Boxing Day

To Mrs K____, On Her Sending Me an English Christmas Plum-Cake at Paris

~ Helen Maria Williams 1761–1827

What crowding thoughts around me wake,

What marvels in a Christmas-cake!
Ah say, what strange enchantment dwells
Enclosed within its odorous cells?
Is there no small magician bound 
Encrusted in its snowy round?
For magic surely lurks in this,
A cake that tells of vanished bliss;
A cake that conjures up to view
The early scenes, when life was new;
When memory knew no sorrows past,
And hope believed in joys that last! —
Mysterious cake, whose folds contain
Life’s calendar of bliss and pain;
That speaks of friends for ever fled,
And wakes the tears I love to shed.
Oft shall I breathe her cherished name
From whose fair hand the offering came:
For she recalls the artless smile
Of nymphs that deck my native isle;
Of beauty that we love to trace,
Allied with tender, modest grace;
Of those who, while abroad they roam,
Retain each charm that gladdens home,
And whose dear friendships can impart
A Christmas banquet for the heart!

***

Charly and I got a bike for Christmas.  A turquoise beauty of sturdy contruction.  Today we shall have a test ride, eat fruit cake and wear-in Ro-Ro's new cricket gear.  I suspect the Boxing Day cricket commentary will be our sound track.  But at the moment, not everyone has roused themselves and there is peace before the day unfurls in a riot of colour, sound and movement.  The remnants of Christmas Day are strewn about the floor and in our memories.  We are blessed. 

Lights

 

The property in the Canberra suburb of Forrest in Australia is illuminated with 331,038 fairy lights making it the Guinness World Record holder for the Most Christmas Lights on a Residential Property.

Crazy!

We were there.

In the queue.

So hallow'd and so gracious is the time

Hamlet, Act 1, Scene 1 ~ William Shakespeare  Marcellus to Horatio and Bernardo, after seeing the Ghost Some say that ever 'gainst that season comes Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated, This bird of dawning singeth all night long; And then, they say, no spirit dare stir abroad, The nights are wholesome, then no planets strike, No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm, So hallow'd and so gracious is the time. *** A blessed, quiet day at home to celebrate Christmas.  We baked a turkey for the first time ever and it was a roaring success.  But we now have a surplus of exquisite macadamia and dried fruit stuffing which was just not going to fit in that bird's cavity.  The children couldn't stand the suspense waiting for official present opening time.  We dragged it out as long as we could (until a reasonable hour for drinking champagne) and carefully opened each gift one by one.  We spent the rest of the day playing with Lego, giving phone calls and pottering about until the rains came in the late afternoon.  Then we snuggled up to watch Home Alone.   We were too relaxed to grapple with reading and absorbing the instructions for some new board and card games.  That will have to wait until another day in this glorious stretch of holidays.   Image: By me.  A nativity display in a garden adorned with Christmas lights somewhere in Kambah - the deep suburbs of Canberra.

Books Bought and Borrowed: The Nutcracker

One of our favourite Christmas classic books is the Young Reader's edition of The Nutcracker from the story by E.T.A Hoffman and illustrated by Don Daly.  We scooped up a sturdy hard-backed copy from the Sydney Opera House shop after the Australian Ballet's astounding performance of the same ballet a few years ago.

It's a longer version than might suit a single bedtime reading, but comprises five easily digestible chapters.  The book is unusually typeset in two columns which, as it turns out, is ideal for reading out aloud so you can scan ahead and adjust to the appropriate theatrical voice or facial expression.  The illustrations are a major treat; rich and detailed.  The sort of book you should read sitting snuggled up side-by-side with a child so they can absord the impressive full-page pictures while you bring the story to life.

The Three Drovers
Across the plains one Christmas night Three drovers riding blithe and gay, Looked up and saw a starry light More radiant than the Milky Way; And on their hearts such wonder fell, They sang with joy. 'Noel! Noel! Noel! Noel! Noel!'
- * -
The air was dry with summer heat, And smoke was on the yellow moon; But from the heavens, faint and sweet, Came floating down a wond'rous turn; And as they heard, they sang full well Those drovers three. 'Noel! Noel! Noel! Noel! Noel!'
- * -
The black swans flew across the sky, The wild dog called across the plain, The starry lustre blazed on high, Still echoed on the heavenly strain; And still they sang, 'Noel! Noel!' Those drovers three. 'Noel! Noel! Noel! Noel! Noel!'
- * -

Words by John Wheeler.
Music by William G.James.

School's Out!

Dashing through the bush in a rusty Holden ute,
Kicking up the dust, esky in the boot,
Kelpie by my side, singing Christmas songs,
It's summer time and I am in my singlet, shorts and thongs.

Oh! Jingle bells, jingle bells jingle all the way,
Christmas in Australia on a scorching summer's day,
Oh! Jingle bells, jingle bells, Christmas time is beaut,
Oh what fun it is to ride in a dusty Holden ute.

Engine's getting hot, we dodge the kangaroos,

The swaggie climbs aboard, he is welcome too.
All the family is there, sitting by the pool,
Christmas day in the Aussie way, by the Bar-b-cue. Oh!

School's out.  Summer holidays have begun.  We celebrated with an early evening scooter ride up and down a dodgy path by Lake Burley Griffin.  Tried skipping stones across the water's edge while dodging legions of black swans.  The pressure is on this morning to go to the pool or Big Splash.  I'm busy sorting school supplies, surveying the volumes of art works which have come home and contemplating the menu for Christmas Day.  Too late for cards, so I may have to compose an apologetic email to relatives and friends.  Still got up early this morning primed to make school lunches.  Seems quite bizarre not to have to set up the factory line of sliced bread and carrot sticks. 

Half-decorated by the children.

 

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The Weary Blues
~ Langston Hughes

Droning a drowsy syncopated tune,
Rocking back and forth to a mellow croon,
I heard a Negro play.
Down on Lenox Avenue the other night
By the pale dull pallor of an old gas light
He did a lazy sway . . .
He did a lazy sway . . .
To the tune o' those Weary Blues.
With his ebony hands on each ivory key
He made that poor piano moan with melody.
O Blues!
Swaying to and fro on his rickety stool
He played that sad raggy tune like a musical fool.
Sweet Blues!
Coming from a black man's soul.
O Blues!
In a deep song voice with a melancholy tone
I heard that Negro sing, that old piano moan--
"Ain't got nobody in all this world,
Ain't got nobody but ma self.
I's gwine to quit ma frownin'
And put ma troubles on the shelf."

Thump, thump, thump, went his foot on the floor.
He played a few chords then he sang some more--
"I got the Weary Blues
And I can't be satisfied.
Got the Weary Blues
And can't be satisfied--
I ain't happy no mo'
And I wish that I had died."
And far into the night he crooned that tune.
The stars went out and so did the moon.
The singer stopped playing and went to bed
While the Weary Blues echoed through his head.
He slept like a rock or a man that's dead.

Early In The Morning I Hear On Your Piano
by Robert Louis Stevenson

EARLY in the morning I hear on your piano
You (at least, I guess it's you) proceed to learn to play.
Mostly little minds should take and tackle their piano
While the birds are singing in the morning of the day.

The Piano Man

PIANO TUNER, UNTUNE ME THAT TUNE

 ~ Ogden Nash

I regret that before people can be reformed they have to be sinners,
And that before you have pianists in the family you have to have
beginners.
When it comes to beginners' music
I am not enthusiastic.
When listening to something called "An Evening in My Doll House," or "Buzz,
Buzz, Said the Bee to the Clover,"
Why I'd like just once to hear it played all the way through, instead of that
hard part near the end over and over.
Have you noticed about little fingers?
When they hit a sour note, they lingers.
And another thing about little fingers, they are always strawberry-jammed or cranberry-jellied-y,
And "Chopsticks" is their favorite melody,
And if there is one man who I hope his dentist was a sadist and all his teeth
were brittle ones,
It is he who invented "Chopsticks" for the little ones.
My good wishes are less than frugal
For him who started the little ones going boggie-woogal,
But for him who started the little ones picking out "Chopsticks" on the ivories,
Well I wish him a thousand harems of a thousand wives apiece, and a
thousand little ones by each wife, and each little one playing "Chopsticks" twenty-four hours a day in all the nurseries of all his harems, or wiveries.

***

This was Little Wanna's end of year piano concert held in her classroom.  She played "Nobody Knows the Trouble I've Seen" (which I always call "Nobody Knows the Trouble I've Been") and Jingle Bells.  Months of lessons and practice, and all over in the twinkling of an eye.  So entranced was I by Ro-Ro's rendition of "Cockles and Mussels" that I completely forgot to take a photo.  It was a proud mamma moment.  Good effort kiddos and hearty thanks to the Piano Man for this adept tutoring under sometimes trying circumstances.  We ARE getting better at practice ... truly.

I love that our school offer music lessons during After School Care and enlists young musicians from the ANU School of Music to be the teachers.  It's a convenient and affordable option for working parents and a nice little earner and good experience for the teachers.  We've had doctorate students of the flute and ambitious young people whose aim is to make a living as professional musicians.  It will be as thrilling to watch their career trajectories as our own children's progress with their instruments. 

Christmas Memory

Candlelit Heart

~ Mary E. Linton

Somewhere across the winter world tonight
You will be hearing chimes that fill the air;
Christmas extends its all-enfolding light
Across the distance...something we can share.

You will be singing, just the same as I,
These familiar songs we know so well,
And you will see these same stars in your sky
And wish upon that brightest one that fell.

I shall remember you and trim my tree,
One shining star upon the topmost bough;
I will hang wreaths of faith that all may see --
Tonight I glimpse beyond the hear and now.

And all the time that we must be apart
I keep a candle in my heart.

***

Remembering my Mum and Dad at this time of year.  The children are thinking of Grandma too.  When I was a child we would have cut down our casaurina tree Christmas tree by now and ordered the ham for boiling in the copper tub down the back yard.  The dining room would be festooned with paper decorations and Chinese lanterns with thin tassles.  The wreath would be on the front door and Aunty Val in England's goblet candles would adorn the coffee table.   Mum would have made the Christmas cake and stirred in the threepences.  Whole watermelons and trays of mangoes would be chilling in the downstairs fridge.  Good memories.

Stories by the Christmas Tree

Christmas Cheer

~ Thomas Tusser

Good husband and housewife, now chiefly be glad,
Things handsome to have, as they ought to be had.
They both do provide, against Christmas do come,
To welcome their neighbors, good cheer to have some.

Good bread and good drink, a good fire in the hall,
Brawn, pudding, and souse, and good mustard withal.
Beef, mutton, and pork, and good pies of the best,
Pig, veal, goose, and capon, and turkey well drest,
Cheese, apples and nuts, and good carols to hear,
As then in the country is counted good cheer.

What cost to good husband, is any of this?
Good household provision only it is:
Of other the like, I do leave out a many,
That costeth the husband never a penny.

***

Haven't organised a thing for the holidays.  School ends next week and I'll have to arrange leave or book holiday programs by the end of next week.  While I'm faltering on the large-scale plans, we do have the gorgeous (real) Christmas tree half-decorated and have been playing carols and reading Christmas stories.  Our favourite is "Harvey Slumfenburger's Christmas Present" by John Burningham (2004).  We have a modest collection of seasonal stories that we drag down from the book shelf each year.  This one is a lovely tale, a real keeper, and the illustrations are charming; a point of conversation in themselves.   What DID Santa leave Harvey?   That rectangular box is the right shape, but too fat, for an iPad2 we decided.

It's Christmas Eve and there is one present left in Father Christmas's sack. It's for a small boy called Harvey Slumfenburger, who lives far, far away on top of the Roly Poly Mountain. But no journey is too far for Father Christmas!

Goggle-eyed, boggle-eyed

There was a Young Lady whose eyes,
Were unique as to colour and size;
When she opened them wide,
People all turned aside,
And started away in surprise.

~ Edward Lear

***

Poor old Little Wanna.  She wants a Christmas tree badly and right now.  She'll have to wait until the weekend when I hope we can make it to Santa's Christmas Tree Farm out yonder near Sutton or Gundaroo to pick our own live beauty.  Meantime, I bought a white, artificial tree with flashing lights for a table top.  I love a seasonal light show indoors. Turning it on in the morning and when we get home in the evenings.  But nothing beats the real Tree.   The rest of Christmas, notably the shopping and the catering, is nothing short of torture for me.   With overbearing work commitments for the SSO, it looks like it will be a quiet summer this year with no road trip.  Everyone is looking forward to staying put.  We need a rest, but I suspect some shorter trips to the beach and Sydney (for the Harry Potter exhibition or bust!) will be in order.  We have nothing planned or booked of course and the holidays are just around the corner!  Maximum disorganisation.

 Felt ornament on Etsy (Yellow Bug Boutique)