Christmas-glow!
Ambient-blue transcends
the Virgin’s cape
Surrounds
stained-glass hushed-whisper shape
Softly-reflected
calm arched interior
Radiated-comfort
on winter-exterior
Spiked
golden-shafts Mary’s-halo
Blended red,
white, green-pthalo
Myriad-swirl
subtle hues soft-dancing
Interior-space
children-choir enhancing
Congregants’ Faith!-smiles cheeks red-rosy
“Joy-to-the-world” Old-hymn
crescendo-cozy
“Silent-night!”-Sanctuary upon yon
village
Spread-wide onto
cold-fields awaiting tillage
Magic midnight mass-bells
born nativity-scene
Christ-child
“King” sacred-Salvation intervene
Snow-clouds to
clear night-sky star-studded soon
Embrace Christian-kind alabaster-pale full–moon
God’s-Own blessing
on mankind: Live! Love! Laugh!
Interdiction
Pure-practice
true: Faith! Family! Freedom!
Holy-Benediction
Dare-intention create Christmas-glow! Each honored-day
Challenge-purpose “Good!” in all manner! I solemn
pray!
Rejoice! Jesus loves thee! Thou knew!
Celebrate! Santa Claus loves thee, too!
Merry Christmas! (Every
blessed-day! Amen!)
Plus:
Preface
(to Christmas Perpetual)
Christmas Magic introduced this
unique family living in a rural setting. Their holiday time of year is magic,
indeed. The farmstead evokes images of a time, perhaps, past, yet yearned for
by a society and culture seeking reverence, religion, solitude, instead of the
hustle and bustle of modern life inhabitants running wild desperately seeking
an elusive perceived value; these real people not only seem to have found it
all, they truly appreciate their treasure. They espouse a sense of quality in
the pursuit of living, rather than in some vacant imagined destination, often
designed by others, which may or may not hold true virtue. The surprise ending
is endearing.
Christmas Perfect brought life to
the little village near the farm. Stirring emotions of nostalgia in the town
square, replete with holiday storefronts reminiscent of the fifties and
sixties, displaying Christmas scenes, model railroads and a myriad of
decorated, trees, gifts, toys and fantasy enough for young and old. The city
layout is complete with parks, a bandstand, an ice skating lake; the
continuation of the story lends further insight to the characters within the
play. Bapa’s “secret” present holds wonder for the entire gathering as its
“clone” appears. Delightful!
Christmas Perpetual is the third
offering in this Christmas Eve Trilogy: Christmas Treasures!
A nostalgic sojourn through traditional
Christmas experiences reacquaints the reader with the characters of a loving
Christian family tied by blood and emotion to time honored values. The virtues
displayed by this cast are those held worthy by independent, individual
Americans.
While the setting for the story is the
Christmas holiday season, the meaning, the very essence, of a life worth living
is timeless in its nature. Each day is an event, an important part of the
ultimate adventure---life! The gift of life is for the living! Contemplate! Enjoy!
Merry
Christmas!
Prologue
(taken from: Christmas Perpetual!)
A passer-by on the county road just south
of the cozy farmstead could not help but notice the peace and tranquility of
the living anachronism; a steady, subtle tempo beat to the cadence of a subdued
drum unaffected by the hustle of modern life. The picturesque white house sat
neat and tidy in appearance, yet full of surprise and excitement through a
special kind of love enjoyed by the unique characters who make up this
Christian family.
Hearts full of generous warmth to all with
souls alive in free spirit exuberance toward life and all God’s nature, a
conscience for conservation and appreciation for the good to be found, if only
the participants might but seek. What is before the eye is there, but for the
taking, if intent be pure. Selfless ambition toward the benefit of others
brings eternal pleasure to the giver.
“Do unto others…” cautions man to treat
those he encounters in this life with respect and honest opinion, quite simply,
stated another way, tell the truth in all things, in all times. The Golden Rule
encompasses those Ten Commandments which God gave Moses so many millennia ago.
“Love God” clearly instructs man on his relationship with the Lord in the first
three mandates while the final seven dictates obligate behavior toward his fellow
human beings in a sacred “Love one another” holy decree. Like any good advice
in life, the order is simple in the statement, yet, often anything but easy in
the accomplishment. Pray for us sinners! Indeed!
Only two days before Christmas, and, what could
possibly happen? Another year chronicled to the exhausted calendar of spent
months evaporated in a seeming instant. Yet, since the last winter holiday so
much had been accomplished.
An early Easter in March had seen the
marriage of Z. Tyler and his beloved Mary Theresa. An open, white carriage had
transported the bride and groom to the little country church just down the road
from the farm. The little girls had literally floated into the conveyance in
white dresses reflecting the bridal gown; an insistence by M.T., well received
by the young maids of honor, and the entire assemblage. Yes, the new bride
would fit very nicely into this family.
Each holiday had been a celebration of
life among members of the clan. Come one, come all, including friends and
neighbors, alike. On through the Fourth of July with tons of fireworks; of
course, Nanny made sure that Bapa had plenty of adult supervision, so there
were no serious accidents, and on to a red hot Labor Day bar-b-que to Halloween
and Thanksgiving; any excuse for a get together and an impromptu party. The
little girls came to visit, often. They were a big help on the busy farm and
turned out to be the best leaf-rakers in the state; maybe, the country.
That Bapa! Over protests from Nanny, the
only seeming adult in the household, he brought out the six foot step ladder so
the urchins could climb to the top rung and parachute into the giant pile of
leaves which they had gathered. When he climbed the tower, Nanny had enough and
she put her foot down, issuing a stern admonition in the form of a brash
scolding, and, right in front of his little playmates, too. What else could he
do, under the circumstances? He jumped, twice.
She had thought that fireworks were his forte, but it became quite
apparent that somebody required perpetual supervision, and it wasn’t the
children. She really did not want to feel too sorry for him that night with
severe pain in both his knees, but, she rubbed the liniment into the tortured
tissue for him, anyway. Such is the essence, and relief, of true love.
As we catch up with the family members
preparing for the impending big event, love and chicanery, as usual, are in the
air. Bapa and Z. Tyler are about to embark on their annual Good Samaritan trek
up the mountain to ferry winter supplies to an old family friend. The girls are
busy helping Nanny with kitchen duty, giddy and effervescent at the coming of
Christmas.
And, the rest of the family will shortly
be in attendance for the holiday celebration.
Oh! Yes! Just one more little piece of
news: Z. Tyler is about to become a “Daddy” as Mary Theresa is on the threshold
of delivery. Maybe, God willing, on Christmas Eve!
That would just portend: Christmas
Perpetual! Amen!
Merry Christmas!
Author’s
Comment
(from: Christmas Perpetual!)
I chose “Trinity Trace Publishing” as the
name for my publisher. When we visited Nashville, Dad often took us to the
Farmer’s market where we stocked up on fresh vegetables for our stay. He always
seemed to find an extra dollar or two for a couple of watermelons which we put
in wash tubs, iced them down until they were so cold they hurt your teeth when
eaten and took them to Shelby Park for a picnic of fried chicken and untold
goodies with the iced, sweet melons for dessert. The entire family joined in
and it became a delightful event I still treasure.
The street near the Farmer’s Market was
Trinity Lane and that name, said with a southern accent like Granny had, is
music to my ears, even today. I-65 has an exit just north of downtown; you
guessed it---Trinity Lane. My love of that triangular Trinity image is sacred
as ever present in my cognizant consciousness. I thought to use that moniker
for my publishing company name, but, playing with the idea resulted in Trinity Trace.
A “trace” is a slight path used by Indians before the coming of the Europeans.
Trinity is explanatory of the Deity; the cross fits in, nicely.
The Natchez Trace is a 440-mile two lane
highway connecting Natchez, MS and Nashville, TN. Candy and I had the pleasure
of traversing a part of it one spring. For me, it was like reliving the
experience of real auto touring, prior to interstates. The scenery is gorgeous;
no billboards! We even found a little General Store like the eighteen hundreds-type
in a nondescript backwoods burg. All in all, the trip was most delightful. The
Trace now offers recreational resources.
So, from Trinity Lane, a landmark and
cherished memory, to Natchez Trace, a duplicate of the physical and emotional
reminiscence, Trinity Trace Publishing was born. Voila!
Does anything really happen by mere
chance? Of course, we have free will and get to make our own decisions, but
since God already knows all, He is omniscient, everything that occurs is
already history, to Him; quite obviously, not to us. That might mean “bad” luck
is the result of un-smart decisions on our part. Oh! That is hard to swallow.
Perhaps, we should choose wisely.
“I love you!” is a declaration easily
spoken. The narcissist quickly adds a codicil: IF. If, you will make me proud, make me
applauded, make me look good, make me…? Self-love leaves a cold heart
emotionally empty while filling it with a vacant arrogant intent of
self-defeating evil.
True love is pure, a gift, without
condition. It is mine to give, to offer, to bestow. It does not have to be
acknowledged, reciprocated, returned, received nor even accepted. I love some
who do not even know that I exist and some who wish that I did not,
exist---or…love them. Still, the gift is my own; I cherish its value and my
extremely personal decision of when to proclaim it.
Subtlety is the detail which makes all
life great and pleasurable. The nuance of a “trace” or the purity of “love” or the
mystery of the “Trinity”, these are the adventurous events of our lives.
Trinity Trace Publishing presents:
Christmas Perpetual! Because, “I love
you!” Enjoy!
Merry Christmas!
Plus:
3 Morning Chores
A sharp, cold sting nipped at his nose as
he headed across the lot to the barn, pulling his warn parka hood tight and
fastening it securely with the drawstring. The wind was light but the ten
degree temperature served a harsh reminder that Christmas was only two days
off. Snow still lay on the frozen earth from an earlier storm. Looking out
across the pasture he thought the tundra imitated a pinto horse coat with
mottled brown and white blotches where the winds had scraped away the snow in
patches. He found it beautiful but did not allow its seductive pleasantness to
the eye to slow his pace toward the shelter offered by the sturdy wooden building.
Once inside with Goldie, he pulled the
door tight and secured it with an interior hook. It was just a tad bit warmer
in the quiet interior and the barn smells caressed his senses evoking myriad
memories of his days on the farm; his passion for the land and animals and life
fired within him and the cold of the winter season seemed to dissolve and pass
from notice. He smiled.
Speaking a pleasant “Good morning” to the
horses, he made his way to the steep, narrow stairwell leading to the hayloft;
behind it, with a door leading from the hallway was housed a corncrib
constructed of one-by fours spaced an inch apart to allow for air circulation
to dry kernels still on the cob. Modern harvesting methods shelled corn from
the cob when it was picked from the field, but the old man kept a one row
picker which took the whole ear from the stalk. He preferred to feed such to
the cattle; the animals ate the entire ear, shuck, kernel and cob. The old ways
were good ways. Whitetail preferred the ears, too, as did the squirrels he
pampered at the bird feeder in the side yard. Both the wild animals and their
domesticated cousins seemed to prefer the bygone methods and tasty results.
Anyway, Bapa felt it was worth the added effort.
Baled alfalfa assaulted his nostrils as he
climbed into the storage bay above the stalls. The cattle were gathered under
the lean-to overhang on the south side of the barn. He forked hay to the
waiting herd with his well-used pitch fork as he sliced baling twine with a
corn knife kept in the loft for just such purpose. A feeder trough-manger along
the wall of the barn on the lower level served to catch the fodder and the cows
jockeyed and jostled for their favorite breakfast position. Bapa shook his head
at the critters impossible impatience.
“You bunch of knot-heads,” he said to none
in particular, “the hay is all the same, no matter where you stand.” As an
afterthought, he wondered if he should have called them a “herd” of knot-heads
instead of a “bunch”; he shouldn’t have worried the thought; they seemed
oblivious.
So? Why should
he care? Finally, Bapa shook his head at his own inane thoughts.
He threw down half rations to the horses
in their mangers; they were in for a long ride and he did not want to over feed
them before the effort ahead. A good way to cause a belly ache, or colic, in
horses was to give them too much food before having them exert themselves; cold
water in abundance could give the same results. Big and powerful as the equine
animal was, such a thing as a severe stomach ache could easily mean its ultimate
demise. Cattle had two stomachs which aided digestion, so those critters very
seldom suffered from severe colic.
However, when he climbed down the ladder
from the loft, he gave each horse half of a three pound coffee can of pressed
grain pellets mixed with some shelled whole corn kernels. This would provide
warmth and additional stamina for the long trail ride. It was over seven miles
through the valley up the mountain to Ole Sam’s cabin, uphill all the way. With
an accumulation of snow already on the ground, and likely to be deeper in the
higher elevations, the trip would be better than three hours, one way. Along
with Ole Sam’s provisions, he would take some of the grain pellets and corn to
feed the animals when they arrived at the old man’s cabin while they rested
before the return trip. And, he knew from sorry experience, Ole Sam would keep
him talking for at least an hour or two, bringing him up-to-date on everything
in the mountains.
Grabbing the hand ax near the side door,
he exited the comfortable confines of the wood barn and headed for the lake.
There, he chopped three holes in the six inch thick ice, each about three feet
long and two feet wide to accommodate the cattle herd which would come for
water after finishing the alfalfa hay. The horses he would lightly water about an
hour before beginning the long trek. After returning the ax to the barn, he
headed for the chicken house, stopping to put alfalfa in the sheep manger along
the way.
Goldie, ever present at his side, did take
leave to visit the horses and to say “Hello!” to all the other critters; that
they enjoyed a sense of “animal only” primal communication was obvious.
As Bapa tended the animals, his eyes
inspected each for any sign of injury or disease. Should he detect anything
untoward, he would doctor it as best he knew or call the vet, if necessary.
Such attention was second nature to farm-folk, a natural matter of course. Life
was good!
Because of the severe cold, he had decided
to gather the eggs, himself, to spare the girls any discomfort from the
weather; it was a frigid morning to be out. He shivered, involuntarily.
While feeding the chickens, he paid
special attention to old Gertie, a hen which had hatched a brood of eleven
chicks just two weeks earlier. It was the wrong time of year, but, such are the
anomalies of nature. It was an irregularity, to be sure, but one did not look a
gift horse in the mouth. Gertie was an attentive mother hen and the chicks had
all survived and were doing just great. He spread a little extra scratch feed
near her and her fluffy, cheeping brood.
Collecting the eggs from the nesting boxes,
he chuckled several times as he recalled the theatrical antics of his dear Anna
Marie. What she did not think of on her own, Lauren and Lexi did, and then
would enlist Annie to perpetrate the assignment; she always volunteered and
never disappointed. She was a caution; the three of them together were
indomitable; he loved it.
Bapa took the gathered egg bounty to the
house in a large, old, woven willow basket. The women-folk were just finishing
the dishes when he came in. Nanny took the offering from her husband and asked
the girls to carry them to the basement, instructing them to inspect each one,
wipe them with a damp cloth and place them in a cardboard crate for storage.
Bapa nodded, warming his hands at the kitchen
cook stove oven, still radiating warmth.
“How are Gertie and her chicks?” Nanny
inquired.
The three girls’ attention immediately focused
on Bapa. He hesitated before answering.
“Oh! Bapa!” Annie exclaimed. “She’s
alright, isn’t she?”
“And, her chicks, too?” added Lauren.
“Yeah. They’re all okay?” pleaded Lexi,
hopefully.
Bapa said, “Of course. They are doing just
fine.”
“Good!” came a
relieved chorus in satisfied unison.
“Uh,” Bapa continued, a hint of warning in
his voice. “She said to tell a certain little girl to be extra careful with her
eggs when she tries to play a trick on her dear old Bapa.” He laughed, then
continued. “She said they are really very hard to lay. Gertie said to: Just ask
Bapa!”
They all laughed. Annie shook her head and
wagged a finger at her grandfather, then ran to him with a loving hug. Quickly,
the other two little girls joined in the happy melee.
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