EVERRRRRR..."

I (hope to) specialize in Shakespeare.

(oh my god... what have I done....)

We shall now proceed on a completely different tack, while I attempt to regain my sanity:

During much of the March "Break", my children and I were glued to the television set, watching events unfold in Japan. Several years ago, Child Number Two's grade two class undertook an extensive study of this incredible country, its culture and history. I was fortunate enough to be a volunteer in the classroom, and we all had the most wonderful time: we visited an open house at the Japanese Cultural Centre in Toronto, we learned the art of origami, and developed a love of cooking traditional cuisine (who would have thought that little people would eagerly snorfle down RAW SUSHI??! Not me, that's for sure).

We have all taken the earthquake and tsunami disaster victims into our hearts, and struggled for several days to determine how we could possibly reach out to them. With the help of Facebook, we contacted our friends, neighbours and relatives, who contributed anything they could, in the form of small change. People emptied their pockets, small bowls, junk drawers, piggy banks and tupperware containers for us... And for a solid weekend, my sister and I and the four littlest cousins sat around the kitchen table counting and counting... rolling and rolling coins (mostly PENNIES), until we had piled up nearly $150.

The four children, who ranged from ages 5 to 10, were quite a sight, struggling through the doorway of the nearest TD-Canada Trust bank, dragging cloth bags FULL of rolled coins behind them. The tellers were endlessly patient, and quite delighted to help us make the donation to the Red Cross Japanese Relief Fund.

How about it, dear readers?? This was one of the simplest and most informal fundraisers that I've ever organized. Why not set out a big coffee can in the middle of your office or school hallway? Just have everyone drop in the coins that would otherwise have been left jangling in their pockets after lunch... Or, better yet, search around your house for lost treasure! Dive under those couch cushions, double check the junk drawer, and mooch through old purses and pockets.

Facebook works, too! Put an "all-call" out on your profile, and tell everyone YOU'LL do the work!! If you roll them, THEY WILL COME. Little tin cans will mysteriously appear on your doorstep, zip-loc bags will materialize in your mailbox, and heck-- people will toss pennies at you AS YOU WALK BY.

It's the only experience I've ever had, where I've had money thrown at me.

(Trust.)

But... it's the GIVING BACK that's the best part.

(You can trust me on that one, too.)

Miracle.

2011-03-15T10:53:00.003-04:00

A Japanese Self-Defense Forces officer smiles as he holds a four-month-old baby girl who was rescued along with her family members from their home in Ishimaki City...

This beautiful image of hope among the ruins is so touching, and yet, I can't help fearing for the future of this tiny girl. Radioactive gases are spreading, and this incredible civilization of people are suffering so terribly.

Please join me in donating any amount that you can possibly afford, to The Red Cross, and to Doctors Without Borders. These two groups are currently "on-the-ground" in Japan (AND New Zealand!! We have not forgotten you!!), doing everything they can to provide practical, immediate assistance to all those in need.

Even those of us who are, by the grace of God, far enough away from the disaster to be safe and well, can reach out and help people who are not as fortunate.

Please remember that "non-specific" donations are able to reach disaster victims most quickly, as they require less "processing time".

Thank you.

2011-03-10T09:27:00.001-05:00

There are lots of ways of being miserable, but there's only one way of being comfortable, and that is to stop running round after happiness. If you make up your mind not to be happy there's no reason why you shouldn't have a fairly good time.

- Edith Wharton

When It Hits the Fan...

2011-03-08T17:53:00.004-05:00

...the plumber is the man who saves 'em all!!

It turns out that what we had was a sort of "embolism" in our water pipes. When an embolism reaches the heart of a human being, death occurs.

As it turns out, when lethal air bubbles such as these reach the heart of a plumbing system, there is the same sort of result. With a lot of noisy drama, to boot. That huge water heater was rocking on its foundations, and we were terrified that not only the water pipes, but the gas line would erupt.

Many, many thanks to our plumber and his wife, who took our frantic calls at six o'clock in the morning. Many more thanks to the employee from Direct Energy, who came in out of the cold, accepted a large cup of tea, and then charged me nothing at all for re-connecting the gas and lighting the pilot for us.

There will be long, hot baths for us all this evening... how nice to be reminded of one of the great blessings, during a cold Canadian winter.

Tell me about it...

2011-03-07T08:22:00.004-05:00

We were awakened this morning by every water pipe in the house vibrating and banging so violently that the floors and walls shook... Managed to turn off the water main and gas line before anything burst or blew up, and here we sit, waiting for a plumber and a representative from Direct Energy.

Yes, indeed. It is a typical Monday in March for this "mild-mannered" housewife...

I need a Superwoman costume.

Declaring War on Cancer!

2011-01-26T21:25:00.003-05:00

Click the button for our dear friend Susan,

and join the Army of Friends!!

Warrior Princess Susan (aka "Whymommy") is not fighting alone.

We are all right here, behind her, all the way.

Fast away the old year passes...

2010-12-31T20:17:00.002-05:00

Wishing you all the very

happiest of New Years!!

Much love (and warm fuzzies) from CGF xoxo

The Third Day After Christmas.

2010-12-28T15:08:00.007-05:00

Well, folks... it's official.

There's been a death confirmed here in our household, and it's a dirty situation, I'm afraid.

Yesterday, with the first batch of company having departed from this steaming heap my family and I call home, I settled in to some seriously heavy cleaning, before the second and third parties requiring High Entertainment arrived.

The kitchen required special attention, as you can imagine. Cupboards were swept out and reorganized, counters were wiped down, the oven was blasted with serious chemical warfare, the garbage was emptied, and all receptacles were thoroughly sterilized.

It was a Reformation, I tell you.

And, as with most efforts that are undertaken in this house, things looked a lot worse before they began to look better.

Whenever I clean like a demonically possessed whirling dervish, I actually DO have a strategy that I try to stick to: I start at the ceiling, and work my way down to the floor. Gravity is my friend, in this case (un-like the case of my developing facial jowls and droopy rear end. But I digress...)

Whatever filth that is swept, scraped, or blow-torched off of surfaces eventually lands on the floor, which is then vacuumed, and then duly scrubbed. In this way, I am fairly well assured of collapsing in exhaustion upon a relatively clean (albeit more than slightly damp) surface, once the ordeal is complete. This technique also puts me in a position to view the cats' feet, as they ick their way through the puddles, and then plop their dirty little botts down on a dry patch beside me.

All was going well, yesterday. So well, that the condition of the kitchen went from simply "horrible" to damn near "VILE". Crumbs and cobwebs were flying, not to mention smatterings of leftover currants and sugar sprinkles... All were duly swept "downwards".

And then, I climbed down off of my step stool, crunched over to the broom cupboard, and reached for my beloved and ancient vacuum cleaner. I plugged it into the kitchen outlet, but instead of the reassuring "SWOOSH" that usually greets my grateful ears, I heard... nothing.

I checked the power outlet, then the breaker switch. All in good order.

Panicking more than just a little, I cracked open my old friend's chest, so to speak, and began attempting emergency resuscitation: I cleaned the filter, and replaced the bag.

Still nothing.

No "heartbeat".

And definitely no "swoosh".

I then called in the paramedics, in the form of Sue down at the local VacMaster Centre. She rushed right over, as she always does.

But, sadly, this time, there was nothing she could do. She pronounced my beloved dead-on-arrival.

And, once she had recovered from the sight of the horror in my kitchen, she offered her deepest sympathy, in the form of a significant discount on a much newer, sleeker model.

My new Partner-In-Cleaning promises to be everything my old friend was, and MORE: never again will I have to make a late-night run to Sue's establishment, and pound on the door (having been locked-up only moments before) BEGGING for replacement bags. This baby's got serious cyclonic action, and a receptacle that requires nothing more than to be emptied into the trash after several months of use (or, more likely in our case, every week or so). It's even got a zippered "sleeping bag" type of sleeve that encases the hose, to protect my oh-so-delicate floors and the legs of various pieces of furniture (har-de-har... Well, at least it will no longer make that disgusting rrrrrrrriiiiiipppppp-ing noise every time I haul it around sharp corners).

Yes, there's been a death in the family, 'tis true. Our household is in serious disarray at the moment, but not for long. For tomorrow morning at nine o'clock, my shiny new friend will be ceremoniously installed, and the old corpse hauled away to the recycling depot.

I have to say:

This must be the only occasion upon which I've been truly happy to report that something in my life "really sucks".

The Aftermath.

2010-12-26T16:56:00.007-05:00

It's The Day After... and I'm doing my best to dig us out, after one heckuva Christmas around here. My experience over the past decade-and-a-half has been that the more mess we make, the more fun we've had. And, the more holes on our belts we will have to expand, once the shortbread and eggnog hit home.

In that case?

We've had one of the best Christmases ever.

Cheers, everyone!

A Happy Christmas!

2010-12-24T22:32:00.006-05:00

"Adoration of the Shepherds"

by Francois Boucher, 1750

Born On A New Day

by John Rutter, and performed by

The Cambridge Singers

You are the new day.

Meekness, love, humility,

Come down to us this day:

Christ, your birth has proved to me,

You are the new day.

Quiet in a stall you lie,

Angels watching from the sky

Whisper to you from on high,

'You are the new day.'

When our life is darkest night,

Hope has burned away,

Love, your ray of guiding light,

Show us the new day.

Love of all things great and small,

Leaving none, embracing all,

Fold around me where I fall,

Bring in the new day.

This new day will be

A turning point for everyone,

If we let the Christ-child in,

And reach for the new day.

Christ, the Way, the Truth, the Life,

Healing sadness, mending strife,

You we welcome, Lord of Life.

Born on a new day,

You are the new day.

I thank you all for reading, and for listening to

the Musical Advent Calendar this Christmas. It has been such a pleasure

to be with you all again this year. Thank you for your comments,

your emails, and good wishes.

Wishing you a wonderful, blessed Christmas,

surrounded by all those whom you love best!

xoxo CGF

For Christmas Eve

2010-12-24T17:34:00.004-05:00

Silent Night
performed by The Elora Festival Singers

The Story of Silent Night, "The Song from Heaven"
as told by Lisa Granfield

Father Josef Mohr was born in 1792. He sang sacred music as a boy, became a priest, and was appointed to the Church of St. Nicola in Oberndorf, Austria.

Franz Xaver Bruger, born in 1787, studied to become a teacher and, in 1807, became the schoolmaster and organist in Arnsdorf, a village near Oberndorf. Father Mohr and Gruber became friends when the teacher traveled to play the organ at St. Nicola.

On the day before Christmas, 1818, the church organ was broken. Perhaps the constant damp from the nearby Salzach River had rusted parts of the instrument.

A more entertaining explanation involves hungry mice. Driven inside by the fierce wither cold, the tiny animals found the organ's leather bellows very tasty. Consequently, the mice chewed a hole that crippled the instrument.

Since unaccompanied singing was unpopular in those days, Father Mohr asked Gruber to compose music for the verses he'd written for that day. Within a few hours, Gruber matched notes to the words of the new song for voice and guitar that eventually became known as "Silent Night".

After the holiday, Karl Mauracher was called to repair the organ. It is believed that he took the new song home with him and shared it with musicians and singers he met. "Stille Nacht", however, became a forgotten title. The song was called "The Song From Heaven" and was said to be of "unknown origin".

During the mid-1800's, groups of strolling, family singers performed in the streets and often gave concerts. The talented Strasser family were such a group of entertainers. The four Strasser children performed "The Song From Heaven" whenever their glove-maker parents traveled to fairs to sell their goods. By 1832, the Strassers had taken the song to Leipzig and introduced it to German audiences.

In 1839, another singing family, the Rainers, took the song to the United States and performed it for delighted audiences. "The Song From Heaven" was soon included in prayer books and hymnals.

As the song's popularity grew, Father Mohr and Gruber were all but forgotten. Some people believed that "The Song From Heaven" had been written by Mozart, Beethoven, or Franz Joseph Haydn's brother, Johann Michael. Others thought it was a Tyrolean folk song.

In 1854, musical authorities in Berlin sent to Salzburg and asked if the Haydn manuscript was in St. Peter's Church. As it happened, Felix Gruber, Franz's youngest son, was a choirboy at the church. He told his father about the request.

Gruber had left St. Nicola in 1829 and was living near Salzburg in Hallein. He attempted to settle the debate by writing a document entitled "The Authentic Occasion for the Writing of the Christmas Song 'Silent Night, Holy Night'".

Thirty-six years after "Stille Nacht" was first performed in a cold village church, its worldwide audience finally learned the identities of its humble and gifted creators.

Father Mohr left St. Nicola in 1819. He died and was buried in Wagrain in December, 1848. His friend Gruber lived until 1863.

One of the most moving stories about the song took place during the horrors of World War I. On Christmas Eve, 1914, in the dark European trenches, the freezing men awaited the next attack by the enemy soldiers across no man's land. But there was no shooting. Only silence. Afraid to peer over the top of the trench, the British soldiers quietly sat and listened to the rising sound of men's voices singing.

When they dared to look across the battle-scarred terrain, the British saw the gleam of tiny lights, as the Germans lit candles on small Christmas trees in their trenches. "Stille Nacht" filled the air as the German soldiers observed the holy eve of peace.

In a desolate landscape far from home, the soldiers of both sides called a truce. They embraced, shared cigars, chocolate and sausages. On Christmas Day, they played soccer on the battlefield.

The unofficial truce lasted for days but, eventually, the men returned to the business at hand-- war-- for nearly four more years.

After World War I, the popularity of "Silent Night" continued to grow. In the 1920's and 30's, radio listeners heard the song performed by many singers, including Franz Gruber's own grandson who played it on Father Mohr's guitar.

Famous contralto, Madame Ernestine Schumann-Heink, sang "Stille Nacht" each Christmas Eve on the radio in what became a holiday tradition for families around the world. "Mother" Schumann-Heink also recorded it for play on phonographs. Translations enabled people everywhere to share the song.

The deteriorating original Church of St. Nicola was torn down around 1900. The small Stille Nacht Kapelle (Silent Night Chapel) was built in Oberndorf to commemorate Father Josef Mohr and Franz Xaver Gruber and, every Christmas Eve, a special service is held outside the chapel.

Whether it is heard in a show-covered Alpine village or under a blazing African sky, "Silent Night" invites us to reflect on the meaning of Christmas and to "sleep in heavenly peace".

This marvellous excerpt is from the children's book, "Silent Night: The Song from Heaven". It was written by Linda Granfield, and the illustrations are by Nelly and Ernest Hofer. I cannot recommend this wonderful book highly enough-- it should be a part of every child's Christmas book collection.

For my children...

2010-12-24T08:23:00.005-05:00

"Santa Claus is Comin' to Town"

performed by Johnny Bregar

Okay, kids... BEHAVE. Because not only is Santa Claus is comin' to town...

So are Gramma and Grampa.

December 24

2010-12-23T18:16:00.006-05:00

"Adoration of the Magi"

by Peter Paul Reubens (1577-1640)

Here is the Little Door
a poem by Frances/G. K. Chesterton
scored for a capella choir by Herbert Howells
and performed by Chanticleer

Here is the little door, lift up the latch, oh lift!
We need not wander more but enter with our gift;
Our gift of finest gold,
Gold that was never bought nor sold;
Myrrh to be strewn about his bed;
Incense in clouds about his head;
All for the Child who stirs not in his sleep.
But holy slumber holds with ass and sheep.

Bend low about his bed, for each he has a gift;
See how his eyes awake, lift up your hands, O lift!
For gold, he gives a keen-edged sword
(Defend with it Thy little Lord!),
For incense, smoke of battle red.
Myrrh for the honoured happy dead;
Gifts for his children terrible and sweet,
Touched by such tiny hands and
Oh such tiny feet.

This is a carol that is commonly performed for Epiphany, and is sung from the point of view of the Magi, who are approaching the infant Christ, born in a stable in Bethlehem. I find it to be positively mesmerising... the reverent anticipation of the Three Kings seeking the baby Jesus is so perfectly reflected in the soft, delicate opening of the piece. The Kings, who have travelled together for so long, seeking the infant Christ, sing in perfect unity as the discovery is made, and their gifts are presented. There is a dramatic juxtaposition between the purity and innocence of the tiny newborn child, and the future that they predict for him, which is foreshadowed in their offerings. As the tone of the poem changes in the second verse, composer Herbert Howells amplifies the melody both dynamically and harmonically. The choir sings in unison the ferocious line, "Defend with it Thy little lord!", only to be reduced once again to the realization of the humanity of the newborn Saviour, who, in spite of the awe-inspiring life they prophesised for him, is still just a wee babe, after all.

It has long been debated as to who actually penned the words to this lovely poem. G. K. Chesterton was a noted English author (1874-1936), but his wife, Frances, was also a gifted writer. She penned many Christmas-themed pieces, including poems, stories, a short play, and the lovely children's carol, "How Far is it to Bethlehem?" G. K. Chesterton is given an author credit for "Here is the Little Door" in many scholarly publications, and the use of paradox in the verse would seem to fit with the style of a great deal of his writing. However, I feel that it is important to give credit to both authors, since there is evidence of both possibilities.

December 23

2010-12-22T17:10:00.006-05:00

Angels Announcing the Birth of Christ to the Shepherds

by Govert Teunisz Flinck, 1639

The Shepherd's Carol

by Bob Chilcott, and performed by

The Choir of St John's Church, Elora.

Today, we change our focus from the Wise Men following the star to Bethlehem, and hear the Shepherds' description of their encounter with angels on Christmas Eve. This is another "modern" carol, but it is one that is being performed more and more, by choral ensembles world-wide. Although it is not a strictly "melodic" work, it creates a beautiful sound-picture of the Shepherds' experience: the music begins with several tiny voices, and builds in harmony and intensity until the listener can hear the choirs of angels, and imagine their heavenly light. And, once the angels have delivered their message and fade away into the night sky, so do the chorister's voices. I discovered this carol several years ago on an early recording of The Choir of St John's Church, Elora, and it is this performance that I offer you today, in the music player on the right.

Bob Chilcott is one of the most active composers and choral conductors in Britain today. He has been involved in choral music most of his life, and was once a chorister in The Choir of King’s College, Cambridge. He is quite well known for having sung the “Pie Jesu” on the renowned 1967 King’s recording of Faure’s Requiem, conducted by Sir David Willcocks. He returned to King’s as a Choral Scholar, and between 1985 and 1997 was a member of the British vocal group The King’s Singers. He has been a full-time composer since 1997.

Every year, King's College, Cambridge commissions a new carol for their choir to sing at the Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols. "The Shepherd's Carol" was written for, and performed at, the Millennium year's service. Below, I have included the video of this lovely performance.

December 22

2010-12-21T17:51:00.007-05:00

"The Star of Bethlehem"

watercolour, by Edward Burne-Jones

completed for the City of Birmingham in 1890,

to commemorate their new Museum and Art Gallery.

Star in the South

A Polish Carol, arranged by Malcolm Sargent

and performed by The Elora Festival Singers

Who can name that bright flame which the Wise Men saw that night?

What it some Godsent glow, or a splendid star we know?

Southward they sallied from Jerusalem:

What was the star stood over Bethlehem?

Star on the hilltop shining like a gem,

Are you the star that led to Bethlehem?

Low and high in the sky many lights amaze the eye:

All the days we must praise Him who made the heavens blaze.

Yet we believe some radiant stranger

Stood in the south above the manger.

Let us, then, troubled men, humble men and reverent,

See a spark in the dark; and salute the firmament,

For the same light that halted on the hill

Brightens the night of all the nations still.

December 21

2010-12-20T16:50:00.004-05:00

I Wonder As I Wander
performed by The Cambridge Singers

I wonder as I wander out under the sky,
How Jesus the Savior did come for to die,
For poor orn'ry people like you and like I,
I wonder as I wander, ... out under the sky;

When Mary birthed Jesus 'twas in a cow's stall,
With wise men and farmers and shepherds and all,
And high from God's heaven a star's light did fall,
And the promise of the ages, ... they then did recall;

If Jesus had wanted for any wee thing,
A star in the sky or a bird on the wing,
Or all of God's angels in heaven to sing,
He surely could've had it... 'cause he was the King.

This carol is attributed to American folk singer John Jacob Niles, who collected it on July 16, 1933. In his words:

" 'I Wonder As I Wander' grew out of three lines of music sung to me by a girl who called herself Annie Morgan. The Place was Murphy, North Carolina, and the time was July, 1933. The Morgan family, revivalists all, were about to be ejected by the police, having camped in the town square for some little time, cooking, washing, hanging their wash from the Confederate monument, and generally conducting themselves in such a way as to be considered a public nuisance. Preacher Morgan and his wife pled poverty; they had to hold one more meeting in order to buy enough gas to get out of town.

It was then that Annie Morgan came out-- a tousled, unwashed blonde, and very lovely. She sang the first three lines of the verse of 'I Wonder As I Wander'. At twenty-five cents a performance, I tried to get her to sing all the song. After eight tries, all of which are carefully recorded in my notes, I had only three lines of verse, a garbled fragment of melodic material-- and a magnificent idea. With the writing of additional verses and the development of of the original melodic material, 'I Wonder As I Wander' came into being. I sang it for five years in my concerts before it caught on. Since then it has been sung by soloists and choral groups, wherever the English language is spoken or sung."

Annie Morgan was persuaded to sing the fragment of music over and over, at the price of twenty-five cents per "performance". Considering the astoundingly beautiful carol that eventually came into being because of it, this payment would seem to be a bargain at any price. But, it is important to be mindful of the economic situation of the "Dirty Thirties"... The sum that Ms. Morgan was paid for her singing would have been enormously helpful to her family's impoverished situation, during this period of the Depression. This meeting of the two musicians was fortuitous for both, as well as for us.

Because of the way in which the composition of this piece came about, many singers and listeners initially claimed to be "confused" about its authorship, and tried to declare it "anonymous" in origin. Mr. Niles eventually undertook several lawsuits, in order to have the song formally declared as his own work.

"I Wonder As I Wander" was completed on October 4, 1933. Mr. Niles first performed the song on December 19, 1933, at the John C. Campbell Folk School in Brasstown, North Carolina. It was originally published in Songs of the Hill Folk in 1934.

December 20

2010-12-19T20:50:00.007-05:00

Lux Arumque
by the brilliant Eric Whitacre,
and performed by The Choir of King's College, Cambridge

(video player, below)

Lux,
calida gravis que pura velut aurum
et canunt angeli moliter
modo natum.

Light,
warm and heavy as pure gold
and the angels sing softly
to the new-born baby.

On Sunday afternoon, I had the great pleasure of being one of the members of the congregation for The Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols at St. John's Church in Elora, Ontario: the home of one of the foremost choral ensembles in North America. The music was breathtaking, as was the atmosphere of the beautiful church, which is nestled in some of the most sacred farm country in our part of the world. As we exited the church, we were greeted by the Rector, who was standing in the doorway. Behind him, outside, twilight was fading and snow was falling... It was the perfect end to a most perfect afternoon.

One of the most moving pieces of music that I heard during the service was Eric Whitacre's "Lux Arumque: Light and Gold". The sound was haunting... and the words brought tears to my eyes. Whitacre's genius is found in the structure of the chords that he uses in his compositions. His signature "Whitacre Chords," or pan-diatonic clusters are usually arranged in successive increasing or decreasing density. Whitacre achieves this growth and decay by splitting voices divisi: in one case up to 18 parts. He is not only a prolific composer, he is a ferociously busy conductor, lecturer and teacher, as well.

In 2009, Mr. Whitacre embarked on a mammoth project, involving this particular choral piece. Using computer technology, he organized a "Virtual Choir": 185 voices, beamed in from 12 different countries around the world. He conducted the singers online, combined their efforts and recorded the result in a spectacular video, which he then published on Youtube. Within two months, the video had over one million "hits". Not only did this ground-breaking idea expose a whole new audience to this genre of music, it brought together musicians from around the world who otherwise might never have had the opportunity to collaborate on a musical project.

Watch, listen, and enjoy:

December 19

2010-12-18T21:16:00.003-05:00

See Amid the Winter's Snow

performed by Jessye Norman with

The New York Choral Society, The American Boy Choir,

and The Empire Chamber Ensemble

This lovely verse was written by Rev. E. Caswall in 1851, and was set to music by Sir John Goss in 1870. It was the first hymn sung at my wedding ceremony at St. James' Church in Stratford, Ontario, eighteen years ago today. Even the torrential downpour couldn't dampen our spirits that day, and I still smile, remembering the raindrops pounding on the roof, every time I hear this music.

See amid the winter's snow,

Born for us on earth below;

See the tender Lamb appears,

Promised from eternal years.

Hail, thou ever blessed morn;

Hail, redemption's happy dawn;

Sing through all Jerusalem,

Christ is born in Bethlehem.

Lo, within a manger lies-

He who built he starry skies;

He who throned in height sublime

Sits amid the cherubim!

Say, ye holy shepherds, say

What your joyful news to-day;

Wherefore have ye left your sheep

On the lonely mountain steep?

'As we watched at dead of night,

Lo, we saw a wondrous light;

Angels singing "Peace on earth"

Told us of the Saviour's birth.'

Sacred Infant, all Divine,

What a tender love was thine,

Thus to come from highest bliss

Down to such a world as this!

Teach, O teach us, Holy Child,

By thy face so meek and mild,

Teach us to resemble thee,

In thy sweet humility.

December 18

2010-12-18T08:42:00.006-05:00

Walking in a Winter Wonderland

performed by Deana Carter

(One of my favourite country singers... If you've never heard her

sing "Did I Shave My Legs For This?", then you are missing OUT, people!!)

December 17

2010-12-17T16:27:00.007-05:00

I Saw Three Ships
performed by The Choir of Clare College, Cambridge

and arranged by John Rutter

I saw three ships come sailing in
On Christmas day, on Christmas day;
I saw three ships come sailing in
On Christmas day in the morning.

And what was in those ships all three,
On Christmas day, on Christmas day?
And what was in those ships all three,
On Christmas day in the morning?

Our Savior Christ and His lady,
On Christmas day, on Christmas day;
Our Savior Christ and His lady,
On Christmas day in the morning.

Pray whither sailed those ships all three,
On Christmas day, on Christmas day?
Pray whither sailed those ships all three,
On Christmas day in the morning?

O they sailed into Bethlehem,
On Christmas day, on Christmas day,
O they sailed into Bethlehem,
On Christmas day in the morning.

And all the bells on earth shall ring,
On Christmas day, on Christmas day;
And all the bells on earth shall ring,
On Christmas day in the morning.

And all the angels in Heav’n shall sing,
On Christmas day, on Christmas day;
And all the angels in Heav’n shall sing,
On Christmas day in the morning.

And all the souls on Earth shall sing,
On Christmas day, on Christmas day;
And all the souls on Earth shall sing,
On Christmas day in the morning.

Then let us all rejoice amain,
On Christmas day, on Christmas day;
Then let us all rejoice amain,
On Christmas day in the morning.

The carol, "I Saw Three Ships" dates back to 17th Century England (most likely Derbyshire-- where my father was born. Not in the 17th Century, however... He would want me to point that out).

There are many versions of the poem, and it is often found in books of nursery rhymes. Various titles of the song have included "As I Sat On a Sunny Bank", and "As I Sat By My Old Cottage Door" (which is a depiction of The Passion, and isn't actually a Christmas song at all.) "I Saw Three Ships" was eventually taken down by Cecil Sharp, and was published in his "English Folk Carols". Sharp's notes also record a variation on the traditional tune.

The lyrics used here can be found in "Christmas Carols, Ancient and Modern", by William Sandys, published in 1833.

December 16

2010-12-15T20:55:00.004-05:00

The Holly and the Ivy
sung by The Choir of Winchester Cathedral,

arranged by Walford Davies (video, below)

and a more uncommon version, sung by

Kate Rusby, "The Barnsley Nightingale" (music player, above right)

The holly and the ivy,
When they are both full grown
Of all the trees that are in the wood
The holly bears the crown

O the rising of the sun
And the running of the deer
The playing of the merry organ
Sweet singing of the choir

The holly bears a blossom
As white as lily flower
And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ
To be our sweet Saviour...

The holly bears a berry
As red as any blood
And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ
To do poor sinners good...

The holly bears a prickle
As sharp as any thorn;
And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ
On Christmas Day in the morn...

The holly bears a bark
As bitter as any gall;
And Mary bore sweet Jesus Christ
For to redeem us all...

Today, I give you two beautiful versions of the same carol, featuring two of our most popular and beloved symbols of Christmas: holly and ivy. As much as I love the more well-known version of this carol, performed (most "sweetly") by one of the foremost choirs in Great Britain... I feel such a fondness for Kate Rusby's more rustic, lilting version. What a treat it has been to discover her beautiful Christmas album, "Sweet Bells", this year... Tune in next week for another selection from this Yorkshire lass!

The tradition of decorating the home with evergreens during winter is an ancient one. Since pagan times, evergreens have been valued for their ability to retain signs of life in winter-- even, in some instances, producing flowers and berries.

Early Christians displayed evergreen plants in their homes to symbolize everlasting life. Holly, ivy and evergreen herbs such as bay and rosemary were the most commonly used, all with symbolic meanings. Rosemary, for remembrance, and bay, for valour, are still well known. Holly and ivy were a particularly popular combination. The holly was traditionally thought to be "masculine", and the ivy "feminine", thus giving "stability to the home". This carol is probably related to an older carol, "The Contest of the Ivy and the Holly", which depicted a contest between the traditional emblems of woman and man.

"The Holly and the Ivy" takes a plant deeply entrenched in the pagan past and uses it to portray symbols of Christianity. Holly's "white as lily" flower in the second verse is an allusion to Christ's purity. In the third verse, the red color of holly's berry symbolizes Christ's blood. Holly's thorny "prickle" in the fourth verse is an allusion to the crown of thorns. And the bitter taste of holly's bark mentioned in the fifth verse could be a reference to the drink offered to Christ as he hung on the cross.

The earliest version of this carol was published by Joshua Sylvester, in his "Christmas Carols", published in 1861. He apparently sourced it to an old printed broadside, that was dated 1710. The music that we all recognize as the more traditional tune and text of "The Holly and the Ivy" was collected by Cecil Sharp, who heard a woman singing it in Chipping Campden, Gloucestershire, in about 1909. It is published in his "English Folk-Carols", and, of course, in the "Oxford Book of Carols".

December 15

2010-12-15T13:24:00.009-05:00

Snowdrifts in Dorset, England

"Remember O Thou Man"

arrangement by Bob Chilcott,

and performed by The Elora Festival Singers

As you remember from last year, I absolutely love Bob Chilcott's beautiful, "blues-y" version of this ancient carol. I'm hoping very much to hear it again, sung live by the Elora Festival singers, when I attend the "Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols" at St. John's Church in Elora, Ontario this weekend... barring all snow, of course.

This past autumn, I discovered a whole new reason to love the original setting of "Remember O Thou Man", which was written by Thomas Ravenscroft in 1611. While I was quilting one afternoon, I popped this DVD of Thomas Hardy's "Under The Greenwood Tree" into my player, for a little bit of "background" entertainment. Well, as you can probably imagine, I was MORE than pleasantly distracted by the story that unfolded on my tv screen... With Keeley Hawes as charming schoolmistress Fancy Day, and the spectacular James Murray as Dick Dewey, how could I possibly be expected to sew straight seams?? If you have the opportunity to see this delightful rendition of Thomas Hardy's gentlest and sweetest tale, I cannot recommend this film more highly. Within the first fifteen minutes, Dick Dewey falls head-over-heels for Fancy Day while out carolling with the church choir on Christmas Eve... while singing this carol, which I include for you here:

Thomas Hardy includes the carol in his novel, although the words are slightly different than those found in Bob Chilcott's version. As with many of these ancient, "rustic" carols, the words set to the tune can be adapted for several different religious occasions. "Remember O Thou Man" is also suggested for use in Lenten services.

Thomas Ravenscroft (c. 1582 or 1592 until 1635) was an English composer, theorist and editor, notable as a composer of rounds and catches, and especially for compiling collections of British folk music. He started his career as a chorister at Chichester Cathedral and then moved to London to serve in St. Paul’s Cathedral. It was an exciting time in London, as the Theatres were hugely popular, showing plays by such noted playwrights as William Shakespeare. Ravenscroft grew to know many of the actors and writers of this era, and wrote music to accompany some of the plays that were produced at the Globe Theatre. Ravenscroft was also responsible for the preservation of the largest collection of popular vocal music which were published in Pammelia(1609), Deuteromalia(1609), and Melismata(1611). These songs had massive popular appeal and, as with the plays of the era, proved profitable for the Publishers. These works became some of the longest surviving collections of traditional English popular songs.

December 14

2010-12-14T09:45:00.005-05:00

"Frosty the Snowman"

performed by Lars Edegran

& His Santa Claus Revelers

with Big Al Carson

This selection is for my dear old dad, who, while he may not necessarily approve of the song, will definitely enjoy the traditional jazz style in which it is played. When my brother, sister and I were very little, my father would put on a record for us to "dance" to after dinner every night, thus enabling our parents a little p&q in the kitchen while they did the dishes. We three monstrous children would proceed to bounce off of the walls in the living room, which was permitted, only because it would hopefully tire us out before the bedtime routine began.

I have very fond memories of many of the musical selections my father chose for us each night. It was he who introduced us to the entire canon of The Beatles-- and I am proud to say that I remember the words of every song by heart, with alarming accuracy. We also listened to a wonderful Spanish album, entitled "El Bandito", which was eventually banned, because of the damage the household incurred as we galloped around like wild masked desperadoes. The majority of music that we played was a reflection of our family's roots, however, and was mainly "English": Percy Grainger's "Country Gardens" became our absolute favourite, and not just because, as we were repeatedly told, it reminded my dad of his own father.

The album that sprang into my mind when I heard today's piece of music for the first time was "The Best of Barber and Bilk": a wonderful, "rag-time"-type jazz compilation. Both Barber and Bilk are Englishmen, but perfected the traditional "American" style, and perform with considerable aplomb. "Acker" Bilk became almost as well known for his attire as he did for his breathy, rich, low-register clarinet style: he sported a bowler hat, a striped vest, and his trademark goatee for every performance. Chris Barber is a stellar jazz trombonist, double bass player, and band leader. Both men continue to perform today... indeed, at the age of 80, Chris Barber will be releasing his newest album, "Memories of My Trip" (a double CD!) in 2011. Can't wait!

Yep, this one's for dad-- a little "payback" for my happy memories... and the memories his granddaughters will have of the fun they had last weekend, when they built spectacular snowmen (and snow cats) on the front lawn in Stratford, together.

December 13

2010-12-13T09:51:00.009-05:00

And now we know what keeps The Fat Man so jolly...

"Here We Come A-Wassailing"

performed by Kate Rusby

Call me a curmudgeon, but I have never been a fan of the "wassail". The word itself has long annoyed me, especially when it is misused on party invitations at Christmastime. For the traditional Canadian wassail is most certainly NOT an event to which one should be invited. A REAL wassail is more like an assault, or an invasion of your home by boisterous, although well-meaning, most often drunken individuals. If you're lucky, you yourself will be plied with so much hot alcohol (which the invaders will have brought to the impromptu party) that you will soon no longer care that your home is being thoroughly trashed, and your pantry raided of all the good things you have painstakingly prepared for your own family's Christmas. To top it off, you will then be convinced to leave the warmth of your own hearth, to strike out with the group and join the attack upon your nearest neighbours.

Thankfully, however, music is also involved in this process. Unless you are a fan of anarchy (and those of you East Coast Canadians who partake in this annual revelry know what I'm talking about), I would humbly suggest that if you hear a gaggle of individuals lustily singing a wassail tune outside your house on any night over the next several weeks, you keep your front door firmly locked. Accept the revellers' blessings from the safety of your bedroom window. The music is a kind of an "advance warning", if you ask me: kind of like a flare signal, only louder.

It is because of all of this-- and several somewhat-memorable experiences I had during my university days-- that I have always cringed (inwardly) whenever I have heard a "wassail" sung during a celebration of Christmas carols.

Thank heaven for Kate Rusby. Because this year, she changed all of that.

Kate Rusby is also known as "The Barnsley Nightingale", and hails from Penistone, South Yorkshire, in England. She is widely regarded as one of the finest English folk singers of contemporary times. I find her rendition of this traditional wassail tune completely irresistible. Even King's College, Cambridge can't touch this: Kate Rusby's sweet voice and lilting Northern accent somehow makes the song seem more "true" (even if the wassail DID originate in the South of England, where the majority of apple farms were, and the best cider was produced). More perfect still, she is accompanied by instruments that are far more like the ones that might have been carried from door-to-door in times-gone-by...

That is... IF the musicians were still able to stand in an upright position.

"Wæs hæil!"
Drink hæil...
(you have been warned!!)

4 (2*) cups good Apple Cider (freshly pressed)
1 cup Orange Juice
2 pints heavy (winter) ale*
3 cups Port*
4 small tart/sweet apples (peeled and cored)
2 lemons
1 tsp. ground cardamom
1 tsp. nutmeg
3 small or 1.5 large cinnamon sticks
15 whole cloves
1 tsp. grated fresh ginger
4 tbsp. brown sugar
1 tbsp, butter (cold)

* 2 pints Sherry or Madeira wine and 1-cup rum are often substituted (for ale and port) by non-beer drinkers - resulting in a somewhat sweeter flavor, with a lighter body.

Pre-heat oven to 350 degrees.

Pack 1 tbsp. of brown sugar and ¼ tbsp. of butter into the core of each apple. Place the apples in a small baking dish and fill dish with ½-inch of water. This will keep apples from burning or sticking to the bottom. When oven is heated, bake the apples uncovered for 45 min. to 1-hour, or until they are tender and soft, but not mushy. Drain the water. Quarter each baked apple (or divide into eighths, depending on the number of guests you have, and how greedy you think they might be).

Combine cardamom, cloves and ginger in a small piece of cheesecloth, and tie it closed with twine to form a spice packet. (A tea ball or tea bag may also be used for this purpose, if that's what you've got.)

In a large stockpot (or crockpot) combine the apple cider, orange juice, (plus Ale, Port/Rum, Wine, as you like), and the juice of one lemon. Place the cinnamon and nutmeg directly into the liquid and stir to infuse the nutmeg. Submerge the spice packet in the stockpot. Stir the apples into the stockpot: they'll ultimately float on the top and begin to soften, then fall apart and add a creamy quality to the liquid. Simmer on medium/high (but don't allow the mixture to boil-- that defeats the purpose!) for two hours, until the hot spices are thoroughly infused, and the apples have begun to dissolve.

Remove the spice packet and decant into a fancy "Wassail Bowl" if not using a stockpot or a crockpot. Garnish the bowl by floating thin slices of the remaining lemon on top.

Serve in mugs, with a sizable piece of apple in each mug.

Nativity!

2010-12-12T21:22:00.005-05:00

This afternoon, after a slightly harrowing drive home, it was good to collapse on the sofa with my girls, and take in an afternoon movie. What a TREAT it was to find this little gem of a film on my television!

People, I haven't laughed this hard in years... The cast is led by the brilliant Martin Freeman of "The Office" (no, not THAT "Office", the REAL "Office"... Brits do it best, as always. Trust.) Pam Freeman, and many other famous faces of the BBC pop up at regular intervals to join in the fun. Most wonderful of all, however, is Mark Wootton, who plays Mr. Poppy, the Educational Assistant of my dreams (and nightmares, if I'm honest).

Your kids will LOVE this-- nearly as much as you will.

December 12

2010-12-11T10:59:00.001-05:00

The Wild Wood Carol

by John Rutter, and performed by

The Cambridge Singers

Sing o the wild wood, the green holly,
The silent river and barren tree,
The humble creatures that no man sees,
Sing O the wild wood.

A weary journey one winter's night,
No hope of shelter, no rest in sight,
Who was the creature that bore Mary?
A simple donkey.

And when they came into Bethl'hem town,
They found a stable to lay them down,
For their companions that Christmas night,
An ox and an ass.

And then an angel came down to earth,
To bear the news of the Saviour's birth,
The first to marvel were shepherds poor,
And sheep with their lambs.

December 11

2010-12-11T08:36:00.004-05:00

"Angels from the Realms of Glory"

performed by The Choir of King's College, Cambridge

The words of this carol were written by English poet James Montgomery in 1816, and it was first published in his newspaper, The Sheffield "Iris", on December 24th of that year. Interestingly, it reads very much like an early nineteenth-century translation of the opening verses of "Les anges dans nos campagnes", an old French carol from which the original tune of the carol derived. "Angels from the Realms of Glory" only began being sung in churches after its reprinting in "The Christmas Box", which was the first complete book of the Religious Tract Society, published in 1825.

These words have been sung to a wide variety of different tunes, the most popular being the tune of "Angels We Have Heard on High". It is because of this that Montgomery's original refrain of "Come and worship Christ, the new-born king!" is omitted, and the notoriously well-known "Gloria in excelsis Deo!" is substituted.

December 10

2010-12-10T09:08:00.004-05:00

"Christmastime's A-Coming"

performed by Raffi

"...and I know I'm going home!"

Today the girlies and I will be packing up our car, and attempting to out-run the next snow storm, in order to get to The Grandparents in Stratford. There has been an outrageous amount of the white stuff falling in the "Snow Belt" of Ontario, and so we must time our road trip carefully... While there is nothing worse than being caught in a storm while on the road TO Gramma and Grampa's house, there is nothing better in the whole wide world than being caught in a storm AT Gramma and Grampa's... For the cosy house is always welcoming and comfortable, the food is fragrant and plentiful, and there is nothing "fun-er" than grabbing a 30-plus-year-old toboggan, flinging onself down upon it, and whizzing down the hill to the bottom of my parents' garden.

While we will avoid the snow on the way there... you can be sure of what our prayers will be full of once we arrive!!!

(Oh, my long suffering parents... be forewarned!!! 'Cause here we come. xoxoxo)

December 9

2010-12-09T14:29:00.003-05:00

Uh, oh... Christmas tree...

"O Christmas Tree"

Performed by Oscar Peterson

December 8

2010-12-08T14:02:00.002-05:00

"...on a winter's night with ewe."

"Song for a Winter's Night"

performed by Canada's own

Gordon Lightfoot

And you thought Bugs Bunny was a great conductor...

2010-12-08T09:25:00.004-05:00

Be sure to watch this one right through to the end, folks... because this is the best final movement of a Beethoven symphony that I've ever seen.

When Child Number One was a tiny baby, my mother arranged for me to get out of the house for a few hours, and gave me the gift of a ticket to the theatre, and a BABYSITTER. Now, being a new mother, the very idea of leaving my firstborn in the care of anyone other than myself was enough to provoke paroxysms of guilt, and a panic attack so intense that it caused me to initially reject the offer. The babysitter wasn't even FAMILY, for crying out loud-- what on earth could possibly qualify her for the job?

I'll never forget my mother's response to my distress. She patted me down, and in her best psychiatric nurse's voice, soothed me with the assurance:

"It will be all right, dear. This teenage girl is perfect.

SHE'S MUSICAL."

Not "Red Cross Certified". Not even Mary Poppins, herself. "SHE'S MUSICAL" was the highest recommendation that my mother could give to another human being.

So, I went to the play. (And Baby Number One survived the ordeal. Quite nicely.)

My mother sent me this little video to cheer me up last week, when I was down with bronchitis and a nasty ear infection. Obviously, because Beethoven has healing qualities, didn't you know that??

But, above all else, it was because of the child featured in the video. We have no idea who he is, but I've got a sneakin' suspicion he's been watching someone else conduct this piece... his "moves" are simply wonderful-- not so much for the fact that he manages to stay just a breath ahead of the music (even when he gets the sniffles, which I can relate to), or even the fact that he appears to "address" his entire imaginary orchestra, in the general direction where each of the instruments would have been seated.

Above all else, we love this video because this kid is

Musical-with-a-capital-M.

And what's more, he's got a sense of HUMOUR about it.

And that? Is probably the most important human quality of all.

Oh, little boy, whoever you are... your pure joy and laughter is the very best medicine.

December 7

2010-12-07T09:37:00.005-05:00

"Carol of the Children"

by John Rutter,

and performed by Polyphony, Stephen Layton,

and The City of London Symphonia

One for the star in the sky over Bethlehem,

Two for the hands that will rock Him to sleep,

Three for the kings bringing gold, bringing myrrh, bringing incense,

Four for the angels that watch over his bedside.

Blue for the robe of the sweet Virgin Mary,

White for the dawn of that first Christmas day,

Red for the blood that he shed for us all on Good Friday,

Black for the tomb where he rested 'till Easter.

Lullaby, see Jesus asleep.

Angels and shepherds their watch on him keep,

Lullaby, he soon will awake,

For the oxen are stirring and morning will break.

One for the star in the sky over Bethlehem,

Two for the hands that will rock him to sleep,

Three for the kings bringing gold, bringing myrrh, bringing incense,

Four for the angels that watch over his bedside,

And one for the heart, one for the heart,

One for the heart that I give as my offering to Jesus.

December 6

2010-12-06T08:44:00.005-05:00

Boogie Woogie Santa Claus

performed by Colin James

and the Little Big Band

Today is December 6th: the Feast of St. Nicholas!

Nicolaos of Myra was Greek, and a Bishop of Myra, which is now a part of modern-day Turkey. He was also known as "Nicolaos the Wonderworker", because of the miracles that were associated with him. He had a reputation for secret gift-giving (for example, placing coins in the shoes of people who left them out for him), and became a model for our modern-day Santa Claus, whose name derives from the Dutch "Sinterklaas". He is the patron saint of many, including sailors, merchants, archers, thieves, children and students.

There are a great number of legends associated with St. Nicholas. The tale that hearkens closely to our traditional view of Santa Claus is the story of how he helped a poor man and his three daughters. The man had no money to provide dowries for his three girls, and at that time in history, this essentially ensured that they would remain unmarried and unable to financially support themselves (unless they were to turn to The World's Oldest Profession, that is...) St. Nicholas did not want to humiliate the man by offering him charity, and so under the cover of the dark of night, he threw one purse of money down the man's chimney, for three nights. The purses landed in the girls' stockings, which had been washed and hung up on the fireplace to dry.

In my house, it is not a star or an angel that graces the top of our Christmas tree. As a wedding present, nearly twenty years ago, we were given a beautiful statue of St. Nicholas, and it is he who "oversees" our holiday festivities!

December 5

2010-12-04T18:01:00.005-05:00

"Maybe This Christmas"

Performed by Canadian musician

Ron Sexsmith

December 4

2010-12-03T12:08:00.006-05:00

The Basque Carol: The Angel Gabriel

words paraphrased by Sabine Baring-Gould (1834-1924)

performed by The Choir of New College, Oxford

The angel Gabriel from heaven came

His wings as drifted snow, his eyes as flame.

"All hail," said he, "thou lowly maiden Mary,

Most highly favoured lady,"

Gloria!

"For know a blessed mother thou shalt be,

All generations laud and honour thee,

Thy Son shall be Emmanuel, by seers foretold,

Most highly favoured lady,"

Gloria!

Then gentle Mary meekly bowed her head.

"To me be as it pleaseth God," she said,

"My soul shall laud and magnify His holy name."

Most highly favoured lady.

Gloria!

Of her, Emmanuel, the Christ was born

In Bethlehem, all on a Christmas morn.

And Christian folk throughout the world will ever say:

"Most highly favoured lady,"

Gloria!

This carol has an unusual history. While it is based on a Basque carol, "Birjina gaztettobat zegoen", its melody and words may actually have roots in the thirteenth or fourteenth century hymn, "Angelus Ad Virgineum". The carol was copied down by French composer and musicologist Charles Bordes, who published it in a volume of Basque folk tunes in 1895. The Reverend Sabine Baring-Gould (who is best known for his hymn, "Onward Christian Soldiers") translated it into English, but took liberties with the text, reducing the original six stanzas to four. The exquisite image that Baring-Gould achieves with his poem is nothing short of magical, however, and shines in its Victorian-style description of Gabriel, with "...wings as drifted snow/His eyes as flame".

Rather than accompanying this piece of music with a Victorian painting of The Annunciation, however, I have chosen this more modern depiction of the scene... For no matter how many times I hear this story read to me, I cannot help but marvel at how truly terrified the painfully young mother-to-be must have been. And yet, she was somehow able to find the strength within herself to lean upon her faith, and trust that the future would unfold as it should.

December 3

2010-12-02T12:06:00.004-05:00

The Lord At First Did Adam Make

performed by Richard Lloyd, The Hereford Cathedral Choir and Robert Green

Re-visiting various stories from the Old Testament is traditional in many Festivals of Lessons and Carols during the Christmas season. In particular, the story of Adam and Eve and their fall from the life of Paradise is a popular choice, mainly because of the long-held belief that Jesus Christ represents the birth of a "New Adam" in our religious history: He was sent to us by God in order to wash away the sins of the past, and represents a redemption and new beginning for humankind.

This lovely little carol is one that I have particularly enjoyed hearing during the King's College Chapel Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols from Cambridge University in England, whenever it has been performed. However, when I heard the version sung by the choristers at Hereford Cathedral, I was drawn to it for its up-beat tempo and vocal purity. And so, I cannot resist including them both here: Hereford Cathedral in the music player on the right, up there in the corner, and the King's College version (arranged most beautifully by Stephen Cleobury) in the video below. I am certain you will find pleasure in both!

The history of this carol apparently derives from the West of England. A version of it was printed in Davies Gilbert's "Ancient Christmas Carols", published in 1822. According to Mr. Gilbert, the lyrics of carols such as these were changed slightly for use on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day (mainly in the chorus, I discovered during my research) up until the late eighteenth century. Mr. Gilbert wrote:

"Christmas Day, like any other great festival, has prefixed to it in the calendar a Vigil or Fast; and in Catholic countries a Mass is still celebrated at midnight after Christmas Eve, when austerities cease, and rejoicings of all kind succeed. Shadows of these customs were, till very lately, preserved in the Protestant West of England. The day of Christmas Eve passed in an ordinary manner; but at seven or eight o'clock in the evening cakes were drawn hot from the oven; cyder or beer exhilarated the spirits in every house; and the singing of carols was carried late into the night. On Christmas Day these carols took the place of psalms in all the churches, especially at afternoon service, the whole congregation joining; and at the end it was usual for the parish clerk to declare, in a loud voice, his wishes for a merry Christmas and a happy New Year to all the parishioners. Rude thought it be, the earnestness and simplicity of this carol render it very characteristic and pleasing."

... to which I must add that I couldn't possibly agree more.

December 2

2010-12-01T20:51:00.003-05:00

"Jingle Bells"

Performed by The Canadian Brass,

and with John Grady playing

The Great Organ of St. Patrick's Cathedral

ps. it's snowing here today!

December 1

2010-11-30T18:36:00.003-05:00

"Rejoice and be Merry"

by John Rutter, and performed by

The Royal Philharmonic Orchestra and

The Cambridge Singers

Greetings, dear readers, and welcome to our annual celebration of Christmas!

As in years past, the month of December will see "I Can Fly, Just Not Up" turned into a Musical Advent Calendar. Each day this month, tune in to hear a different Christmas carol. Some you may have heard before, and some may be new to you. Each piece of music has been carefully chosen for your enjoyment, and is my gift to you.

So, take a moment to sit back, relax and enjoy one of the great pleasures of the season! I hope it will give you respite from the planning and preparation that is involved in "Making Christmas"... for this special holiday is about so much more than presents, decorations, and copious amounts of food (much of which is CHOCOLATE, but I digress...)

I hope these few minutes you spend listening to beautiful music will give you an opportunity to stop what you're doing; to breathe and reflect upon the true meaning of Christmas:

Love, and hope, and peace.

xo CGF

Hallelujah!!

2010-11-22T18:14:00.002-05:00

Due to overwhelming demand...

Here`s another heavenly Random Act of Culture!

This one occurred on October 30th at exactly noon, at Macy`s Department Store In Center City, and was performed by The Opera Company of Philadelphia. The singers were accompanied by the magnificent Wanamaker pipe organ, which is the largest in the world.

Confession, dear readers?

This one brought me to tears.

Enjoy.

An Early Christmas Present...

2010-11-21T11:08:00.003-05:00

This?

Is what occurred in the food court of the Seaway mall in Welland, Ontario last week. Shoppers were given a surprise early Christmas gift, courtesy of the most awesome "Chorus Niagara".

I hope you will join me in actually ANTICIPATING the beginning of the shopping portion of the holiday season this year...

Because if magical things like this can happen in Welland, Ontario?

They can happen ANYWHERE, people.

Novembersong.

2010-11-20T08:42:00.007-05:00

For my dearest friend, who is far away from me.
Because I'm more than just a little bit cold here without you.
xoxoxo

The Great Escape?

2010-09-27T09:38:00.006-04:00

I raced up the stairs, unbelieving of what my little girls were claiming as truth.

"There's NO WAY Pip could be missing! Dad just gave her food and water this morning. He SAW HER."

I grasped at whatever straws I could think of.

"She's teeny-tiny, remember. She's probably just buried herself in the shavings somewhere, and is taking a little nap."

Yes, that must have been it.

These are DWARF hamsters we're talking about, here. If any of you have ever seen the size of a Canadian dollar coin (aptly called a "loonie"), then imagine that Pip could have sat herself on top of one, and the edges of the coin would still have been visible. THAT SMALL.

And yet, we combed through every, single little bit of fluff in that cage, and there was only one little brown hamster to be found.

Pip was definitely missing.

The girls were inconsolable. Grief was unleashed, and the wailing and gnashing of teeth could be heard for blocks around.

"How did you manage to LOSE HER?" I hissed at my poor husband from between clenched teeth. "Didn't I TELL you to keep the door SHUT??!!"

His claims of absolute innocence were strongly refuted by the children, who went off to find the cats and check their teeth for further evidence.

"The cats didn't get her... I SWEAR..." the husband wracked his brain for a logical explanation. "I was here the whole weekend, and I certainly would have heard the cats chasing that hamster around. I fed those two little feckers only this MORNING!! There's no WAY the cats could have gotten her..."

"You kept the door SHUT?" I arched an eyebrow at him.

"YES. The bedroom door was SHUT at all times, I promise!" he claimed.

A thought suddenly occurred to me.

"The BEDROOM door was shut... but what about the CAGE door? When you went to the bathroom to fill up the little water dish... DID YOU SHUT AND LOCK THE CAGE DOOR when you were out of the room??"

I saw a flicker of doubt in his eye, as he cast his mind back.

"Those feckers are FAST, man. They are PROGRAMMED to escape. Can you tell me that you are SURE you locked that cage door, each and every time you opened and shut it??" I demanded, every inch the prosecutor of the case, coming in for the kill.

"Well...." he wavered.

I didn't wait for an answer.

Calling the girlies, I raced down to the kitchen and began rounding up as many deep mixing bowls as I could find. They followed my orders to lock both cats in the basement, and then thundered up the stairs after me. I grabbed handfuls of paperback books off of the shelves in the upstairs hallway, and requested that the kids do the same.

What for, you ask??

Hamster Traps, of course.

If Pip had managed to make a lightning-quick escape that morning, then chances were that she was still somewhere in the vicinity of the upstairs. We placed the deep bowls on the floor, all over the bedrooms and upstairs hallway. We poured handfuls of hamster food and yogurt treats at the bottom of each bowl, and built little makeshift stair-cases of books up to the edge of each one. The idea was that Pip would smell the food, toddle up the "stairs", then slip into the bowl and be unable to get out, once she had finished packing her cheeks with the food.

After a long and exhausting evening of fruitless searching-- under furniture, in closets, pockets, and down floor air vents, the children sobbed themselves to sleep.

I, however, was completely unable to rest that night. I kept hoping that I could hear the scurry of tiny feet... Night-time would be the time for nocturnal Pip to re-appear, after all.

I spent a great deal of that night lying wide-awake in my bed, and alternatively, sitting in wait at the top of the staircase, where I had a good view of the entire hallway.

But, in spite of all of our efforts, there was no sign of Pip that night. Or the next night. Or the next.

I did everything I could to try and jolly my children along, as time passed. We made up little stories about Pip the Great Adventurer, how she had cleverly plotted her escape, and how she had discovered a secret passage to the Great Outdoors. She was, we willed ourselves to believe, now living with a gang of field mice somewhere out in our garden. In true "Country Mouse/City Mouse" tradition, we imagined her leaning on miniature mantelpieces late at night, enthralling her audience with tales of her time behind bars, and of her genius at foiling her gaolers.

Time passed. And, eventually, we all began to relax a bit about the situation. After a week of meticulous cleaning, I became fairly certain that she was no longer in the house. The complete absence of droppings led me to believe that she had, indeed, in all likelihood, managed to slip down an air vent and subsequently "met her Maker" (or, at least, the bowels of the air conditioning system).

Eventually, the deep mixing bowls were gathered up, as we began to need them for cooking and baking... The books were put back on their shelves.

And all this time, tiny Freckle, the lone Hamster In Residence, frolicked in the cage that was now ALL HERS, and didn't seem to miss her sister one. single. bit.

Life returned to some semblance of "normal". Or, as normal as it ever gets around here.

Truth be told, the "bloom was off the rose", as far as hamsters were concerned. The girls lost interest in Freckle, which is not actually in their natures... They have always been ferociously protective pet-owners, and taken their responsibility for the animals in their care very seriously. But, Freckle was living locked in the spare bedroom, in order to keep her safe from the cats. Out-of-sight can sometimes truly mean out-of-mind.

It fell to me, then (of course), to remember to tend to Freckle's teeny-tiny needs. It isn't hard, actually. She doesn't eat very much. Her water dish needed refilling only every-other-day, once Pip disappeared. And, her cage needed cleaning only once a week, which I grudgingly performed. In true Ungrateful Rodent fashion, Freckle ceremoniously took large chunks out of my fingers every, single time, which made her even less appealing to me as a pet... if that is possible.

Strangely, I was beginning to understand how my father had felt about that rabbit, all those years ago.

My sleep patterns finally fell back into their normal routine. I no longer waited up to hear the scurry of little feet, or dreaded meeting the tiny furball under the sheets of my bed. (*shudder*)

The kids were finally sleeping again, too. Child Number Two and Wee Three had just acquired a brand new bunk bed, and were delighting in their new arrangement. It took a few nights, trying to figure out who would take possession of the top bunk, and who would sleep below... but as I had originally thought, Wee Three quickly decided that being closer to the floor was the better place to be. By her own reasoning: Monsters are Big. Therefore, if Monsters were to attack in the night, they would eat the child in the top bunk first, giving the child in the lower bunk a chance to escape.

Well, hey. It worked for me. And, it worked for Charlotte and Maude the cats, who were having a perplexing time trying to navigate the bed's ladder. At least they would have ONE of their little girls to sleep with at night.

All was peaceful.

Until.

In the wee hours of a morning more than two weeks later, I heard scuffles coming from the girlies' bedroom.

Cats, I thought. Drat that ladder... Maude must be lonesome for the Monster Bait child in the upper bunk. I said a silent prayer that the flailings of a small, fat cat would not be enough to rouse the girlies from their slumber. Because, once those two little stemwinders were awake, there was no going back-- whether it was two o'clock or ten o'clock in the morning, awake meant AWAKE, and there would be no peace to be had after that.

The scuffles continued.

"Muuuuuumm?" a small, muffled wail rang out, "Maude'n'Charlotte are playing in here, and they just woke us up."

Damn.

"Never mind, sweetie. Is Maude trying to get into the top bunk? Maybe you could give her a boost, and then she'd settle down. I'll bet she just wants to snuggle with somebody. Boost her up, and go back to sleep."

The scuffles continued.

"Muuuuummm?" The child had clearly not yet roused herself from her bed. "It's Charlotte. I think she's brought a toy in here, and she's whacking it around on the floor."

Well, that explains it, I thought. I had just given the cats a fresh package of jumbo-sized pom-poms to play with on the kitchen floor the day before. They must have carried a couple of them upstairs in their mouths. Tomorrow night, I vowed, cats would be shooed into the basement for the night, toys and all.

"Don't worry," I called, not wanting to actually physically appear in the girls' bedroom, since my awake-ness would be seen as a signal that it was time to get up and start the day. "She's playing with a pom-pom. I bought them some yesterday. She'll get bored in a minute. Turn over, and go back to sleep."

There was a pause. (Which, I have learned, is usually a signal that all hell is about to break loose.)

"MUUUUUUMMMMM... Do the pom-poms you bought have little pink ears... and FEET???"

Charlotte had chosen that exact moment to pick her "new toy" up in her mouth, jumped up on Wee Three in the lower bunk, and plopped it down on my little girl's chest.

Charlotte cocked her head to one side, as if to request, "This needs new batteries???"

You can pretty much guess what happened next.

The whole wide world came tumbling down.

Charlotte and Maude went streaking from the room, as soon as the screaming started. My hapless husband was finally roused from his sleep, and went pealing into the girls' room, where he whisked the deceased corpse of Pip quickly out of sight. I was left to console... which was mightily hard to do, let me tell you, after all of the wonderful yarns we had spun about Pip the Adventurer in the Garden.

It was? not. nice.

Pip was buried under a lovely clump of lily-of-the-valley later that day. Her tiny body was perfect-- Charlotte had not acted in an even remotely Darwinian fashion. She had simply found a "new toy" that eventually ran out of energy, and died of exhaustion when the game went on for too long.

The girls have forgiven both their father and the cats. Strangely enough, though, they have had a much harder time forgiving Pip for the entire experience. They talk about Pip in heaven, and how she and George, our dearly departed ferocious monster, are likely having happy games of cat-and-mouse in the great green fields in the sky... But interestingly, they seem to have come to some sort of conclusion about the whole thing that encompasses the ideas of right, wrong, and consequence. Somehow, in their minds, they have decided that Pip plotted her escape, which was something that she should not have done. Her choice to "run wild" in the house, instead of showing up in one of our primitive hamster traps, was wrong of her... and she eventually faced her "consequence", much like a naughty child put in a (permanent!) kind of time out.

Pip has been personified to such a degree in our family, it doesn't even seem to occur to my children that she was an animal-- an extremely small-brained animal, at that-- who was simply following her most basic instinct.

I firmly believe that a there is one idea that pulsates in the mind of all hamsters.

No, not "food".

Not "water".

Not even "reproduction".

ESCAPE.

"That's what you get"

--Wee Three

The Exterminator

2010-09-13T09:22:00.005-04:00

"What about Pip and Freckle???"

This was the question demanded of me by my two youngest daughters several weeks ago, when I announced that we would be spending a long weekend at my parents' house in Stratford.

"What about them? Dad's staying home to work, and he's going to look after the pets, " I tried to soothe my children... And yet, I was feeling a little bit nervous about leaving no fewer than ten pets in my somewhat absent-minded husband's care.

"HE'LL FORGET. The hammies will die if he forgets to fill their water bowl!!"

My little girls had a point, there... We had discovered that Pip and Freckle were so minute, they were incapable of using a regular tube-style water dispenser. Their little mouths simply couldn't budge the ball bearing in the mouthpiece, no matter how hard they tried. We had resorted to a dollhouse-sized water dish, since anything larger would have seemed like a swimming pool to them-- and given them the opportunity to drown themselves, as well.

For a few brief moments, I was highly tempted to declare a hamster road-trip weekend. But a cooler head soon prevailed, as I imagined my parents' reaction to bringing rodents into their pristine home...

Years before, my sister had brought home "vermin", in the shape of a small and extremely cute black rabbit. Sis had had the (mis)fortune of being a lab worker at her university, where she studied biology. This tiny rabbit was slated as one of the creatures that would be used for various experiments, and my highly sensitive sister simply couldn't bear the thought... On the day that she left her job, she left with a tiny, black, furry bundle under her jacket. Jazz the bunny lived very happily with her in her apartment for nearly a year... until my sister was accepted at an international university for graduate studies.

Sis managed to talk my mother into looking after Jazz for the year that she would be away. However, when my father heard about this promise, he allowed his emotions to get the better of him. Always one to take advantage of the opportunity for a good rant, my dear old dad loudly and fluently cited every reason imaginable under the sun NOT to allow vermin in the house... It would keep him and my mother from being able to travel freely. It would force them to be slave to a feeding schedule. It would need endless looking-after and coddling. It would make a mess. It would smell.

My father carried on in this manner for several weeks, driving my kind-hearted, guilt-ridden mother to distraction. However, at the same time, my father was dividing his attention between nurturing our ancient and much-beloved Little Cat, who was ailing at the time... and planning and constructing an elaborate, multi-level bunny hutch, which resembled a large chicken-wire-and-wooden palace, in the basement. He planned for that rabbit's every need: exercise, bed, and bath. Jazz would even have a good view of a television set, should he be so inclined.

My parents drove in to Toronto to pick up my sister, and mum, dad, and the bunny bade her good luck and farewell at the airport, before making the long trip home. Jazz was lovingly transferred from his travel case to his new abode, and fed gourmet greens for dinner, before it was time for everyone to retire to bed.

My mother swears that she did not have any inkling of what would happen during that night... Jazz had eaten well, been treated with the utmost TLC, and had behaved himself in a normal, bunny-type fashion.

The horror of finding Jazz stretched out on his soft, "livingroom" floor, dead as a doornail, was more than a slight shock for my mother the next morning.

There were a flurry of phonecalls, in which my mother was consoled, and my father was told in no uncertain terms that Jazz was NOT "a completely ungrateful little $#@! of a rodent".

It was decided that my sister should not be told until the stress of settling into her new life had settled down a bit...

And poor little Jazz was "put on ice" until his mistress returned for Christmas, and could be interred under the big pine tree in my parents' back garden. I will not go into further details... Except to say this: that for the next several months, whenever one of us was sent to the cellar to fetch something-or-other from the enormous deep freeze, my mother would shriek, "KEEP TO THE RIGHT-HAND-SIDE OF THE FREEZER!!!" as we tromped down the stairs, in a voice so alarming, it nearly caused us to trip up and fall the rest of the way down.

Unfortunately, this is not the only time The Angel of Death has decended upon small animals in my mother's care. Only a few months ago, my nephews left their hamster, Rosie, with my parents when they went on holiday. My mother enjoyed Rosie's company tremendously, and even my father showed a poorly-concealed enthusiasm for watching the hamster roar away in her wheel in the evenings.

The day my sister and her brood arrived home to collect the hamster, it was clear that Rosie was not long for this world. Her wheel-roaring had stopped for good, and it was determined by a vet that a resperatory virus had killed her, in only a matter of a few hours.

My sister was inconsolable, while my nephews recovered more quickly, with the purchase of their current hamster, Dots.

We were, however, beginning to wonder about my mother.

Our doubts was all but confirmed when she confessed that another hamster in her care, who belonged to a neighbour's child who had gone on holiday, had suddenly and inexplicably expired. Bob the Hamster had been elderly, it is true. Very elderly, in fact. Still...

Child Number Three put it most eloquently:

"Gramma's the EXTERMINATOR."

And so... with our weekend away looming before us, I reflected upon the track-record of hamster survival under my parents' roof. It was not that they did anything deliberate to seal the fates of their small, furry guests... but it was undeniable that they seemed to induce the "touch of death" among all who visited.

"I don't know, girls... I'm thinking that this hamster holiday thing might not be such a good idea, after all. I think Pip and Freckle might have a much better chance at surviving a weekend with your father, than a weekend at Gramma's. Don't you?"

I watched as the penny dropped for Wee Three. She turned her enormous brown eyes to me.

"I don't think I want to go to Gramma's, either."

After assuring her that it was only small ANIMALS that were at risk, not small PEOPLE, it was agreed that Pip and Freckle would remain at home, in Child Number Two's bedroom, with the door firmly CLOSED.

"KEEP THIS DOOR CLOSED" read a large sign, scrawled in orange crayon, scotch taped to the door.

"Don't ferget to giv Pip and Frekle water and CLOSE THE DOOR," read a hand-written note, left on the kitchen table.

Wee Three even insisted on telephoning her father's cell phone every half hour or so, to leave messages reminding her father of all his various weekend duties. (As well as being the Hamster Police, Wee Three also patrols the activities of Maude and Charlotte, the cats, and administers love and attention on guinea pigs Toot, Puddle and Cupcake. She's our resident Doctor Doolittle.)

We had a blissful weekend. Perfection. The weather was lovely, the theatre was in full swing, we visited all manner of toyshops, chocolate emporiums and farmer's markets. Then, as daylight faded, we lay on our backs on the grass in my mother's back garden, listening to crickets chirping, and watching shooting stars streak across the sky.

It could not have been better.

To top it off, the husband was reporting complete success on the home front: no animals had yet perished, and everyone was happy and well fed. Doors that were supposed to remain closed, remained closed. Everyone was present and accounted for.

We made our triumphant return on the Sunday evening. Husband was helping me to haul the luggage from car to back door, as the children went pealing into the house to greet their furry friends.

"Everything REALLY ok?" I asked, as we crossed the threshold.

Before my spouse could respond in the affirmative, their was a blood-curdling shreik from upstairs.

"PIP!! Mummy!!! My hamster is GOOOOONE!"

oh, God...

In which I disregard The Gospel...

2010-09-08T11:22:00.006-04:00

"Have cats and hamsters. But not at the same time."

--The Gospel According To My Parents

We have too many pets in this house, there is simply no denying it.

And of course, by "we", I actually mean ME. Because, even though I may not actually physically be "The Hand That Feeds" in the most literal sense, I am most definitely "The Nag Who Reminds" those whose responsibilities include the duty of providing care and sustenance to the aforementioned pets.

Two kittens, three guinea pigs, one bearded dragon lizard, four guppies, numerous snails, three kids, and a husband all reside alongside me in this smouldering heap we call home.

So, why on earth I felt that it would be an even remotely tolerable idea to bring two more small, furry creatures into this house last month, I still have no idea.

I blame the dentist, actually.

The orthodontist, to be specific.

Those of you long-suffering readers who have been around the block with me will remember that there are few things that I have an abject terror of. Any sort of association with these things can cause me to act in such a manner as it would appear that I had completely taken leave of my senses.

The Dentist? Is Thing Number One on that list. The fact that The World Economic Crisis comes second gives you an idea of the scale we're talking about, here.

My eldest child has had to endure many years of dental treatment, due to an "overcrowding" issue, which, naturally, she inherited from my side of the family. Because of my own history with dentists (of which I shall spare you the gruesome details), I made every effort to spare my highly sensitive little girl from emotional suffering during this process. Many of the procedures were performed in hospital, by highly competent and capable medical professionals, under general anesthetic. We both came through these ordeals much less the worse for wear than we otherwise might have, and happily, she is now safely "embraced" for the next two years.

Her megawatt smile makes every, single minute of effort, and every ounce that our wallet was lightened in the process, absolutely worth it.

Last year, while things were so hectic and stressful on the work and school front, my children's dentist called me into her office to examine Child Number Two's latest panoramic xray. To say that the sight was mind-boggling would be an understatement. That wrap-around view of the unseen treasures stored within my second little girl's jaws resembled the mother-of-all jumble sales. There were teeth EVERYWHERE, just bustin' to make an appearance.

"YES. Well. So, you see..." began the good doctor... and I could feel the room spin a little.

Child Number Two is an entirely different creature than her older sister, however. And even though it is very true that I have long felt an unreasonable amount of anxiety about her safety and welfare, due to her dramatic entrance into this world, and her determined efforts to undertake dare-devilish feats that should surely have caused her to make an even more dramatic EXIT... I conceded that this child might be a better candidate for in-office dental procedures, with the assistance of local anesthetic and "laughing gas", rather than an operating room drama.

True to form, she has been braver and more stoic than I ever imagined she would be... And what's more, so have I, as I have stood at the bottom of the "operating chair", and gently rubbed my child's feet as each of the surgeries progressed.

Finally came the day when Child Number Two was fitted with what our orthodontist called a "twin block": upper and lower retainers, which encourage the growth of the palates and jaw, while (hopefully) providing more room for all those enormous choppers to grow in.

The retainers were no problem. She lisped a little at first, and it was a pain to remember the plastic cases every time she wanted to take them out to eat... But she's a conscientious little thing, and very independent with her oral hygiene, so things went swimmingly.

Until the headgear appeared.

The day that spacers were put between Child Number Two's back teeth, and the rather industrial looking strap-and-mouthpiece was presented to her, was a dark, dark day in this household. She was mortified... she felt beyond unattractive, and totally humiliated, in spite of all our reassurances. She would not let me help her put it on or take it off, and tried numerous ways of combing her hair over the thing, even though she was only required to wear it for twelve hours at night. You know, that time when it's dark, and everyone is supposed to be ASLEEP.

We tried everything to console her, to no avail. And eventually, she confessed that her biggest worry was having to take the dratted appliance on sleep-over visits. She was due to spend a week at her cousin's house, and simply could not face him with a "CAGE" (as she described it) over her face.

Now, my 8-year-old nephew, Iman, is Child Number Two's best friend. He's a "boy's boy", which is part of what makes him such a perfect companion for my boisterous daughter. He loves Harry Potter, Super Mario Bros., and anything with wheels, in that order. And, true to form, when he eventually got his first glimpse of headgear, he reacted as though his pal had turned into a real, live transformer. Two words said it all:

Iman: (a huge grin spreading across his face) "Woah. AWESOME."

It took many weeks of encouragement before Child Number Two dared to sport her new dental appliance in front of even the closest family members, however. Backing up the story a little, though, Child Number Two was adamant, at first, that her headgear nights would NOT START until after her week-long holiday at Iman's house was over.

Once I had my daughter's solemn promise of "NO WHINGING, NO SNIVELING" once the circled date on the calendar arrived, I agreed to the bargain.

Child Number Two had a glorious time with her cousin, and arrived home on cloud nine... They had been to art day-camp... they had eaten sushi... they had played for long hours at the water park on some death-trap called a "Slip-'n-Slide" (which sounds to ME like a pediatric orthopedic surgeon's DREAM...)

But, the most wonderful tale of all was of Iman's brand new hamster. He was a little more than a handful of white fluff, with tiny dark patches all over him. He was called "Dots", and it was clear from the way that her eyes shone, that Child Number Two had fallen in hamster-love.

I half-listened to all of my daughter's stories... to be truthful, I was dreading the evening, when all happiness and promises would be forgotten, as the headgear was strapped on for the night. And slowly, an idea began forming in my desperate, unhinged, and exhausted brain.

Why not get the little girls a hamster to keep in their bedroom? Hamsters, after all, are nocturnal creatures, and so feeding and entertaining the dear little soul would surely distract them from the headgear issue. We could get a "silent" wheel, and what the heck-- if it did turn out to make too much noise, I could always take the tiny cage down to the kitchen and put it by the guinea pig hutch during the night. Heck, they'd be company for one another, right?

The joy was truly unconfined that evening, as not one, but TWO dwarf hamsters, each about the size of a Canadian Loonie coin, took up residence in my young daughters' bedroom. Pip and Freckle seemed sweet, but soon gained a poor reputation with me, as they raced to take large chunks out of my fingers as I changed their water dish at night. We chalked it up to "new hamster jitters", as I disinfected and bandaged myself up. Mercifully, Child Number Two headgeared herself up without complaint, and we actually laughed our heads off as we learned to stretch our lips waaaaaaaay out past the little metal wire, to kiss one another goodnight.

But.

(There's ALWAYS a "but" in my stories. Just my luck.)

What I had failed to factor in... or, rather, WHO I had failed to factor into this equation, were the cats, Maude and Charlotte.

And?

Unbeknownst to any of us-- least of all HIM-- their unwitting co-conspirator:

The Hapless Husband.

(...to be continued... if you can stand it...)

The Universe and Me.

2010-09-07T09:37:00.005-04:00

I sit here, in a QUIET house.

Too quiet.

My children-- all three of them-- are in school.

And I? Am not.

This has got to be the toughest "fall" I have ever experienced... even more so than the one when my first wee girl toddled off to her first morning of kindergarten, leaving my outstretched arms wide-empty.

Child Number One began high school last week. (I KNOW. Gaaaa.)

Child Number Two began grade four this morning.

And my baby? My Wee One? Is in grade one. That's a full day of school, people.

Here I sit. A mother with time on her hands; a teacher with no job, and no one to teach.

Woe is me?

Well, hardly, if you really want the honest truth. My husband found a job last spring, at long last, and so there is a steady (enough) paycheque coming in. We have managed to keep our house, and what snippets are left of my sanity. Since "coming home" last spring, after the ten month slog of Furthering My Education, I have enthusiastically engrossed myself in cleaning, reorganizing and generally improving our living arrangements.

That is luxury. I know it. And I am thankful for it.

Yet, perhaps foolishly, my brain yearns for more. I need work-- a classroom of my own, a LIFE of my own, to help keep me on this slow, yet steady upward path towards self-awareness and validation. I know that getting a job would mean another total family upheaval, and a mad scramble to find another Mary Poppins to step in and help me keep all the aspects of life that I constantly juggle up in the air. It would be hard as hell. And once again, time would speed up and run like sand through my fingers. My children would grow another year, almost without me.

Is that what I really want?

Yes, and no.

My girlies need me right now, to help them make these huge life transitions into their new routines. I was essentially absent for a LONG time last year. Now that I am back, their need for me is palpable during every second I spend with them, and resonates in my heart even when they are not physically with me. Right now, I am in the right place at the right time.

The unanswered questions remain, however: Where the universe will propel me next? And how? Why? Most importantly... when it does... will I choose "right"?

Announcing...

2010-07-21T08:51:00.007-04:00

...our new additions to the household: Charlotte and Maude.

They've been settling in for awhile, and things have been so crazy around here since (waaaaay before) graduation, I've neglected to announce their arrival-- sorry, girls!

Maude arrived first: actually, just a week after the demise of our fierce, vile George. I was still in a deep funk, when a call came in on my cellphone during a prep period at school:

Child Number Two: (screeching) MAMA!! We found a new KITTY!! She's in the shelter, and she's SOOOOOOOOOOO cute!! Can we get her, Mummy, PUH-LEEEEZE, can we get her??

Me: (holding phone well away from head to prevent a rupture of my eardrum) WHAT?? Where are you, and why aren't you in school?! It's two o'clock in the afternoon!

Child Number Two: (not listening) She's white!! With patches!! Brown and black!! And guess what?? Her name's LUCKY!! Can we get her, Mum, CAN WE??

Me: (wearily) No, sweetheart. Not today. Mummy's heart still hurts for George... I can't do this right now. Where's Mary? Can you put her on the phone, please?

(Sounds of a scuffle, of Child Number Three wheedling endearments to the kitten, and then a squawk as the two sisters clash over who loves Lucky more...)

Mary Poppins: (breathlessly) Hello? Hi. We're at the shelter... I'm sorry. But the kids seemed tired, and it's Friday and everything, and I knew you wouldn't mind if I kept them home this aft. They've all got supply teachers. AGAIN.

Me: (even more wearily) No, that's fine. Absolutely fine. What I'm wondering, though, is how you wound up at the SHELTER...

Well, wouldn't you know it, it was the TORONTO animal shelter... You know, the one that was in soooooo much trouble awhile ago? I won't go into nasty details, but suffice it to say, the shelter was being shut down for a period of time while the situation was "Cleaned Up". To put it mildly. And there were literally hundreds of animals in even more desperate need of adoption than usual.

Me: (starting to break down) I hear she's pretty cute.

Mary: (cautiously) She's DARLING. And the girls just love her... But we'll understand if you think it's too soon...

Me: I KNOW it's too soon... but...

Mary: Heather? Time doesn't stand still.

And so, that was that.

Of course, I had to pull a stunt, to make the whole thing just a little more "memorable", don't you know. Evil mother that I am, I told the kids "NO!" over the phone, reasoning that I was still in mourning for the Black Monster.

Then, right after school, I drove over to the animal shelter to meet our new kitten.

The girls were right. She WAS perfect-- soft and sweet, with a playful streak. We knew the minute we set eyes on each other-- she immediately stood up in her cage and cosied right up to the bars, waiting to be taken home. She stuck both front paws as far out between the metal partitions as she could, to greet me.

Once the adoption was completed, I gently packaged her up in a cardboard carrier, and we drove home.

I called to my daughters as I came through the back door, carrier in hand, and they rushed to the door, as they always do:

Child Number Two: (skidding to an abrupt halt, eyes wide) What's THAT?

Wee Three: (claps hands over her mouth) Was' in the BOX??

Child Number One: (jumping up and down) Is it the KITTY???!!!!

And with the back door wide open, so that all of the neighbourhood could hear, my three lovely daughters began dancing around and shrieking at the tops of their lungs:

"MUM GOT LUCKY!!! MUM GOT LUCKKKYYYYY!!!!!!"

Um.

Yeah.

We changed her name pretty. damn. quick. after that.

And needless to say, I got to choose.

Maude is named for a Tennyson poem that I particularly love. She is bright and affectionate, and has helped to fill up the hole that has been left in my poor, weary old heart. She sniffed all over the house, and strangely, found all of George's favourite "spots". She immediately began sleeping on my bed at night, snuggled up behind my knees, just as George used to. I can't tell you what comfort she has brought to me.

But, while the girls and I were away at school, there was no doubt that Maude was lonely. Even when we were home and just out of eye-shot, Maude would become distressed and call to us to come and find her. The little, lonesome "Ma-ROW??? Ma-RRRRROW??" struck that ol' maternal chord in me... and I secretly began searching for a friend to keep her company.

Enter Charlotte.

Charlotte had been rescued from the streets of Northern Toronto by Animal Control, and when I discovered her in the shelter, she was a timid, sickly little thing. With the exception of her shorter fur and her bush-baby-like eyes, she could be Maude's twin. Both are dilute calicoes, and I just had a feeling that she would make a lovely, sisterly contrast to Maude's more boisterous personality. And, she looked as though she needed us.

Charlotte came to us named "Sarah", thank goodness-- if she had had a more risque moniker, I might have thought twice about her, after the "Mom Got Lucky!!" incident.

She and Maude get along famously, and she has made our household feel whole again.

The only thing about Charlotte is that catastrophe seems to follow her wherever she goes. She is not the most "co-ordinated" of animals, and so we are becoming accustomed to loud crashes in the night, alarms suddenly going off, and returning home to evidence of small explosions in the kitchen and office. Yet, there Charlotte will be, curled up in a basket with her adopted sister, looking as mild as May.

She has been more challenging to re-train from her stray, "scavenging" days: we cannot leave ANYTHING out on kitchen counters, and she has been harder to convince to use the litterbox...

But, incredibly, her sweet, affectionate nature makes up for all of this. She constantly lets us know that she is so grateful to be here, and a part of this family. She has established an especially firm friendship with Wee Three: she is very happy to be slung hap-hazardly over my little girl's left shoulder, and carted around as a playmate, joining in to a wide variety of activities. She is a darling.

We are blessed. Again. "Home is where the cat is", the old saying in my family goes, and this house feels like home once again, now that Maude'n'Charlotte are here.

We couldn't do without them.

The end of the beginning.

2010-06-24T10:20:00.003-04:00

One week ago, I tossed my goofy cap in the air, and went tearing up a university corridor, robes streaming behind me, for the last time.

It was a long haul. And a heavy one. But, it's done.

I'm a Teacher.

Not that I wasn't one before: parents are the ultimate teachers, after all. But, it's interesting how another piece of paper with a bunch of official-looking signatures scribbled all over it becomes IMPORTANT, all of a sudden.

During all of my various teaching engagements this year, however, I am convinced that it was I who learned the most. Anyone who thinks that it is a teacher's job to simply fill up the "empty void" that lies between their students' ears is woefully misguided.

Good teachers teach because they want to learn. We want to learn more about our students, how they process information, and how we can most effectively learn together in a mutually-supportive society. The students-- both the wonderful, and especially the "not-so-wonderful" ones-- helped me to learn more in one year than I have since the birth of my first child (and whoo-nelly, what a year THAT was...)

Among the zillions of things that I could list for you...

-Organized schools are NOT the most important, nor the most effective learning environment for children. HOME is the most important learning environment for every child, and it is the duty of parents and teachers to work together and support children's educational, emotional and psychological development.

-More children do NOT have healthy home environments than do have healthy home environments. Often, it is the families who appear outwardly "perfect" that are the most troubled of all.

-It is therefore impossible to teach well, without becoming emotionally involved. And this is precisely why I love to teach. Sure, it is demanding in every way imaginable... sometimes exhausting to the point of sucking the life out of your very soul... But I'm hooked on the look on kids' faces; that look when you KNOW that the seven or eight hours they spend in your care per day are some of the best times they've had in their whole little lives. That look varies from child to child... and for this reason, it is essential to strive to know your students well. My breakthrough moment with one little girl this year was during a flood of tears, when she was finally able to confess to me that she wasn't doing her homework or paying attention in class because she was simply too exhausted. She shared a small apartment with many aunts, uncles and cousins, and could only sleep in bed when there weren't too many other people in it. This child was fighting for survival, not just her education. The look of relief and trust that flooded her face when I offered to let her put her head down in class, or stay in at recess or lunch to take a little nap, was phenomenal. There were so many other children like this... ones that needed to be provided with food for their breakfasts, lunches or snacks; children who needed warm clothes to protect them against the winter weather, ones who needed medical and psychological treatment... And I worked hard to advocate for them in the very best way I could.

I had so very many profoundly rewarding moments this year. Two of them occurred during my first session of parent-teacher interviews. While teaching grade three before Christmas last year at a wonderfully multicultural public school, it was necessary to recruit three translators to sit in and work with us in several different Chinese dialects, as well as Tamil. These translators were nothing short of magnificent in their personal and professional skills, and one was able to tell me that a smiling and tearful mother who was brand-new to Canada wanted to tell me "... that when you hug my daughter, she says that your arms feel like I am hugging her." I could not have received any higher compliment. Another gentleman, one of my students' grandfathers, shook and kissed my hand as we concluded an interview about how to best help his troubled grandchild.

There were many frustrating times, too, during which I was so grateful for the counsel and assistance of other, more experienced educators: The times when I simply could not connect with parents, to make them understand the importance of taking steps towards developing specialized education plans for their children, who were struggling. The students whose attitudes and behaviors were disturbing and destructive, and one particular "code red" incident. The times when the "red tape" seemed to gum up the whole educational process, and all the cogs and wheels screeched to a halt... sometimes falling off, altogether.

There are some battles that can be fought, and you win. And there are others where you can try all you want, and not succeed. The challenge in that case is to find a way to switch tactics... to try and discover another route to the solution... and never get so discouraged that you give up.

I'm young, but come with life experience behind me. I'm too old to put up with too much crap, but still feisty enough to go after the ideal. I'm MORE than ready to get started, and see where life takes me.

Where I live, however, there are no job vacancies anywhere. I'm looking... I'm marketing... I'm doing my very best to retain trust that there is a greater plan at work, here, and that when the time is right, I will be shown the way that I am meant to go. I'm not a "fatalist". But, I do believe that things in life happen for a reason. We have to do our best to roll with the punches, and be alert enough to pick up on the signals of better opportunities to come.

Then, we have to reach out with both hands...

And go for it.

Nearly... there...

2010-05-18T20:38:00.003-04:00

"With ordinary talents and extraordinary perseverance,
all things are attainable."

-- Sir Thomas Fowell Buxton

Good-bye.

2010-03-25T21:59:00.003-04:00

She was with me through thick and thin:

my longest, most unconditional, loving friendship.

"My first baby".

So long, sweet girl. Love you forever and ever.

xoxo grrpurrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr...

The BEST of the Grammys, 2010...

2010-02-02T22:35:00.004-05:00

Divine, Dave.

Divine.

And Now, The News.

2010-01-17T15:13:00.018-05:00

Well, more of an update, really...

Seriously.

It's been so long since I've been a regular contributor to society, both in person and in the blog-o-sphere... people are starting to wonder if I've expired. (Although, come to think of it, something DOES smell a little funky around here...)

Bring on the bullets!

-Grade six. Is killing me, albeit slowly. The kids are WONDERFUL-- so amazingly polite, independent and intelligent beyond my expectations... but the curriculum that they are forced to study STINKS, in my humble opinion... and there's very little wiggle-room for creativity or subject integration, because of all the focus on EQAO (those are our provincial standardized tests, for those of you non-Ontari-ari-arians), which loom ahead of us like gigantic black hounds with gaping jaws. These poor kids are BORED, and quite frankly, I don't blame them. I can't wish for more hours in the day for them to be in my classroom-- I'm a firm believer that most kids are vastly over-programmed and stressed out as it is. But I DO so desperately wish that there was more scope for the imaginations... more opportunity to study things that are relevant and interesting for THEIR lives... Hell, I'd settle for just one good novel study, for crying out loud!! Instead, we are teaching them how to take multiple choice exams, it would seem. What a shame.

-I'm going to get creative in the only way I can, however: we are going to knit. All thirty of us. We are knitting squares to sew together into blankets, to send to Doctors Without Borders. I can't wait to see the looks on their faces when the first few blankets come together as a whole!! I'm hugely excited about this project.

-And of course, it now goes without saying, I'm knitting again!! The arm is improving, and my physiotherapist and doctors are pleased with my progress. I'm not lifting anything just yet, but the extension of my elbow only has about 30 degrees more to go before I'm back to "normal". I attribute all of my progress to knitting and crocheting, which has been my main method of rehabilitation, and kept me from filleting my loved ones out of frustration.

-Projects on the go: one log-cabin pattern afghan (crochet), one beautiful Cabin Fever knitted poncho (for me), one Turkish stitch scarf (also for me), one gorgeous Noro rippled-pattern hat (whoo, it's just AAAAAALLLLL about me right now, isn't it?! About time, too.)

-Schoolwork on the go: What schoolwork? Crap, you mean there's homework??! (just kidding. i'm swamped, and sinking fast.)

-Girlies are fine, although they had a terrible time returning to school after Christmas... Didn't we all??? I could have used about another month off, myself. They are, quite simply, exhausted, and so we took a Ferris Bueller day on Thursday, just to even ourselves out a little. This weekend, I think we'll throw a few clothes in a bag and head off to Stratford for a little time with The Grandparents.

-Best moment of the New Year thus far? Having my orthopedic surgeon double-check my arm last week, and confirm that all is well, and NOTHING is broken. I am so thankful, so lucky.

-Worst moment? My first grade six math lesson... I was explaining an equation on the board, when my mind suddenly got muddled and went completely BLANK... BLANK!!!! I could feel the sweat rolling down my back and into my underwear, and for a brief moment, considered resting my forehead up against the chalk dust in front of me, and just begging for mercy... Instead, I managed to pull it together, excused myself to take another look at the textbook, and confessed that I was re-learning the lesson alongside my students. It was amazing how they all rallied to my aid after that, and we figured out the problem together.

-Biggest challenge of the immediate future? Concocting my teaching resume and portfolio, in preparation to begin the long, hard slog of job applications, and (hopefully!!) interviews. As if getting the qualification wasn't hard enough...

This? Is only the beginning.