Thursday, December 21, 2017

Christmas Always & Christmas Treasures (excerpt)

 
Hail! Mary!
 
 
Hail! Mary! Full of grace, the Lord is with thee
 
Heaven angel to virgin maiden spoke enigma word quite bold
Celestial Son’s birth for sinful man’s redemption, he foretold
 
Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus
 
Announcement caused His cousin John in the womb to leap
Un-truth purveyors shall forever the evil whirlwind reap
 
Holy Mary! Dear mother of God, please pray for us sinners
 
Add not nor deny My Truth, I am the Light
Holy Word, My Way to salvation in clear sight
 
Now and at the hour of our death
 
Communion saints with heavenly angels pray
Revere innocents’ life, reflect on Christmas Day
 
And, thanks for His miracle of the rosary
 
Three in One, a dozen true disciple men
Love each other, your brother also is My kin
 
For He so loved the world He sent His only Son
Offer heartfelt humble prayer, His holy day be won
 
Amen!
 
Merry Christmas!
 
Pray the rosary! Amen!
Heaven Christmas Gift!
Our Almighty Father speaks:
“Celebrate the Glory of My Son this Day, sent man Redeemer Savior King;
   Praise God by walking in His Light with Grace of Holy Spirit sing!” Amen!
 
Christmas Presence!
 
Bapa! Why do you quite early each new dawn arise?
In His glorious wakeful splendor, God hinted another great surprise
 
Not a fragrant pleasure rose shall I on purpose miss
This newborn chance to taste of life’s soft-sweet promised kiss
 
Orange sunrise quiet pretty or awesome lightning thunderstorm
Tranquil deer in meadow yonder leads tender spirit to reform
 
“Fear Not!” Some evil veiled temptation
“Follow Me!” On narrow trace to Christian Salvation
 
“Love God!” His sacred Commandments clearly proclaim
“Love one another!” Seven admonish to reluctant blame
 
Fresh-fallen frosty fluff revives stained soul pure white
Begin “Rejoice!” in honor peaceful manger site
 
Render reverent psalm all due our Blessed Trinity
Contemplate life miracle in spirit light eternity
 
One tiny speck in this majestic universe surpassed
Voice Justice song in Truth prayer strident cast
 
Adore our living Glorious Lord, stand tall in sweet Christ Jesus
May His Christmas Spirit Joy lovingly appease us!
Amen!
 
Merry Christmas!
Christmas Peace!
 
 
 
Newborn babe in manger lay
Man praise God eternal day
 
Innocent face sweet spectacle
God’s own Son true miracle
 
Pure as white fresh-fallen snow
Soul renew through faith restore
 
Spirit journey Christmas time
Celestial insight love divine
 
Truthful path never waiver
Eternal light Jesus savior
 
Creation awesome splendor bright
Christian family loves pure Light
 
Humble example birthday King
On bended knee mankind bring
 
Illuminate joyful peaceful earth
Eternity find in Jesus’ birth
 
Amen!
 
 
Plus:
 
 
 
 
6    Rodeo!
 
 
     Bright sunshine belied the frigid temperature as the two men headed north and just slightly west toward the mountain where Ole Sam resided. Desperado led easily and Bapa had no problem bringing him along on the trail. Z. Tyler took the lead and seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself. Several times when he turned to check on his grandfather’s progress with the pack horse, Bapa clearly saw a bright smile. Always up for any new adventure; the young man reminded the senior of himself at an earlier age. A sudden image of Nanny appeared in his mind as he completed the thought; she would have corrected “reminded” to present tense. He had to smile at himself, even when she was miles away, she still knew him best. He was pleased.
     Once through the woods and hills of the farm, the terrain flattened somewhat, although still showed a steady incline toward the mountains. The snow was thicker here and less melted; they were five miles from home about a thousand feet higher in altitude than where they had started. Z. Tyler pulled Applejack to a halt and waited for Bapa to catch up.
     “Thought we should give the horses a blow,” the boy said. Bapa nodded agreement.
     “Yeah,” he began, “take care of your mount and he’ll take care of you.”
     Each stepped down from his saddle, slightly loosened the cinch strap, so that the animals could relax a bit and rest. Bapa checked the pannier on Desperado, but did not slacken its hold. To do so might cause the heavy burden to shift; it was well-balanced and if it slipped, they might have to completely unload their burdensome cargo and, then, repack all of it. That was a delay Bapa wished to avoid, if possible; no point in taking unnecessary chances.
     He reached in his left side saddle bag and withdrew the thermos of hot tea. “Better get yourself some warmth, too,” he suggested.
     Taking the old man’s advice, Z. Tyler helped himself to his own hot drink.
     “It’s colder up here and the snow is heavier,” the boy commented.
     After a swallow of the warming beverage, he continued. “You said the wind would come up and change to the northwest.  You were sure enough right about that. Sure doesn’t look like snow, though.” He gave the sky a glance and noted scattered clouds and a grey front westward.
     “Not yet,” Bapa acknowledged. “That northwest breeze is a sure harbinger of it, though. Weather can change up here in the high country about as quick as the wink of a sparrow’s eye.”
Dazzling white teeth flashed as the boy enjoyed, in good humor, his grandfather’s quaint way of saying things. To subtly complement Bapa’s wit, he said, “That’s pretty darn quick! Alright!”
     Z. Tyler harbored an insatiable appetite for knowledge, asked a lot of questions whenever an opportunity to learn something presented itself and listened intently to the answers. He found this moment to be just such an occasion for a positive learning experience.
     Returning his thermos to the leather pouch, he inquired, “I know you can ‘smell’ snow before it comes, sometimes up to a full day in advance. But, how did you figure out that the wind would come from the northwest today?”
The old man gave him a conspiratorial smile, but offered no explanation.
     After replacing his insulated stainless tea vessel in the saddle bag and tightening the girth, Bapa mounted Magic. When Z. Tyler climbed aboard Applejack, they moved out, side by side.
     The boy offered to lead the pack horse; he was no trouble, but Bapa gratefully relinquished the duty. They were approaching the river and, knowing the country, he would take the lead when they got closer to Silver Falls River and take them down to Lone Pine beach.
     Settling into a steady, ground eating gait, they rode two abreast for a time.
     After a slight pause to gather his thoughts, Bapa, at last, answered the boy’s query.
     “Forecasting snow is one thing,” Bapa allowed. “I just sniff the air and I get a sense, a special kind of tingling, in my nostrils that tells me it’s coming. I can’t really explain it any better than that; I’ve tried to ‘teach’ it to Nanny, to our girls and to all of you grandchildren. But, it seems to be like any talent, it apparently can’t be learned. You can either do it, or you can’t.”
     “It’s a nice talent to have,” the young man complimented.
     Bapa laughed. “Calling it ‘Talent’ may have been a poor choice of words. But, like most of the ‘accomplishments’ in my life, I am grateful for it and the kids sure do love that I can predict snow. Of course, it’s handy in other, more obvious, pragmatic ways around a farm.”
     “But,” the boy persisted, “how did you know which way the wind would blow today?”
     The old man gave a hearty chuckle, this time.
     “Nothing so dramatic as smelling snow, I’m afraid. I learned it from Poppy, my grandfather.”
     He paused. The boy was listening intently, now.
     “My daddy’s dad. Oh! He was quite a character. He died when I was nine.” Bapa had a far off look in his eye, almost as though he was somewhere else. “I sure did love that old man.”
     Z. Tyler waited for his grandfather to catch up to the present; he looked almost sad. The boy understood as he realized that one day, he, too, would speak of his Bapa in the past tense. The moment was a bit disconcerting while at the same time reinforcing a special friendship bond.
     Bapa shook his head as if to clear some cobwebs, then, continued. “I went outside this morning about four. The sky was clear and those magic pinpoints sparkled like blue-white fiery diamonds s spread out on a fancy black velvet jeweler’s presentation tray attempting to entice some rich prospective buyer into laying out a substantial amount of cash to own them. They twinkled and danced such a merry rhythm.” He smiled, mentally recalling the experience.
     Patiently, the boy waited; Bapa had his own way and tempo for telling tales.
     “Poppy told me that all stars twinkle. But, if you watch early in the morning, before dawn begins, and look straight up, the quadrant of the sky where they dance most rapidly is the direction from which the wind will blow that day.” He paused. “It’s that simple!” he concluded.
     Z. Tyler nodded. “And, today, they twinkled most in the northwest sky?”
     Bapa nodded. To highlight his accuracy, adding a directed metaphoric profoundly punctuated exclamation point to the attestation, a hardy gust of wind from the northwest blasted them. When it passed after several seconds, they looked at one another and laughed. It seemed as if the old man had conjured up a goddess wraith from the “Wind” clan to underline his accurate prediction.
     “Wow!” involuntarily shivered Z. Tyler, laughing. “You sure know how to make a point.”
     After another half mile, Bapa pulled up.
     “Silver Falls River is just over that rise, yonder. Snows deep here and drifted badly. You follow close behind and I’ll lead us on down to the beach area.”
     He started off in a straight line to the point where the family camped in the summer on their overnight trips. The snow came to Magic’s chest in a heavy drift where the upslope from the river crested and leveled, somewhat, as they pushed toward the bend in the river and the sand bar. He noted mentally that Tall Pine was not on the horizon; he should have seen it by now. The huge evergreen was a landmark by which they normally navigated this area.
When the shiny silver thread of the stream came into view some forty feet ahead, reflecting in the cloud-obscured winter sun’s steep angle, Bapa turned in his saddle to say something to Z. Tyler. Just as he opened his mouth, the boy watched in slow motion disbelief as Magic’s head dropped suddenly and the mare squealed in abject fear.
In a black and white daguerreotype series of tintype frames, the boy witnessed an amazing and fearsome dreamlike sight as he sat frozen motionless, eyes wide in astonishment. In his mind echoed a terrified piercing warning but it found no voice as his mouth went dry and his throat tightened. Helpless to halt the surreal show unfolding before him like a strobe-lighted scene in some third-rate Hollywood horror movie poorly choreographed by a deranged, schizophrenic, failed director attempting to depict impossible realism in unimagined demented modern artful, bazaar modernistic camera trickery, Z. Tyler could only watch in stunned, hopeless silence.
In the first terrifying frame, Magic lunged headfirst in what appeared to be a straight downward plunge. Then, a volcanic eruption of a white powder cloud exploded, obfuscating both the sturdy steed and the boy’s fragile grandfather. The third picture exposed Magic’s back legs, upside down, along with Bapa’s black boots, somewhere in the melee, splayed wide in a cascade of cloudy snow white fluff, reminiscent a snow globe shaken with too much enthusiasm.
Finally, the film ended in an eerie silence; a pronounced deafening peace hung like a harbinger of dread over a graveyard as the disturbed snow ever so softly settled down and a cerulean sky overhead belied the tragic incident. Z. had to make a conscious effort to concentrate in order to convince himself to believe what he had just witnessed firsthand, and, profoundly wished that he had not. No sound manifested from the hidden chasm into which Bapa and his mount had fallen. Not wanting to accept the reality as he quickly rode forward, but cognizant that he must, one terrible thought permeated his mind like the red hot pointed tip of a knife searing through thick yellow butter tormenting his numbed mind: What am I going to tell Nanny?


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