My Little Darlin's are Growing Up!

A Legend From Russia

Today Caeli received her First Holy Communion--the greatest gift of all!
Happy Epiphany!


A Legend From Russia


Babushka, the Grandmother, snug in her room
Sat nodding and nodding over her loom,

Sat suppered and snug with no desire
But a welcoming bed and an ample fire

When out of the winter’s rush and roar
Came shepherds knocking upon her door,

“Grandmother, Grandmother, old and wise,
In Bethlehem’s barn a princeling lies;

“Lies Mother and Child where oxen feed.
Hurry, Babushka, to nurse their need.”

Babushka listened, but made no stir.
She thought of the sheets turned down for her,

Of shutters latched and the larder dressed
And her bones that ached for rest.

“Tomorrow,” she muttered. “Wait till then.”
But sternly the shepherds knocked again.

“Grandmother, Grandmother, rich and skilled,
Then send but a kindly basket filled

“With comforting gifts, with meat or bread,
And we will carry it in your stead.”

Babushka listened, nodding anew.
“Tomorrow,” she murmured, “Tomorrow will do.


“I’ll bring the best from my cupboard’s store,
Tomorrow.”
The shepherds knocked no more.

Babushka slept though her dreams were troubled.
At dawn while the porridge bubbled,

She packed a basket brimming with sweet
Loaves and oranges, cakes and meat,

A shawl for the Lady, soft as June,
For the Child in the Crib a silver spoon,

Rattles and toys an ivory game,
But the Stable was empty when she came.

So now with provender weighted down
She wanders the world from town to town

At Christmas time, though the winds are shrill,
Through brier and brush, over heath and hill,
Seeking the Manger still.

And wheresoever a good child sleeps,
Dreaming of day, Babushka creeps

Silently, hopefully, up the stair
And leaves three gifts from her basket there—

One to marvel at, one to enjoy,
And one for the kingly Boy.

Crochet an Babushka for your Own Wreath of Christmas Legends! You can change the colors to make her look Russian.

Why the Owl Wakes at Night

Poor Owl! We have an owl in our woods and every once in a while I hear him calling, "Who? Who?" This one reminds me never to be lazy or procrastinate--a good one to start the new year off with.


Why the Owl Wakes at Night

The owl that hunts
A shadowy prey
Loved morning, once,
And honest day

Like his sun-striding
Brotherhood,
Till Wise Men riding
Through a wood

To bear the Word
Of Bethlehem,
Summoned each bird
To follow them

“You, feathery nations,
Quick, take wing.
Come greet Creation’s
Newborn King.”

From sleep, like arrows,
All arose—
Doves, linnets, sparrows,
Cackling crows.

Faithfully through
The holy dark
The heron flew,
Flew the meadowlark,

Chanting in wild
Ecstatic chorus,
“A kingly Child
Is waiting for us.”

Fled every fowl,
Forsaking rest.
Only the owl
On his warm nest,

Grudging to see
Finch pass, and swallow,
Croaked, “Who is He
That bids me follow?

“Who? Who?” he muttered,
Loath to fly.
“Who, who?” and shuttered
His round eye,

Nor left his bough
Nor way the glory.
And penitent now
(So runs the story),

Nightly must mourn,
“Who’ll guide me to
The small Newborn?
Who, who? Oh, who?”

Must for distress
Stay broad awake
And comfortless,
That would not break
His comfort for Love’s sake.

Crochet an Owl for your Own Wreath of Christmas Legends!

The Legend of the Cat

This one may give our cat-hating husbands "paws"! Naaaaah, probably not.


The Legend of the Cat

At midnight’s stroke,
On the first Christmas, half the world awoke.
Then out of the nest and lair
Came thronging to Bethlehem the wordless folk;
Hurried the beasts of the forest, the birds of the air,
To pay the Lord their homage and His due.

And Cat came, too.
Minding on delicate feet to see the Child,
But being shy and wild,
Approached no nearer than the hearth; lay dumb
And distant there.
While the rest knelt in praise,
The Cat by too much glory overcome
Could not withdraw her gaze
From the Nativity; could only stare
Through slitted eyes as things of fur and feather
(The deer beside the lion, the pheasant, the hare
Safe in the fox’s paws) bent down together.
Although their anthems lifted all around,
She, in her throat, made only a trembling sound
And could not bow her head.

Yet as the morning dawned
And one by one the other creatures fled
Each to his habitat—
The eagle to his crag and to his pond
The otter—only Cat
Remained beside the dying fire, unable
To quit the place that was both Crib and Stable.

Then Mary spoke aloud.
“Dear Cat,” she said, “dear, stiff-necked, proud
And obstinate beast, I bless you. From this hour
Leave wilderness behind you.
Because you stayed, though none shall have the power
To call you servant, yet the hearth shall bind you
Forever to itself. Both fond and free,
Wherever Man is, you shall also be.
And many a family
Will smile to hear you singing (where you settle)
Household hosannahs like a pulsing kettle.”

Some winter night
Observe Cat now. Her eyes will suddenly gleam
Yellow against the light,
Her body shudder in a jungle dream,
Her claws unsheathe their sharpness. She remembers
Old times, old barbarous customs, old Decembers
Before she called the tribes of Man her friends.
But the dream ends.
Then, reassured, she curls herself along
The floor and hums her cool, domestic song.

Crochet a Cat for your own Wreath of Christmas Legends!

Ballad of the Robin

This one's my favorite!


Ballad of the Robin

Long ago, long ago,
When the times were stranger,
Once a Lady and her Son
Rested in a manger,

In a manger on the straw.
The night was shrewd, the wind was raw,

And the dull fire, untended, kept
No comfort where the Infant slept.

Then she, too spent to mend its spark,
Spoke to the beast-enfolding dar,.

“Oxen, lest He should come to harm,
Rise up and blow these embers warm

“With your great breath, for mercy’s sake.”
But the rapt oxen did not wake.

“Ass, will you breathe upon the flame?”
But the ass, dozed nor heard his name,

While heavy the cart horse dreamed beside
His feeding box that Christmastide.

Then suddenly the midnight stirred,
In from the winter at her word
There flew a brown, South-seeking bird.

Bravest of all created things,
He made a bellows of his wings.

He puffed his feathers to a fan,
Singing, until the ash began

To kindle, glow, to burn its best.
The flame leaped out. It seared his breast,

But still the robin, loud with praise,
Beat his quick wings before the blaze

So all the stable was beguiled
To warmth. And softly slept the Child.

“Kind Robin,” then the Lady said,
“Wear from now on a breast of red.

“Where the fire was, let fire remain,
A blessed and perpetual stain

“Burnt on your heart that all may see
The signature of Charity.”

Long ago, long ago,
When the times were stranger,
Once a robin served the Lord
Who rested in a manger.

Crochet a Robin for your own Wreath of Christmas Legends!

Ballad of the Nightingale

Listen to the nightingale's song! How lovely is the chorus of God's creation, singing lullabies to the baby King. Who needs modern technology!?


Ballad of the Nightingale

Hark! when on hill and dale
Hang the night-hushes,
Then sings the nightingale,
Sole among thrushes.

Sole among thrushes, she
Pours out of shadow
Torrents of melody
Over the meadow.

While lesser birds devote
Nighttimes to slumber
Ravishing from her throat
Note after joyful note
Flows without number.

Why does she shun the day
For dark and danger?
There was a Child that lay
Cold in a manger,

Cold in His narrow bed,
Wakeful and chilling.
Him once she comforted
With her sweet trilling;

Sad that a babe should lie
So undefended,
Sang Him a lullaby
Till the night ended,

Sang like a Seraphim.
Then spoke His mother,
“You brought your song to Him,
All the night long to Him,
You and no other.

“Lone on your leafy bough,
Brave though imperiled,
You shall forever now
Be the moon’s herald.”

When over hill and dale
Fall the night-hushes,
Then sings the nightingale
Queen among thrushes.

Crochet a Nightingale for your own Wreath of Christmas Legends! Just change the colors.

The Legend of the Holly

Happy New Year!


The Legend of the Holly

The holly berry that burns so red
(Raise high the holly!)
Once was whiter than wheaten bread
(As love is better than folly.)

Whiter than shells along the shore
It blooms on its tree by a stable door.

Villagers come there, half-afraid,
Gifts in their hands for Child and Maid.

And one has nothing of note, so he
Fetches a branch of the holly tree.

Alas, alas, the little Newborn
Has pricked His finger upon a thorn,

Has left His blood on the spiny leaves.
Heavy of heart the holly grieves,

Sees in a terrible vision how
A crown of holly shall bind His brow
When Child is man.

For sorrow and shame
The berries have blushed as red as flame,
Says Mary the Mother,
“Take no blame.

“But be of good cheer as ever you can.
Both foul and fair are the works of man,

‘Yet unto man has My Son been lent.
And you, dear tree, are the innocent

“Who weeps for pity what man might do.
So all your thorns are forgiven you.”

Now red, rejoicing, the berries shine
On jubilant doors as a Christmas sign

That desolation to joy makes way.
(Hang high the holly!)
Holly is the symbol of Christ’s Birthday.
(When love shall vanquish folly).

Crochet a Holly Sprig for your own Wreath of Christmas Legends! Crochet two together for a stuffed Holly Sprig.

The Night

Be of good cheer!


The Night

On the night that Christ was born
The rivers, one hears, ran fine
And sweetly between their banks,
Filled not with water but wine.

And any man who drank
Of that beneficent tide
(Though he had stooped in anger
To drink), grew pacified,
Loving even his foeman
As dearly as his bride;
Wholly at peace with himself,
The world and everything.

While the trees in the forest blossomed
As if the winter were spring.

Crochet a Bunch of Grapes for your own Wreath of Christmas Legends!

The Canticle of the Bees

I thought it appropriate to read this poem on the Feast of the Holy Family (I should have posted it yesterday), since it is also appropriate to eat milk and honey on this feast. This is a beautiful poem! May we hear the bees and all see God one day.


The Canticle of the Bees

Bees in winter
Weather keep,
Rapt, a garden-haunted
Sleep,

Dream of summer,
Still as stone,
Save on Christmas Eve,
Alone,

When that honey-havened
People,
Roused by bells
From every steeple,

Wake and sing
With one accord
Alleluias
To the Lord.

“Praise Him,”
Sing the choiring bees,
“Lord of limes
And locust trees,

“Him Who has
Dominion over
Fields of amaranthine
Clover,

“By Whose providence
We fare
Daily through
The throbbing air

“And return
In drowsy flight
From the pastures
Of delight,

“From the many-petaled
Rose,
Hiveward
When the shadows close.”
So, at least,
The legend goes.

Visit them
When bells arrive.
Cup your ear
Against the hive.

You may hear them
Singing thus,
Small
But multitudinous:

“Alleluia
Lord of all
Things that flutter,
Fly or crawl,

“Now Your Star
Has shone again,
Bless Your swarming Bees.
Amen.”

Wondering, walk there.
Do not fear them.
But remember
As you near them,
Only the pure in heart
Shall hear them.

Crochet a Bumble Bee for your own Wreath of Christmas Legends!

Ballad of the Rosemary

Rosemary has always been one of my favorite herbs and now I know why! And tiny baby clean smell is one of the most intoxicating fragrances on earth. I LOVE this poem! Hope you do too,


Ballad of the Rosemary

Rosemary, lily, lilac tree,
Kind in the dooryards thrive all three,
But the kindest of them is rosemary.

When Mary rode to Egypt
Who bore the Christmas King,
Flowers along the wayside
Began their blossoming.

To fill His path with fragrances
The lilac lifted up
Her proud and plumy branches,
The lily spread her cup,

And only the green rosemary,
Born petal-less and mild,
Grieved that it owned no benison
Of sweetness for the Child.

The evening fell in perfume,
In perfume rose the day.
Said Mary, “Out of weariness
We’ll make a moment’s stay.

“Beside this running river,
Here where the willows lean,
I’ll set the Baby sleeping
And wash His garments clean.”

But when the clothes were wholesome,
Where could she hand them all?
“The lily breaks beneath them,
The lilac stands too tall.”

So on the trembling rosemary
She laid them one by one,
And strong the rosemary held them
All morning to the sun.

“I thank you, gentle Rosemary.
Henceforward you shall bear
Blue clusters for remembrance
Of this blue cloak I wear;

“And not your blossoms only,
I give you as reward,
But where His raiment clung to you
Which clad the little Lord,

“All shall be aromatic,”
Said Mary, “for I bless
Leaf, stem, and flower
That from this hour
Shall smell of holiness.”

Rosemary, lily lilac tree.
Sweet in the doorways thrive all three,
But sweetest of them is Rosemary.

The Pine Tree

We tried in vain to find a cross-section of a pine cone that bore "the imprint." I wonder if it has to be a certain genus of pine. No matter, the poem is still a beautiful reminder of that creative power of the Infant God.


The Pine Tree

The pine was mortal, once, like other trees
That lift their boughs in air;
Wearing in summer its green fripperies,
In winter going bare
And desolate of birds.
But that was in an old, forgotten age
Before the words
Of Wise Men stung King Herod to such rage
That his loud armies went
About the land to slay the Innocent.

Then there was consternation and no joy
In Israel. Joseph and Mary, flying
Into another country with the Boy
Came when the day was dying,
Houseless to the edge of a green wood
Where valorously stood
A needled pine that every summer gave
Small birds a nest.
And half its trunk was hollow as a cave.
Said Joseph, “This is shelter. Let us rest.”

The pine tree, full of pity, dropped its vast
Protective branches down
To cover them until the troops rode past,
Their weapons jingling, toward a different town.

All night it hid them
When the morning broke,
The Child awoke
And blessed the pine, his steadfast lodging place.
“Let you (and your brave race)
Who make yourself My rampart and My screen
Keep summer always and be ever green.
For you the punctual seasons shall not vary,
But let there throng
A thousand birds to you for sanctuary
All winter long.”

The story tells us, too,
That if you cut a pine cone part way through,
You find it bears within it like a brand
The imprint of His hand.

Crochet a Pine Cone for your own Wreath of Christmas Legends!

The Stars' Story

This explains why we go to so much trouble over decorating these Christmas trees. It took John 6 hours to get our pre-lit fully operational!


The Star’s Story

When the great Star shone
From its mighty station
So shepherds, tranced,
Knelt down in the dew,
It was not alone
In its jubilation.
The little stars danced
By the thousands, too.

They danced on high
In that peerless hour,
Till giddy with praising
The Christchild’s birth
They reeled from the sky
And fell in a shower,
Burning and blazing,
Down to earth—

Slid in astonished
Avalanches
(But leaning to listen
Along the way)
To lodge in a burnished
Pine tree’s branches
Where still they glisten
To this very day.

For if you believe
What pale and shaken
Home-returning
Travelers tell,
On Christmas Eve
Those little stars waken
As bright and burning
As when they fell.

Look out of the West
When the year’s unwinding.
Perhaps they will dance
And you may see
A pine that is dressed
In light so blinding
It dazzles the glance.
And that will be
The world’s first, merriest
Christmas tree.

Crochet a Star for your own Wreath of Christmas Legends! You can add a picture of the baby Jesus, or crochet two backs and omit the picture.

The Stork

I should have posted this yesterday, but we got busy rearranging furniture!


The Stork

When Christ was born on Christmas Day
The birds and the beasts knelt down to pray.

In wonder all,
Adoring, kneeled—
The ox in his stall,
The fox in the field,

While badger and bear and each wild thing
Flocked round the manger where slept a King
Housed in a stable at Bethlehem.
And the long-legged stork was there with them,

Her feathers white,
Her crest held high,
And awe in her bright
Compassionate eye.

“Alas,” she mourned, “how poor His bed
Who rules the universe overhead!
“Though cozily curled
Sleep all my breed,
The Lord of the World
Lies hard, indeed.

“Unpillowed is He who should wear a crown.”
Then out of her bosom she plucked the down.

The plumes from her breast
She tugged and tore
That the Child should rest
Like a beggar no more

But fine on a pallet fit for a prince.
And blest has the stork been, ever since—

For the gift she gave of her body’s wear,
Blest on chimneys, blest in the air,
And patron of babies
Everywhere.

Crochet a Stork for your own Wreath of Christmas Legends! Just change the colors.

An Irish Legend and The Birthday

Both these legends "happened" to us. John's grandmother died one Christmas morning when Rachel was only three. Rachel was very close to Gramma, and we didn't want to spoil her Christmas by telling her right away that Gramma had died. We actually decided to put it off for at least a week (we were living in Okinawa and it really wasn't pressing). Before the octave was up, Rachel told us that she'd dreamed that Gramma was in jail and the "jaws" were going to eat her, but Rachel took the key and set her free. Think what you wish, but we believe Rachel saved Gramma with the prayers she had so piously been saying everyday for her.

The second legend involves Cæli. When she was very young, before I had even read this poem, she insisted that she had been to heaven one evening with the angels--for a party! No one familiar with the legend could look into her blue eyes and doubt that it's absolutely true!

Merry Christmas,


An Irish Legend

Whoever’s born on Christmas
Is favored from the start;
Has laughter and good fortune
And a contented heart;
Is loved by noble company,
Has all that should suffice.

But he that dies on Christmas
Goes strait to paradise.

Crochet a Shamrock for your own Wreath of Christmas Legends! Crochet two together for a stuffed Shamrock.

The Birthday

One Christmas Eve, some say,
Tall angels chosen for their sweet address
And reassuring aspect, take their way
To earth. There in all gentleness
They lift on either arm
A few most fortunate children sleeping warm
In their December nurseries, kiss them twice,
And bear them off to visit Paradise.

It is the Christ Child’s Birthday and the East
Is lit by a bright star. These children come
As playmates for Him, keepers of His feast.
They bring with them such pandemonium,
Such singing and such laughter
That Heaven shakes to its remotest rafter.

Along the tasseled floors
They drive their rainbow hoops like charioteers.
They toss gold balls; make kites of meteors;
Listen with Him to the melodious spheres
Chanting in chorus; climb the unfading trees
Of that celestial weather;
Reach forth to touch the spinning galaxies;
Then all together,
Bidding their Host affectionate goodnight,
Blow out the stars like candles where they burn,
And drowsily return
(Nodding upon soft pinions in the flight)
To their accustomed beds.

Yet when they seek
To tell that journey and the Birthday games,
They falter in the tale. They cannot speak
Such wonders by their names,
So presently fall silent. Parents, shaking
Incredulous heads can only shrug and smile,
Saying, “They dreamed a dream who now are waking.
They will remember nothing after while.”
But they are wrong. That child whom Christmas captures
Grows beautiful and wise,
Possessor all his days of arts and raptures
And heaven-dazzled eyes.

Crochet an Angel for your own Wreath of Christmas Legends!

A Story for an Educated Child

This is a medieval legend from a book of poems that I LOVE! I usually send them out by e-mail every year. This year I decided to just post them on the blog. There are 15 of them, so I'm starting today, Christmas Eve, and we'll end on Epiphany (I'll post two tomorrow!). I've been wanting to make a little "ornament" for each legend and affix it to a wreath to make our own "Wreath of Christmas Legends." Maybe one of these years. Anyway, I hope you enjoy them as much as I do!
This one got Caeli so excited she told the check out boy at the grocery store that she was going to Midnight Mass and at midnight she and McGregor were going to sneak out into the barn and listen to the animals talk in Latin. Poor guy stood in flabbergasted astonishment as she rattled on. He had no earthly idea what to make of it all and only said, "Well, enjoy your service," as they parted. John was laughing so hard he had tears streaming down his face. Children do make Christmas!
Enjoy,



Story for an Educated Child

It used to be, when the world was young,
Animals spoke a Christian tongue,
Articulating clearly.
And still do those of peaceable bent
Practice the kind of accomplishment
On Christmas evening, yearly.

With human wit, in a human voice,
The beasts of the barnyard all rejoice
From Vespertime to Matin,
Recounting tales of the little God
Over and over. But isn’t is odd?
The speech they speak is Latin.

The strident Cock lifts up his crest,
Stuttering, “Christus natus est!”
Till midnight splits asunder.
Laborious from his stable box,
“Ubi? Ubi?” lows the Ox,
Bemused with sleep and wonder.

The somnolent Sheep, adrift from dreams,
Bleats “Bethlehem!” and her quaver seems
Half question and half promise.
Then Ass that wears by an old decree
A cross on his back for prophecy,
Brays forth his laud “Eãmus!”

And there they gossip while night grows gray
And curious stars have slipped away
From shimmering thrones they sat in.
So many a child might brave the cold
To hear them talking. But I am told
He mustn’t be more than six years old.
And who at six knows Latin?

THE TRANSLATION
Christus natus est! Christ is born!
Ubi? Where?
Bethlehem! Bethlehem!
Eãmus! Let us go!

Croche a Rooster for your own Wreath of Christmas Legends!

Out of the billions of parents in the world, God gave you to us...

Last night Caeli was lavishing kisses on Marian and she said that she was so beautiful she loved her more than any other baby in the world. I explained to Caeli that we would love her that much even if she were the ugliest baby in the world. I told her that we loved all our children, because God gave them to us--"out of all the billions of parents in the world, God gave you to us!"
Caeli, who seeks understanding in all things, said, "God gave us to you guys because He knew we would be best for you!"
There are two ways to read that, but either way, she's got a point!

Happy Parenting!

The Week in Review

Schamelot had it's first snow day yesterday! Gwennie and Blue loved it! I spent the day continuing my organizing frenzy inside. The rec room is done, my bedroom, closet and bathroom are done; the kitchen is amazing, and today's my office day. Hope I can keep it up!








The snow definitely brought out the puppies' more rambunctious side!












Marian Ireland got a Bumbo today! She has just enough head control to be able to sit up in it. It gives her a whole new perspective on life!










Talk about perspective! Here she is on the top shelf of the pantry. Unfortunately the picture doesn't show the 14 arms waiting below to catch her should she decide to make a jump for it!

It's been a good week!

True Love...

Yesterday I headed down the driveway for an afternoon walk and 4 y.o. McG came running after me. I slowed to allow him to catch up and he skipped along side me a few steps. "I don't like walking," he said.

"You don't! Then why are you coming with me?"

"Well," he thought aloud, "because...I like...being with you!"

James Taylor lyrics filled my head, "How sweet it is to be loved by you..."

I think today I might have to play Cowboys and Indians...

12-year-old bests Marine in contest

This is old news, but I wanted to preserve it here in our on-line scrapbook...
We're still very proud of this one!


Neighbors column by JOHN P. CLEARY
Star-Gazette.COM Local News

Each year, the Marine Corps Base Quantico in Quantico, Va., holds an annual military expo that features a push-up contest.

There are no age divisions, and the contest is open to everyone. This year, John Michael B. Schamel, 12, the son of Waverly graduate John B. Schamel and Robynn Schamel and grandson of Jack and Sally Schamel of Chemung, decided he'd give it a try.

Everyone knows a Marine can do push-ups. This year, a Marine corporal entered in the contest did 236 of them. That's a lot of push-ups. But he didn't even come close to John Michael.

The Stafford, Va., resident did 350 push-ups to easily defeat the Marine and the rest of the competition.

"He could have done more," said his grandfather. "They asked him why he stopped, and he said that everyone was stopping to look at him, and he figured (the organizers) would want them to do something else."

John Michael's prize was three backpacks with built-in canteens. You cans trap one to your back and hit the trail without stopping for a water break--just pull out the build-in hose and drink as you go.

Jack said John Michael thinks the backpacks are nice, but he'd rather have had last year's prize, a new bicycle.

The Catholic Tradition of St. Nicholas

Let's just get right to the point. Santa Claus, the jolly old elf, is a distortion of St. Nicholas, Catholic Bishop of Myra, by folks who didn't/don't believe in honoring or asking for the intercession of the saints. So why are my Catholic children still getting presents from Santa under the Christmas trees on Christmas morning? Well, it's just cultural, I guess. But I've had it with my Catholic heritage taking a back seat to the un-Catholic culture we live in! Why, it's not even Christian, anymore. It's getting to be just plain godless. Am I going to continue to go with the flow when the populace votes to change the name Christmas, which might offend Jews, Muslims, Wiccans, etc. to Giftsmas? NEVER! So this year I've decided to reclaim a few more Catholic traditions (just like we've done by raising our family in the Traditional Latin Mass) and St. Nicholas is doing his thing on his feast day, instead of on Christmas Eve like the rest of the nation.

We've said our prayers and asked him if he could please bring his simple little gifts on the night of December 5th, instead of sometime around 3 a.m., after midnight Mass, on December 25th. (We believe in St. Nicholas just like we believe in St. Anthony, and we pray to him this time of year. It's as much through his intercession that our children receive presents as it's through St. Anthony's intercession that I find my lost keys after asking for his help.) I don't think he'll have a problem with it at all, since he only has to make the long trip once, and he doesn't have to be out so late, waiting for all the children to get in bed after midnight Mass.

All we need to do is put out the stockings before going to bed December 5th, and during the night he'll fill them with Clementines, nuts, maybe a little chocolate, and a present.

We're even going to prepare a feast in his honor that day. Since he really was Greek (Myra was a Greek town during the time in which he lived), we're having Moussaka, a Greek salad with oranges (one of his symbols is gold balls or coins), and Baklava for dessert. (I've included the recipes at the end of this post.)

I don't really have a problem with gift giving, so long as it's in the proper context. I can give you a gift any day of the year, just because I love you. I was out and I saw something I thought you'd like, or something you needed, and I got it for you, no strings attached. The problem this time of year is that we feel obligated to give gifts and so we find ourselves buying just stuff to stick under the tree that really may have very little significance to us or to the one we're giving it to. We run out and buy the first thing someone says he wants, before someone else can get it, because we just want to have something to give, and don't want to take too long thinking about it. At least that's the trap I've encountered frequently in the past. Well, I'd really rather have nothing than have someone spending money on just another piece of junk for me to donate to the Goodwill after 9months.

The Christian tradition of gift giving began with the birth of Christ, when the three Magi traveled hundreds of miles to bring to the Christ Child the most precious gifts available to them: Gold, Frankincense and Myrrh.

While I don't deny that this tradition has been grossly distorted in our overly commercialized and materialistic culture, I think to go to the opposite extreme may be as great a loss to the Christian tradition as was incurred by the Church when the late pope dispensed with wearing the Papal Tiara!

But some traditions are better able to enrich our lives when their origins are more thoroughly understood. The Magi brought three gifts, one for His Kingship, one for His Divinity and one for His Humanity. St. Nicholas gave gifts to those in need, and La Befana (Italy), or Babushka (Russia), gave three gifts like the Magi. These are the predominant influences in the gift giving tradition we have continued in our family. This is one of my favorite Christmas poems, and sums it up quite nicely...


A Legend from Russia


Babushka, the Grandmother, snug in her room,
Sat nodding and nodding over her loom,

Sat suppered and snug with no desire
But a welcoming bed and an ample fire

When out of the winter’s rush and roar
Came shepherds knocking upon her door,

“Grandmother, Grandmother, old and wise,
In Bethlehem’s barn a princeling lies;

“Lies Mother and Child where oxen feed.
Hurry, Babushka, to nurse their need.”

Babushka listened, but made no stir.
She thought of the sheets turned down for her,

Of shutters latched and the larder dressed
And her bones that ached for rest.

“Tomorrow,” she muttered. “Wait till then.”
But sternly the shepherds knocked again.

“Grandmother, Grandmother, rich and skilled,
Then send but a kindly basket filled

“With comforting gifts, with meat or bread,
And we will carry it in your stead.”

Babushka listened, nodding anew.
“Tomorrow,” she murmured, “Tomorrow will do.

“I’ll bring the best from my cupboard’s store,
Tomorrow.”
The shepherds knocked no more.

Babushka slept though her dreams were troubled.
At dawn while the porridge bubbled,

She packed a basket brimming with sweet
Loaves and oranges, cakes and meat,

A shawl for the Lady, soft as June,
For the Child in the Crib a silver spoon,

Rattles and toys an ivory game,
But the Stable was empty when she came.

So now with provender weighted down
She wanders the world from town to town

At Christmas time, though the winds are shrill,
Through brier and brush, over heath and hill,
Seeking the Manger still.

And wheresoever a good child sleeps,
Dreaming of day, Babushka creeps

Silently, hopefully, up the stair
And leaves three gifts from her basket there—

One to marvel at, one to enjoy,
And one for the kingly Boy.

This is why St. Nicholas gives gifts to good children, those who behave as the Christ Child did. We also have never felt conscience pangs at telling the children that St. Nicholas (we stuck with him rather than one of the other Christmas visitors for cultural reasons) brings the presents, since it is as much through his influence and intercession that our children receive gifts at Christmas time, as it is through the intercession of St. Anthony that we find lost objects after praying to him.

Anyway, if you stop to think about it, there are lots of "things" we need that don't necessarily cost any money at all, or at least they're not things you can buy from a catalog, or off a store shelf. Tickets to the Symphony, or a season pass to a theme park; a coupon for a dinner date (with an individual child), or a trip to the Art Gallery or the Zoo. Take lots of pictures, keep souvenir ticket stubs, corks, menus, etc. and make a scrapbook page or just keep them in a box to remember the day by.

Of course, there are times when you really do think of the perfect gift and you have to brave the traffic and crowds to get it. There's nothing wrong with that. The point is, think outside the box and don't be afraid to do something a little different, even if it's different for each child--as long as it's "perfect" for each child.

I'm sort of rambling now. Not real sure where all these ideas are leading me. Just know that there's a huge difference between "Giftsmas" and "Christmas with gifts." I guess I just haven't quite figured out how to say it...


Here are the recipes I mentioned!

Moussaka

INGREDIENTS:
3 eggplants, peeled and cut
lengthwise into 1/2 inch thick
slices
salt
1 tablespoon butter
1 pound lean ground beef
salt to taste
ground black pepper to taste
2 onions, chopped
1 clove garlic, minced
1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon fines herbs
2 tablespoons dried parsley

1/2 cup butter
1 (8 ounce) can tomato sauce
1/2 cup red wine
1 egg, beaten
1/4 cup olive oil
1 1/2 cups freshly grated
Parmesan cheese

1/2 cup butter
6 tablespoons all-purpose flour
4 cups hot milk
salt to taste
ground white pepper, to taste
1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg

DIRECTIONS:

1. Lay the slices of eggplant on paper towels, sprinkle lightly with salt, and set aside for 30 minutes to draw out the moisture. Then in a skillet over high heat, heat the olive oil. Quickly fry the eggplant until browned. Set aside on paper towels to drain.
2. In a large skillet over medium heat, melt the butter and add the ground beef, salt and pepper to taste, onions, and garlic. After the beef is browned, sprinkle in the cinnamon, nutmeg, fines herbs and parsley. Pour in the tomato sauce and wine, and mix well. Simmer for 20 minutes. Allow to cool, and then stir in beaten egg.
3. To make the bechamel sauce, begin by scalding the milk in a saucepan. Melt the butter in a large skillet over medium heat. Whisk in flour until smooth. Lower heat; gradually pour in the hot milk, whisking constantly until it thickens. Season with salt, and white pepper.
4. Arrange a layer of eggplant in a greased 9x13 inch baking dish. Cover eggplant with all of the meat mixture, and then sprinkle 1/2 cup of Parmesan cheese over the meat. Cover with remaining eggplant, and sprinkle another 1/2 cup of cheese on top. Pour the bechamel sauce over the top, and sprinkle with the nutmeg. Sprinkle with the remaining cheese.
5. Bake for 1 hour at 350 degrees F (175 degrees C).

Greek Lettuce, Herb and Orange Salad

Ingredients:

1 small head Romaine lettuce, cut into ½-inch strips
1 fennel bulb, trimmed, stalks removed
6 large radishes, trimmed, halved and sliced
1 naval orange, skin and pith removed, flesh cut into a one-inch dice
1/2 cup snipped fresh dill
12 Moroccan olives, pitted
1/3 cup extra-virgin olive oil
3 Tbs sherry vinegar
½ tsp crushed fennel seed
½ tsp rose peppercorns
salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste


Instructions:

Wash and spin-dry the lettuce. Cut the fennel in half lengthwise then cut each half horizontally into thin slices. Combine the lettuce, fennel, radishes, orange bits, dill and olives in a serving bowl. Whisk together the olive oil, vinegar, fennel seed, peppercorns, salt and black pepper. Pour over the salad, toss and serve.

Baklava

INGREDIENTS:

1 (16 ounce) package phyllo
dough
1 pound chopped nuts
1 cup butter
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon

1 cup water
1 cup white sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/2 cup honey

DIRECTIONS:

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F(175 degrees C). Butter the bottoms and sides of a 9x13 inch pan.
2. Chop nuts and toss with cinnamon. Set aside. Unroll phyllo dough. Cut whole stack in half to fit pan. Cover phyllo with a dampened cloth to keep from drying out as you work. Place two sheets of dough in pan, butter thoroughly. Repeat until you have 8 sheets layered. Sprinkle 2 - 3 tablespoons of nut mixture on top. Top with two sheets of dough, butter, nuts, layering as you go. The top layer should be about 6 - 8 sheets deep.
3. Using a sharp knife cut into diamond or square shapes all the way to the bottom of the pan. You may cut into 4 long rows the make diagonal cuts. Bake for about 50 minutes until baklava is golden and crisp.
4. Make sauce while baklava is baking. Boil sugar and water until sugar is melted. Add vanilla and honey. Simmer for about 20 minutes.
5. Remove baklava from oven and immediately spoon sauce over it. Let cool. Serve in cupcake papers. This freezes well. Leave it uncovered as it gets soggy if it is wrapped up.