I enjoy discovering a new-to-me story and wanted to share this one with our readers as my last gift of 2012 to you all. (I am so glad the Mayan thing was wrong!) Everyone, enjoy the story, count your blessings and we'll see you next year! — Deborah
A Kidnapped Santa Claus
by L. Frank Baum
Santa Claus lives in the Laughing Valley, where stands the big,
rambling castle in which his toys are manufactured. His workmen, selected from
the ryls, knooks, pixies and fairies, live with him, and every one is as busy as
can be from one year's end to another.
It is called the Laughing Valley because everything there is happy and gay.
The brook chuckles to itself as it leaps rollicking between its green banks; the
wind whistles merrily in the trees; the sunbeams dance lightly over the soft
grass, and the violets and wild flowers look smilingly up from their green
nests. To laugh one needs to be happy; to be happy one needs to be content. And
throughout the Laughing Valley of Santa Claus contentment reigns supreme.
On one side is the mighty Forest of Burzee. At the other side stands the huge
mountain that contains the Caves of the Daemons. And between them the Valley
lies smiling and peaceful.
One would think that our good old Santa Claus, who devotes his days to making
children happy, would have no enemies on all the earth; and, as a matter of
fact, for a long period of time he encountered nothing but love wherever he
might go.
But the Daemons who live in the mountain caves grew to hate Santa Claus very
much, and all for the simple reason that he made children happy.
The Caves of the Daemons are five in number. A broad pathway leads up to the
first cave, which is a finely arched cavern at the foot of the mountain, the
entrance being beautifully carved and decorated. In it resides the Daemon of
Selfishness. Back of this is another cavern inhabited by the Daemon of Envy. The
cave of the Daemon of Hatred is next in order, and through this one passes to
the home of the Daemon of Malice--situated in a dark and fearful cave in the
very heart of the mountain. I do not know what lies beyond this. Some say there
are terrible pitfalls leading to death and destruction, and this may very well
be true. However, from each one of the four caves mentioned there is a small,
narrow tunnel leading to the fifth cave--a cozy little room occupied by the
Daemon of Repentance. And as the rocky floors of these passages are well worn by
the track of passing feet, I judge that many wanderers in the Caves of the
Daemons have escaped through the tunnels to the abode of the Daemon of
Repentance, who is said to be a pleasant sort of fellow who gladly opens for one
a little door admitting you into fresh air and sunshine again.
Well, these Daemons of the Caves, thinking they had great cause to dislike
old Santa Claus, held a meeting one day to discuss the matter.
"I'm really getting lonesome," said the Daemon of Selfishness. "For Santa
Claus distributes so many pretty Christmas gifts to all the children that they
become happy and generous, through his example, and keep away from my cave."
"I'm having the same trouble," rejoined the Daemon of Envy. "The little ones
seem quite content with Santa Claus, and there are few, indeed, that I can coax
to become envious."
"And that makes it bad for me!" declared the Daemon of Hatred. "For if no
children pass through the Caves of Selfishness and Envy, none can get to MY
cavern."
"Or to mine," added the Daemon of Malice.
"For my part," said the Daemon of Repentance, "it is easily seen that if
children do not visit your caves they have no need to visit mine; so that I am
quite as neglected as you are."
"And all because of this person they call Santa Claus!" exclaimed the Daemon
of Envy. "He is simply ruining our business, and something must be done at
once."
To this they readily agreed; but what to do was another and more difficult
matter to settle. They knew that Santa Claus worked all through the year at his
castle in the Laughing Valley, preparing the gifts he was to distribute on
Christmas Eve; and at first they resolved to try to tempt him into their caves,
that they might lead him on to the terrible pitfalls that ended in destruction.
So the very next day, while Santa Claus was busily at work, surrounded by his
little band of assistants, the Daemon of Selfishness came to him and said:
"These toys are wonderfully bright and pretty. Why do you not keep them for
yourself? It's a pity to give them to those noisy boys and fretful girls, who
break and destroy them so quickly."
"Nonsense!" cried the old graybeard, his bright eyes twinkling merrily as he
turned toward the tempting Daemon. "The boys and girls are never so noisy and
fretful after receiving my presents, and if I can make them happy for one day in
the year I am quite content."
So the Daemon went back to the others, who awaited him in their caves, and
said:
"I have failed, for Santa Claus is not at all selfish."
The following day the Daemon of Envy visited Santa Claus. Said he: "The toy
shops are full of playthings quite as pretty as those you are making. What a
shame it is that they should interfere with your business! They make toys by
machinery much quicker than you can make them by hand; and they sell them for
money, while you get nothing at all for your work."
But Santa Claus refused to be envious of the toy shops.
"I can supply the little ones but once a year--on Christmas Eve," he
answered; "for the children are many, and I am but one. And as my work is one of
love and kindness I would be ashamed to receive money for my little gifts. But
throughout all the year the children must be amused in some way, and so the toy
shops are able to bring much happiness to my little friends. I like the toy
shops, and am glad to see them prosper."
In spite of the second rebuff, the Daemon of Hatred thought he would try to
influence Santa Claus. So the next day he entered the busy workshop and said:
"Good morning, Santa! I have bad news for you."
"Then run away, like a good fellow," answered Santa Claus. "Bad news is
something that should be kept secret and never told."
"You cannot escape this, however," declared the Daemon; "for in the world are
a good many who do not believe in Santa Claus, and these you are bound to hate
bitterly, since they have so wronged you."
"Stuff and rubbish!" cried Santa.
"And there are others who resent your making children happy and who sneer at
you and call you a foolish old rattlepate! You are quite right to hate such base
slanderers, and you ought to be revenged upon them for their evil words."
"But I don't hate 'em!" exclaimed Santa Claus positively. "Such people do me
no real harm, but merely render themselves and their children unhappy. Poor
things! I'd much rather help them any day than injure them."
Indeed, the Daemons could not tempt old Santa Claus in any way. On the
contrary, he was shrewd enough to see that their object in visiting him was to
make mischief and trouble, and his cheery laughter disconcerted the evil ones
and showed to them the folly of such an undertaking. So they abandoned honeyed
words and determined to use force.
It was well known that no harm can come to Santa Claus while he is in the
Laughing Valley, for the fairies, and ryls, and knooks all protect him. But on
Christmas Eve he drives his reindeer out into the big world, carrying a
sleighload of toys and pretty gifts to the children; and this was the time and
the occasion when his enemies had the best chance to injure him. So the Daemons
laid their plans and awaited the arrival of Christmas Eve.
The moon shone big and white in the sky, and the snow lay crisp and sparkling
on the ground as Santa Claus cracked his whip and sped away out of the Valley
into the great world beyond. The roomy sleigh was packed full with huge sacks of
toys, and as the reindeer dashed onward our jolly old Santa laughed and whistled
and sang for very joy. For in all his merry life this was the one day in the
year when he was happiest--the day he lovingly bestowed the treasures of his
workshop upon the little children.
It would be a busy night for him, he well knew. As he whistled and shouted
and cracked his whip again, he reviewed in mind all the towns and cities and
farmhouses where he was expected, and figured that he had just enough presents
to go around and make every child happy. The reindeer knew exactly what was
expected of them, and dashed along so swiftly that their feet scarcely seemed to
touch the snow-covered ground.
Suddenly a strange thing happened: a rope shot through the moonlight and a
big noose that was in the end of it settled over the arms and body of Santa
Claus and drew tight. Before he could resist or even cry out he was jerked from
the seat of the sleigh and tumbled head foremost into a snowbank, while the
reindeer rushed onward with the load of toys and carried it quickly out of sight
and sound.
Such a surprising experience confused old Santa for a moment, and when he had
collected his senses he found that the wicked Daemons had pulled him from the
snowdrift and bound him tightly with many coils of the stout rope. And then they
carried the kidnapped Santa Claus away to their mountain, where they thrust the
prisoner into a secret cave and chained him to the rocky wall so that he could
not escape.
"Ha, ha!" laughed the Daemons, rubbing their hands together with cruel glee.
"What will the children do now? How they will cry and scold and storm when they
find there are no toys in their stockings and no gifts on their Christmas trees!
And what a lot of punishment they will receive from their parents, and how they
will flock to our Caves of Selfishness, and Envy, and Hatred, and Malice! We
have done a mighty clever thing, we Daemons of the Caves!"
Now it so chanced that on this Christmas Eve the good Santa Claus had taken
with him in his sleigh Nuter the Ryl, Peter the Knook, Kilter the Pixie, and a
small fairy named Wisk--his four favorite assistants. These little people he had
often found very useful in helping him to distribute his gifts to the children,
and when their master was so suddenly dragged from the sleigh they were all
snugly tucked underneath the seat, where the sharp wind could not reach them.
The tiny immortals knew nothing of the capture of Santa Claus until some time
after he had disappeared. But finally they missed his cheery voice, and as their
master always sang or whistled on his journeys, the silence warned them that
something was wrong.
Little Wisk stuck out his head from underneath the seat and found Santa Claus
gone and no one to direct the flight of the reindeer.
"Whoa!" he called out, and the deer obediently slackened speed and came to a
halt.
Peter and Nuter and Kilter all jumped upon the seat and looked back over the
track made by the sleigh. But Santa Claus had been left miles and miles behind.
"What shall we do?" asked Wisk anxiously, all the mirth and mischief banished
from his wee face by this great calamity.
"We must go back at once and find our master," said Nuter the Ryl, who
thought and spoke with much deliberation.
"No, no!" exclaimed Peter the Knook, who, cross and crabbed though he was,
might always be depended upon in an emergency. "If we delay, or go back, there
will not be time to get the toys to the children before morning; and that would
grieve Santa Claus more than anything else."
"It is certain that some wicked creatures have captured him," added Kilter
thoughtfully, "and their object must be to make the children unhappy. So our
first duty is to get the toys distributed as carefully as if Santa Claus were
himself present. Afterward we can search for our master and easily secure his
freedom."
This seemed such good and sensible advice that the others at once resolved to
adopt it. So Peter the Knook called to the reindeer, and the faithful animals
again sprang forward and dashed over hill and valley, through forest and plain,
until they came to the houses wherein children lay sleeping and dreaming of the
pretty gifts they would find on Christmas morning.
The little immortals had set themselves a difficult task; for although they
had assisted Santa Claus on many of his journeys, their master had always
directed and guided them and told them exactly what he wished them to do. But
now they had to distribute the toys according to their own judgment, and they
did not understand children as well as did old Santa. So it is no wonder they
made some laughable errors.
Mamie Brown, who wanted a doll, got a drum instead; and a drum is of no use
to a girl who loves dolls. And Charlie Smith, who delights to romp and play out
of doors, and who wanted some new rubber boots to keep his feet dry, received a
sewing box filled with colored worsteds and threads and needles, which made him
so provoked that he thoughtlessly called our dear Santa Claus a fraud.
Had there been many such mistakes the Daemons would have accomplished their
evil purpose and made the children unhappy. But the little friends of the absent
Santa Claus labored faithfully and intelligently to carry out their master's
ideas, and they made fewer errors than might be expected under such unusual
circumstances.
And, although they worked as swiftly as possible, day had begun to break
before the toys and other presents were all distributed; so for the first time
in many years the reindeer trotted into the Laughing Valley, on their return, in
broad daylight, with the brilliant sun peeping over the edge of the forest to
prove they were far behind their accustomed hours.
Having put the deer in the stable, the little folk began to wonder how they
might rescue their master; and they realized they must discover, first of all,
what had happened to him and where he was.
So Wisk the Fairy transported himself to the bower of the Fairy Queen, which
was located deep in the heart of the Forest of Burzee; and once there, it did
not take him long to find out all about the naughty Daemons and how they had
kidnapped the good Santa Claus to prevent his making children happy. The Fairy
Queen also promised her assistance, and then, fortified by this powerful
support, Wisk flew back to where Nuter and Peter and Kilter awaited him, and the
four counseled together and laid plans to rescue their master from his enemies.
It is possible that Santa Claus was not as merry as usual during the night
that succeeded his capture. For although he had faith in the judgment of his
little friends he could not avoid a certain amount of worry, and an anxious look
would creep at times into his kind old eyes as he thought of the disappointment
that might await his dear little children. And the Daemons, who guarded him by
turns, one after another, did not neglect to taunt him with contemptuous words
in his helpless condition.
When Christmas Day dawned the Daemon of Malice was guarding the prisoner, and
his tongue was sharper than that of any of the others.
"The children are waking up, Santa!" he cried. "They are waking up to find
their stockings empty! Ho, ho! How they will quarrel, and wail, and stamp their
feet in anger! Our caves will be full today, old Santa! Our caves are sure to be
full!"
But to this, as to other like taunts, Santa Claus answered nothing. He was
much grieved by his capture, it is true; but his courage did not forsake him.
And, finding that the prisoner would not reply to his jeers, the Daemon of
Malice presently went away, and sent the Daemon of Repentance to take his place.
This last personage was not so disagreeable as the others. He had gentle and
refined features, and his voice was soft and pleasant in tone.
"My brother Daemons do not trust me overmuch," said he, as he entered the
cavern; "but it is morning, now, and the mischief is done. You cannot visit the
children again for another year."
"That is true," answered Santa Claus, almost cheerfully; "Christmas Eve is
past, and for the first time in centuries I have not visited my children."
"The little ones will be greatly disappointed," murmured the Daemon of
Repentance, almost regretfully; "but that cannot be helped now. Their grief is
likely to make the children selfish and envious and hateful, and if they come to
the Caves of the Daemons today I shall get a chance to lead some of them to my
Cave of Repentance."
"Do you never repent, yourself?" asked Santa Claus, curiously.
"Oh, yes, indeed," answered the Daemon. "I am even now repenting that I
assisted in your capture. Of course it is too late to remedy the evil that has
been done; but repentance, you know, can come only after an evil thought or
deed, for in the beginning there is nothing to repent of."
"So I understand," said Santa Claus. "Those who avoid evil need never visit
your cave."
"As a rule, that is true," replied the Daemon; "yet you, who have done no
evil, are about to visit my cave at once; for to prove that I sincerely regret
my share in your capture I am going to permit you to escape."
This speech greatly surprised the prisoner, until he reflected that it was
just what might be expected of the Daemon of Repentance. The fellow at once
busied himself untying the knots that bound Santa Claus and unlocking the chains
that fastened him to the wall. Then he led the way through a long tunnel until
they both emerged in the Cave of Repentance.
"I hope you will forgive me," said the Daemon pleadingly. "I am not really a
bad person, you know; and I believe I accomplish a great deal of good in the
world."
With this he opened a back door that let in a flood of sunshine, and Santa
Claus sniffed the fresh air gratefully.
"I bear no malice," said he to the Daemon, in a gentle voice; "and I am sure
the world would be a dreary place without you. So, good morning, and a Merry
Christmas to you!"
With these words he stepped out to greet the bright morning, and a moment
later he was trudging along, whistling softly to himself, on his way to his home
in the Laughing Valley.
Marching over the snow toward the mountain was a vast army, made up of the
most curious creatures imaginable. There were numberless knooks from the forest,
as rough and crooked in appearance as the gnarled branches of the trees they
ministered to. And there were dainty ryls from the fields, each one bearing the
emblem of the flower or plant it guarded. Behind these were many ranks of
pixies, gnomes and nymphs, and in the rear a thousand beautiful fairies floated
along in gorgeous array.
This wonderful army was led by Wisk, Peter, Nuter, and Kilter, who had
assembled it to rescue Santa Claus from captivity and to punish the Daemons who
had dared to take him away from his beloved children.
And, although they looked so bright and peaceful, the little immortals were
armed with powers that would be very terrible to those who had incurred their
anger. Woe to the Daemons of the Caves if this mighty army of vengeance ever met
them!
But lo! coming to meet his loyal friends appeared the imposing form of Santa
Claus, his white beard floating in the breeze and his bright eyes sparkling with
pleasure at this proof of the love and veneration he had inspired in the hearts
of the most powerful creatures in existence.
And while they clustered around him and danced with glee at his safe return,
he gave them earnest thanks for their support. But Wisk, and Nuter, and Peter,
and Kilter, he embraced affectionately.
"It is useless to pursue the Daemons," said Santa Claus to the army. "They
have their place in the world, and can never be destroyed. But that is a great
pity, nevertheless," he continued musingly.
So the fairies, and knooks, and pixies, and ryls all escorted the good man to
his castle, and there left him to talk over the events of the night with his
little assistants.
Wisk had already rendered himself invisible and flown through the big world
to see how the children were getting along on this bright Christmas morning; and
by the time he returned, Peter had finished telling Santa Claus of how they had
distributed the toys.
"We really did very well," cried the fairy, in a pleased voice; "for I found
little unhappiness among the children this morning. Still, you must not get
captured again, my dear master; for we might not be so fortunate another time in
carrying out your ideas."
He then related the mistakes that had been made, and which he had not
discovered until his tour of inspection. And Santa Claus at once sent him with
rubber boots for Charlie Smith, and a doll for Mamie Brown; so that even those
two disappointed ones became happy.
As for the wicked Daemons of the Caves, they were filled with anger and
chagrin when they found that their clever capture of Santa Claus had come to
naught. Indeed, no one on that Christmas Day appeared to be at all selfish, or
envious, or hateful. And, realizing that while the children's saint had so many
powerful friends it was folly to oppose him, the Daemons never again attempted
to interfere with his journeys on Christmas Eve.
Showing posts with label Christmas. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Christmas. Show all posts
27 December 2012
A Different Story about Santa
Labels:
Christmas,
Frank Baum,
free story,
kidnappings
21 December 2012
Marketing at Christmas
by R.T. Lawton
by R.T. Lawton
Every author these days knows he has to market himself or develop a brand or have a platform or.....do something to help distinguish himself from the herd and his work from the rest of the slush pile. Presenters at conferences and experts in various publications tell writers they need to network, start a blog, find a niche, do their best writing, never quit, etc., etc. After a while, it all starts to sound like work on our end, and whereas I'm not averse to working up a good sweat from time to time, I also believe in stacking the cards (pun intended, as you'll soon see) in my favor. So, here's one of the things I do.
Every year at Christmas time for several years now, I send Linda Landrigan, the editor of Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine, a Christmas card. Now this is no ordinary off-the-rack card. No, this particular card is custom made by my Huey pilot buddy Mike who happened to mention early on in our friendship that he has a certain amount of artistic talent. Since I have flown with this guy into places you aren't supposed to take a helicopter, landed people for raids and parked on mesa tops about the size of a large table to make a quick pit stop (it's a long way down if you're looking that direction and hanging onto the door frame), when he tells me he can do something, I tend to believe him.
In any case, Mike agreed to make Christmas cards for me, and we ended up having a lot of fun with it. Each year's card is based on one of the short stories Linda bought from me and then published in her magazine that year.
Naturally, the problem pops up that few of the stories are Christmas oriented, but we do the best we can. And, to perpetuate that particular year's story concept, each card is signed by characters in that story. For instance, if that year's selection was from a story in my 1660's Paris Underworld series, then one of us might sign as le orphan (Mike's wife Angie), another as King Jules (me), one as Remy the Chevalier (Mike) and another as Josette (my wife Kiti). It's all done in fun, but I'm sure it also keeps my stories in the minds of the editor and staff for a while. In fact, at one of the Bouchercons a few years back, Linda informed me that she was collecting these cards as part of the magazine's history. Whoa, that puts on a lot of pressure to really perform in the future. I have been told a couple of times that I was history, but this was a completely different type of footnote.
The 2004 card to the left is based on "In Bond," a "locked room" mystery in my Twin Brothers Bail Bond series in which pallets of In Bond wine is stolen from a locked and guarded warehouse.
So, that's one of the ways I try to stack the cards in my favor for this game of writing. Anybody out there got any moves of your own you'd care to share? Or, any suggestions you think would work for you, me or anyone else?
And, by the way, Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, Hanukkah, Joyeux Noel, Mutlu Noeller and several other season's greetings for which my keyboard doesn't have letters or symbols.
Every author these days knows he has to market himself or develop a brand or have a platform or.....do something to help distinguish himself from the herd and his work from the rest of the slush pile. Presenters at conferences and experts in various publications tell writers they need to network, start a blog, find a niche, do their best writing, never quit, etc., etc. After a while, it all starts to sound like work on our end, and whereas I'm not averse to working up a good sweat from time to time, I also believe in stacking the cards (pun intended, as you'll soon see) in my favor. So, here's one of the things I do.
For 2005, "Dark Eyes" Mike photoshopped me in & then snuck himself in |
Every year at Christmas time for several years now, I send Linda Landrigan, the editor of Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine, a Christmas card. Now this is no ordinary off-the-rack card. No, this particular card is custom made by my Huey pilot buddy Mike who happened to mention early on in our friendship that he has a certain amount of artistic talent. Since I have flown with this guy into places you aren't supposed to take a helicopter, landed people for raids and parked on mesa tops about the size of a large table to make a quick pit stop (it's a long way down if you're looking that direction and hanging onto the door frame), when he tells me he can do something, I tend to believe him.
In any case, Mike agreed to make Christmas cards for me, and we ended up having a lot of fun with it. Each year's card is based on one of the short stories Linda bought from me and then published in her magazine that year.
2009 card for "Boudin Noir" |
Naturally, the problem pops up that few of the stories are Christmas oriented, but we do the best we can. And, to perpetuate that particular year's story concept, each card is signed by characters in that story. For instance, if that year's selection was from a story in my 1660's Paris Underworld series, then one of us might sign as le orphan (Mike's wife Angie), another as King Jules (me), one as Remy the Chevalier (Mike) and another as Josette (my wife Kiti). It's all done in fun, but I'm sure it also keeps my stories in the minds of the editor and staff for a while. In fact, at one of the Bouchercons a few years back, Linda informed me that she was collecting these cards as part of the magazine's history. Whoa, that puts on a lot of pressure to really perform in the future. I have been told a couple of times that I was history, but this was a completely different type of footnote.
The 2004 card to the left is based on "In Bond," a "locked room" mystery in my Twin Brothers Bail Bond series in which pallets of In Bond wine is stolen from a locked and guarded warehouse.
So, that's one of the ways I try to stack the cards in my favor for this game of writing. Anybody out there got any moves of your own you'd care to share? Or, any suggestions you think would work for you, me or anyone else?
And, by the way, Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, Hanukkah, Joyeux Noel, Mutlu Noeller and several other season's greetings for which my keyboard doesn't have letters or symbols.
Labels:
Alfred Hitchcock,
Christmas,
marketing,
mystery magazine,
R.T. Lawton
18 December 2012
Christmas Stories: The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly
by Dale Andrews
Most years around this time I settle down to a re-read of Ellery Queen’s The Finishing Stroke, a 1957 mystery that I consider one of Queen’s best and that takes place during the course of Advent in 1929. Building a Christmas mystery for Ellery to solve was a temptation that even two Jewish cousins from Brooklyn, Frederic Dannay and Manfred B. Lee, could not resist. The temptation has also lured virtually every other classic mystery writer. Agatha Christie gave us not only Hercule Poirot’s Christmas but also a Miss Marple short story Christmas Tragedy. Rex Stout contributed the 1957 Nero Wolfe novella Christmas Party and even Sir Arthur Conan Doyle jumped into the fray with Sherlock Holmes in The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle. (The Holmes story is now available to Audible subscribers this month as a free holiday download.)
Christmas stories are not the sole province of Golden Age mystery authors. Our own Elizabeth Zelvin has contributed such a volume, to the holiday shelf Death Will Trim Your Tree. The temptation to offer up Yuletide tales is also apparent from the works of other modern popular authors. John Grisham has Skipping Christmas, and David Baldacci has The Christmas Train.
Christmas stories have also provided the backdrop for many memorable movie classics. Last year at this time of year I wrote of the many adaptations of my personal favorite, Dickens' A Christmas Carol, and our family’s Christmases usually are not complete without at least one screening of Irving Berlin’s 1954 musical White Christmas – this year my wife and I even attended the stage version at the Kennedy Center here in Washington – and we also always manage to find an evening to devote to National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation.
My family has always celebrated the Yule on Christmas Eve – when my brother Graham and I were kids that was the evening Santa visited our home, just after dinner. The same was true when my own two sons, now well ensconced into their twenties, were kids. And now, with my immediate family having dwindled down to four (all adults), six including my brother and his wife, we gather at Graham and Nikki's restored Victorian home near the St. Louis botanical gardens each year for the holiday. We do all of the expected things – listen to carols, open presents, dine in front of the tree. But we have a darker side to our Christmases as well. When the presents have all been opened, and the room is a hopeless clutter of torn metallic papers and ribbons, we pour ourselves a couple stiff ones and turn on the TV in search of bad Christmas movies.
With on-line movies, YouTube and obscure DVDs readily available, finding almost any given movie is not that difficult. But finding the right one is not always an easy task. Not just any bad movie will do. Just as you can get too much of a good thing, it is even easier to get too much of a bad thing. What we search out each year are movies that, while failed, offer something camp; something so awful that it is funny but not so awful that it is unwatchable. We have been laughing “with” all evening; now it is time to laugh “at.”
Candidates for this year, together with some that have already been rejected, include the following:
Santa Claus Conquers the Martians This incredibly cheesy 1964 movie makes every list of “ten worst Christmas movies” as well as “ten worst movies ever.” The premise: The Martians kidnap Santa Claus because there is no one on Mars to give presents to the Martian kids. Apparently no one cares about the rights on this one, so if you are tempted you can see the whole debacle, including the original title song "Hooray for Santy Claus," at this YouTube site. (Watch closely -- an eight year old Pia Zadora plays one of those mini-Martians.) Special effects include what charitably appear to be five dollar masks and action sequences where everyone leans to the right when the spaceship veers left. We’ve seen this one before. I’m still looking for the Mystery Science Theatre 3000 episode featuring the movie. Score; Watchable, but two or more scotches will likely be required.
Santa with Muscles Hulk Hogan stars in this 1996 film about an evil millionaire who gets amnesia, hides from pursuers by donning a Santa costume, and then believes that he is Santa after seeing himself in a mirror. Ed Begley, Jr. also stars as an evil scientist intent on taking over an orphanage for some obscure reason. Movie critic Joe Leydon wrote “John Murlowski directs with all the enthusiasm of someone going through the motions to pay off a debt.” Score: As yet unseen, but a candidate for a two scotch watch.
Jingle All the Way Yet another 1996 Christmas movie that consistently makes the “worst 10 Christmas movies” list. More money was spent on this film than on any other in the list but, by all accounts, it still does not work. Arnold Schwwarzenegger in his pre-governator days stars as a harried parent trying to secure the hottest toy of the year. Comparing this movie to the Hulk Hogan opus discussed above, film critic Chris Hicks said that the Hulk’s movie "makes Arnold Scwarzenegger seem like Laurence Olivier.” I have yet to see this movie, but it is a favorite of our kids and a likely watch this year. Score: Sight unseen, but a candidate for watching with the first scotch of the evening.
Santa Claus aka Santa Claus versus the Devil This 1959 Mexican production has garnered several critics’ nomination for worst movie ever filmed. (An awesome feat – that means it defeated the horrible -- but non-Christmas -- Plan 9 from Outer Space, starring Bela Lugosi and his chiropractor, who filled in for Bela after he died in mid-filming.) Anyway, this Mexican entrant in the Christmas sweepstakes tells the story of Santa and his best friend Merlin the Magician who are off to thwart the Devil’s plan to kill Santa and, in the words of the film’s promo piece, “make all of the kids in the world do evil.” Apparently no one cares about copyright protection on this Christmas turkey either -- the whole film is a click away on YouTube. Score: sight unseen, but we will likely take a peak this Christmas. A candidate for a two and a half scotch watch. Also a film where one senses the remote should be kept handy just in case.
A Christmas Carol – the Musical Not to be confused with Albert Finney’s very passable 1970 musical Scrooge, this 2004 made-for-TV film stars Kelsey Grammer as Scrooge and has Jason Alexander playing Marley’s ghost. And – worse – the movie is not just a musical, it is virtually an opera – almost everything is sung. I mean everything. One reviewer summed up the film as follows: “Never in all my days have I ever seen such a turgid remake of what can only be described as one of the most heartwarming Christmas events.” Score: As noted, I’m a huge Christmas Carol fan (I even liked Mr. Magoo’s Christmas Carol, which, by the way, featured better music than this version.) I tried to watch this film when it aired in 2004 and turned it off within 10 minutes when it became evident that no one was going to (1) stop singing, or (2) sing adequately. Score: Unwatchable. Cannot be saved even by scotch.
An American Carol This 2008 film played in theaters for about a week. It is hard to classify it strictly as a Christmas movie since it takes the Dickens premise and then shifts the underlying holiday to July 4 and re-invents the story as one involving a liberal movie producer who, in all but name, is Michael Moore, and who has forgotten the meaning of patriotism. He is visited by three ghosts including (see above) Kelsey Grammer as General George Patton, a re-invented “ghost of Independence Days past.” If that were not enough, Leslie Nielsen, in one of his final films, appears as Osama Bin Laden. Film critic Sam Graham had this to say about the movie: “It’s been suggested that An American Carol wasn’t screened for reviewers prior to its theatrical release because the predominantly left-leaning critics would pan the film merely because of its conservative subject matter, thus torpedoing its box office potential .There’s some justification for that belief, but there’s another reason that certain films aren’t pre-screened: because they’re not good . . ..” Score: I have yet to watch this movie, but am likely to give it a try this Christmas. Having said this, I will be surprised if I get through more than 10 minutes. Three scotches and keep the remote well in hand.
The Star Wars Holiday Special Although not truly a “story,” this 1978 television special at least has a story-line that attempts to tie things together -- Chewbacca and Hans Solo visit Kashyyk, Chewbacca's home world, to celebrate “Life Day.” The special featured all of the actors from the original Star Wars trilogy and is universally (in a galaxy not that far away) judged to be one of the most horrible television programs ever aired. Some of the cast members have at times denied that the program even existed. George Lucas has spent a great deal of effort ensuring that it will never be re-broadcast. To quote Lucas, "if I had the time and a sledgehammer, I would track down every copy of that show and smash it." In similar tone, David Hofstede, author of What Were They Thinking?: The 100 Dumbest Events in Television History, ranked the holiday special at number one, calling it "the worst two hours of television ever." While the show was never re-broadcast and never released on tape or DVD, if you want to see just how bad a film can be, there are original copies (recorded off the air in glorious VHS) that are available on YouTube. Full length versions are relentlessly blocked by "the Federation," but the smaller snippets persist. This one contains the first ten minutes, which, in truth, is all you need. Score: Unwatchable. But having said that, you should try just the first few minutes, scotch firmly in hand, to see how a group of talented people can come up with something this totally wrong-headed. Jaw dropping is the only response to the overly long and totally incomprehensible segment set in Chewbacca’s home near the beginning of the film. As actor and critic Ralph Garman observed, “it's so bad that it actually comes around to good again, but passes it right up.”
Happy Holidays!
Christmas stories are not the sole province of Golden Age mystery authors. Our own Elizabeth Zelvin has contributed such a volume, to the holiday shelf Death Will Trim Your Tree. The temptation to offer up Yuletide tales is also apparent from the works of other modern popular authors. John Grisham has Skipping Christmas, and David Baldacci has The Christmas Train.
Christmas stories have also provided the backdrop for many memorable movie classics. Last year at this time of year I wrote of the many adaptations of my personal favorite, Dickens' A Christmas Carol, and our family’s Christmases usually are not complete without at least one screening of Irving Berlin’s 1954 musical White Christmas – this year my wife and I even attended the stage version at the Kennedy Center here in Washington – and we also always manage to find an evening to devote to National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation.
My family has always celebrated the Yule on Christmas Eve – when my brother Graham and I were kids that was the evening Santa visited our home, just after dinner. The same was true when my own two sons, now well ensconced into their twenties, were kids. And now, with my immediate family having dwindled down to four (all adults), six including my brother and his wife, we gather at Graham and Nikki's restored Victorian home near the St. Louis botanical gardens each year for the holiday. We do all of the expected things – listen to carols, open presents, dine in front of the tree. But we have a darker side to our Christmases as well. When the presents have all been opened, and the room is a hopeless clutter of torn metallic papers and ribbons, we pour ourselves a couple stiff ones and turn on the TV in search of bad Christmas movies.
With on-line movies, YouTube and obscure DVDs readily available, finding almost any given movie is not that difficult. But finding the right one is not always an easy task. Not just any bad movie will do. Just as you can get too much of a good thing, it is even easier to get too much of a bad thing. What we search out each year are movies that, while failed, offer something camp; something so awful that it is funny but not so awful that it is unwatchable. We have been laughing “with” all evening; now it is time to laugh “at.”
Candidates for this year, together with some that have already been rejected, include the following:
Santa Claus Conquers the Martians This incredibly cheesy 1964 movie makes every list of “ten worst Christmas movies” as well as “ten worst movies ever.” The premise: The Martians kidnap Santa Claus because there is no one on Mars to give presents to the Martian kids. Apparently no one cares about the rights on this one, so if you are tempted you can see the whole debacle, including the original title song "Hooray for Santy Claus," at this YouTube site. (Watch closely -- an eight year old Pia Zadora plays one of those mini-Martians.) Special effects include what charitably appear to be five dollar masks and action sequences where everyone leans to the right when the spaceship veers left. We’ve seen this one before. I’m still looking for the Mystery Science Theatre 3000 episode featuring the movie. Score; Watchable, but two or more scotches will likely be required.
Santa with Muscles Hulk Hogan stars in this 1996 film about an evil millionaire who gets amnesia, hides from pursuers by donning a Santa costume, and then believes that he is Santa after seeing himself in a mirror. Ed Begley, Jr. also stars as an evil scientist intent on taking over an orphanage for some obscure reason. Movie critic Joe Leydon wrote “John Murlowski directs with all the enthusiasm of someone going through the motions to pay off a debt.” Score: As yet unseen, but a candidate for a two scotch watch.
Jingle All the Way Yet another 1996 Christmas movie that consistently makes the “worst 10 Christmas movies” list. More money was spent on this film than on any other in the list but, by all accounts, it still does not work. Arnold Schwwarzenegger in his pre-governator days stars as a harried parent trying to secure the hottest toy of the year. Comparing this movie to the Hulk Hogan opus discussed above, film critic Chris Hicks said that the Hulk’s movie "makes Arnold Scwarzenegger seem like Laurence Olivier.” I have yet to see this movie, but it is a favorite of our kids and a likely watch this year. Score: Sight unseen, but a candidate for watching with the first scotch of the evening.
Santa Claus aka Santa Claus versus the Devil This 1959 Mexican production has garnered several critics’ nomination for worst movie ever filmed. (An awesome feat – that means it defeated the horrible -- but non-Christmas -- Plan 9 from Outer Space, starring Bela Lugosi and his chiropractor, who filled in for Bela after he died in mid-filming.) Anyway, this Mexican entrant in the Christmas sweepstakes tells the story of Santa and his best friend Merlin the Magician who are off to thwart the Devil’s plan to kill Santa and, in the words of the film’s promo piece, “make all of the kids in the world do evil.” Apparently no one cares about copyright protection on this Christmas turkey either -- the whole film is a click away on YouTube. Score: sight unseen, but we will likely take a peak this Christmas. A candidate for a two and a half scotch watch. Also a film where one senses the remote should be kept handy just in case.
Christmas Vacation 2 – Cousin Eddie’s Island Adventure This 2003 TV movie sequel to the classic National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation was apparently shown once, and only once, on network TV. The sequel, as the name implies, jettisons the Griswold clan, leaving us only with Cousin Eddie and his . . . “brood.” What were they thinking? The WebSite DVD Verdict calls the film a "bedsore of a movie" and suggests that any copy should be "thrown into a burlap sack, weighted down with rocks, and tossed into the closest body of water." Score: I’m not going to even try it.
A Christmas Carol – the Musical Not to be confused with Albert Finney’s very passable 1970 musical Scrooge, this 2004 made-for-TV film stars Kelsey Grammer as Scrooge and has Jason Alexander playing Marley’s ghost. And – worse – the movie is not just a musical, it is virtually an opera – almost everything is sung. I mean everything. One reviewer summed up the film as follows: “Never in all my days have I ever seen such a turgid remake of what can only be described as one of the most heartwarming Christmas events.” Score: As noted, I’m a huge Christmas Carol fan (I even liked Mr. Magoo’s Christmas Carol, which, by the way, featured better music than this version.) I tried to watch this film when it aired in 2004 and turned it off within 10 minutes when it became evident that no one was going to (1) stop singing, or (2) sing adequately. Score: Unwatchable. Cannot be saved even by scotch.
An American Carol This 2008 film played in theaters for about a week. It is hard to classify it strictly as a Christmas movie since it takes the Dickens premise and then shifts the underlying holiday to July 4 and re-invents the story as one involving a liberal movie producer who, in all but name, is Michael Moore, and who has forgotten the meaning of patriotism. He is visited by three ghosts including (see above) Kelsey Grammer as General George Patton, a re-invented “ghost of Independence Days past.” If that were not enough, Leslie Nielsen, in one of his final films, appears as Osama Bin Laden. Film critic Sam Graham had this to say about the movie: “It’s been suggested that An American Carol wasn’t screened for reviewers prior to its theatrical release because the predominantly left-leaning critics would pan the film merely because of its conservative subject matter, thus torpedoing its box office potential .There’s some justification for that belief, but there’s another reason that certain films aren’t pre-screened: because they’re not good . . ..” Score: I have yet to watch this movie, but am likely to give it a try this Christmas. Having said this, I will be surprised if I get through more than 10 minutes. Three scotches and keep the remote well in hand.
The Star Wars Holiday Special Although not truly a “story,” this 1978 television special at least has a story-line that attempts to tie things together -- Chewbacca and Hans Solo visit Kashyyk, Chewbacca's home world, to celebrate “Life Day.” The special featured all of the actors from the original Star Wars trilogy and is universally (in a galaxy not that far away) judged to be one of the most horrible television programs ever aired. Some of the cast members have at times denied that the program even existed. George Lucas has spent a great deal of effort ensuring that it will never be re-broadcast. To quote Lucas, "if I had the time and a sledgehammer, I would track down every copy of that show and smash it." In similar tone, David Hofstede, author of What Were They Thinking?: The 100 Dumbest Events in Television History, ranked the holiday special at number one, calling it "the worst two hours of television ever." While the show was never re-broadcast and never released on tape or DVD, if you want to see just how bad a film can be, there are original copies (recorded off the air in glorious VHS) that are available on YouTube. Full length versions are relentlessly blocked by "the Federation," but the smaller snippets persist. This one contains the first ten minutes, which, in truth, is all you need. Score: Unwatchable. But having said that, you should try just the first few minutes, scotch firmly in hand, to see how a group of talented people can come up with something this totally wrong-headed. Jaw dropping is the only response to the overly long and totally incomprehensible segment set in Chewbacca’s home near the beginning of the film. As actor and critic Ralph Garman observed, “it's so bad that it actually comes around to good again, but passes it right up.”
Happy Holidays!
Labels:
Christmas,
Dale C. Andrews,
movies,
mysteries
Location:
Chevy Chase, Washington, DC
05 November 2012
November Already
by Jan Grape
SPECIAL ANNOUNCEMENT! Congratulations to Elizabeth Dearborn, the winner of our first monthly contest at SleuthSayers. She will receive a copy of David Dean's exciting new novel THE THIRTEENTH CHILD as soon as we learn her snail-mail address. Stay tuned later this month for another giveaway! Back to Jan...
I can't believe it's November already. We had that silly time change this morning at 2 AM. Did you get to church an hour early or get to the football game early. Oh yeah, I guess if you got to the Pro game early that was a good thing.
I can't believe it's November already. It's only hours until we will have a final vote and tally for a President. All I will say here is PLEASE vote. I voted early the other day which is the best way to do it. No line and it only took a few minutes. Thank goodness it's almost over, I'm sick of politics. I'm definitely sick of the negativity, the vitriolic words and the racist overtones from some people.
I can't believe it's November already and it's only two and a half weeks until Thanksgiving. Have you bought your turkey yet? Made out your menu? Invited all your in-laws and out-laws? Gosh, I haven't even taken down my Halloween decorations. And before I can turn around twice it will be time to put up the yuletide items.
I REALLY can't believe it's November already and it's only fifty-two days until Christmas. Yikes! Have you got any shopping done? I haven't but I'm not worried about it, I give money. One size fits all and the color is always right.
One thing I can admit is I love holidays and I hate holidays. I love seeing family and enjoying good food. But I hate trying to travel any distance and all the hoop-la that the stores and television bombard us with. I saw on facebook the other day that Nordstrom's say they won't put up any Christmas decorations until AFTER Thanksgiving. Way to go, Nordstrom's. Wish other stores would follow that example. I actually heard X-mas music in a store the other day and I thought, NOOOO! Not ready for X-mas music yet. Not even ready for November yet, but here it is. Rolling along.
I do want to bring a blog and interview to your attention. The Maine Crime Writers had a blog today that's an interview with an expert, Jayne Hitchcock, on cyberstalking and cyberbullying. This is a must read for all of us who use social media as much as we do and importantly it's important for our children and grandchildren. This is fantastic information. So head to www.mainecrimewriters.com
I don't know if any of our writers or readers were in the path of the storm. I hope if so, then hope that you are safe and warm. I do have writer friends who were without power for several days but are now electrified and warm and safe.
This is about all I know to write about today. Real life seems to take up a lot of my day...like vegging out on the sofa and watching Texas Longhorns yesterday and tonight Dallas Cowboys.
Take care all and keep writing and reading.
I can't believe it's November already. We had that silly time change this morning at 2 AM. Did you get to church an hour early or get to the football game early. Oh yeah, I guess if you got to the Pro game early that was a good thing.
I can't believe it's November already. It's only hours until we will have a final vote and tally for a President. All I will say here is PLEASE vote. I voted early the other day which is the best way to do it. No line and it only took a few minutes. Thank goodness it's almost over, I'm sick of politics. I'm definitely sick of the negativity, the vitriolic words and the racist overtones from some people.
I can't believe it's November already and it's only two and a half weeks until Thanksgiving. Have you bought your turkey yet? Made out your menu? Invited all your in-laws and out-laws? Gosh, I haven't even taken down my Halloween decorations. And before I can turn around twice it will be time to put up the yuletide items.
I REALLY can't believe it's November already and it's only fifty-two days until Christmas. Yikes! Have you got any shopping done? I haven't but I'm not worried about it, I give money. One size fits all and the color is always right.
One thing I can admit is I love holidays and I hate holidays. I love seeing family and enjoying good food. But I hate trying to travel any distance and all the hoop-la that the stores and television bombard us with. I saw on facebook the other day that Nordstrom's say they won't put up any Christmas decorations until AFTER Thanksgiving. Way to go, Nordstrom's. Wish other stores would follow that example. I actually heard X-mas music in a store the other day and I thought, NOOOO! Not ready for X-mas music yet. Not even ready for November yet, but here it is. Rolling along.
I do want to bring a blog and interview to your attention. The Maine Crime Writers had a blog today that's an interview with an expert, Jayne Hitchcock, on cyberstalking and cyberbullying. This is a must read for all of us who use social media as much as we do and importantly it's important for our children and grandchildren. This is fantastic information. So head to www.mainecrimewriters.com
I don't know if any of our writers or readers were in the path of the storm. I hope if so, then hope that you are safe and warm. I do have writer friends who were without power for several days but are now electrified and warm and safe.
This is about all I know to write about today. Real life seems to take up a lot of my day...like vegging out on the sofa and watching Texas Longhorns yesterday and tonight Dallas Cowboys.
Take care all and keep writing and reading.
Labels:
Christmas,
crime writers,
cyberstalking,
election,
Jan Grape,
Maine,
Thanksgiving
Location:
Cottonwood Rd, West, TX 76691, USA
10 January 2012
Big Shot Writers
by David Dean
Not a Big Shot Writer |
My son, Julian, the English teacher (or Professor as he likes to be addressed), gave me a huge compendium containing the works of some short story writers somewhat better known than myself. You may recognize a few of these names: Willa Cather, Joseph Conrad, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, James Joyce, Flannery O'Connor, Edgar Allan Poe, etc, etc...blah, blah, blah. Some of them struck a distant chord with me. The name of this book is, The Art of the Short Story compiled and edited by Dana Gioia and R.S. Gwynn, and offering insights by the authors themselves on their stories within, or on some aspect of writing them. The 'professor' added, "You should read this." I thought I detected the slightest of smirks on his face (again, this was after the opening of his gifts from his mother and me).
It seemed to me that, perhaps, my children (who had once been so adorable) were trying to tell me something; it occurred to me that they may have been insinuating that there was room for improvement in my writing efforts, or something along those lines. It is only fair to note, that the two of them act as the unofficial editors (and unwanted critics) of most of my scribblings since they became college graduates. Their older sister, Tanya, lives in Atlanta and has children of her own and therefore no time to pile on with her siblings, thank God. The other two, however, have a certain proprietary air about them when it comes to my so-called writing career.
"I've read a bunch of these," I countered. "A whole bunch. Some of them are pretty good. That Poe dude is a little heavy-handed in the prose department though, don't 'cha think?" Take that, professor. His expression was equal parts disappointment and disdain. "Yeah," I went on, "he does guest features on SleuthSayers from time to time...we call him, 'E.A.' for short." No laughter, no smiles...nothing. Kinda like the photo below.
E.A. (Big Shot Writer) |
According to the authors of the "Art" the short story is the most recent and modern of literary forms; Nathaniel Hawthorne being credited with its introduction to the English Language in 1837 with Twice Told Tales. I did not actually know this, but I'm sure the professor did. As a testament to his genius (Hawthorne's, not my son's), many of those tales still read very well today and retain a compelling narrative power. It's astounding how really good writing can transcend the barrier of time and the hurdles of archaic language. Poe manages this pretty well, too.
Nathaniel Hawthorne (another Big Shot Writer) |
As I confided to Bridgid and her brother one day: If I only had one story, just one, that ended up being read twenty-five or fifty years from now, or even better, was made mandatory reading in some college class (hopefully one taught by my son; wouldn't that be sweet justice?), I would feel that I had accomplished something. Clearly I'm not in it for the money, though God knows I wouldn't be amiss to a few whopping big paychecks (I give to a lot to charities, you see). So for all of you, my short fiction brethren, take heart and keep writing as we, too, can become big shot writers! Don't let the narrow marketing field discourage you. After all, we write because of our love of the word and, in my case at least, in order to entertain, at my own expense of course, my wonderful children and wife.
As a postscript, I would like to bring your attention back to my photo at the top of the page. You may notice, though it has been subtly framed, that I am holding a really big book of short stories. Now that I have an even bigger one which includes a bunch of foreign authors too, I intend to have another taken. Julian assures me that there's no chance I could look any more pompous with his bigger book, but I'm willing to give it a try even so. He suggests a tweed jacket with leather elbow patches might just do the trick.
I think a pipe would help, as well.
Labels:
Christmas,
David Dean,
family,
stories,
writers
Location:
Cape May Court House, NJ, USA
25 December 2011
My Thoughts On The Big Lie— Santa Claus
downtown Knoxville |
Santa is crying because he thinks I missed out on the joy of believing in Santa Claus. He is mistaken. Although I knew from the first day I heard somebody mention Santa Claus didn’t exist, I still enjoyed Christmas. My mother told– no, warned– my father, grandmothers, grandfathers, uncles, aunts, and anybody else who dared to mention Santa Claus to me, not to be telling her son that Santa Claus lie.
You’re thinking I must’ve grown up really disappointed during Christmas when all the kids wrote letters to Santa Claus. Nope. I never told my friends he didn’t exist, either because my mother told me not to or I instinctively knew not to. I prefer to believe the instinctive thing. I didn’t write letters to Santa Claus because my mother said she was Santa Claus, and so, I told her what I wanted. Although we weren’t poor, still I wasn’t always sure she would have the money to get what I asked for, so you see, I was as surprised on Christmas morning as the kids who believed Santa Claus, with his fat belly and bag full of toys, came down the chimney.
I liked the idea of Santa Claus. I liked it so much that I didn’t tell my two cousins, the daughters of my uncle the bootlegger, that Santa Claus wasn’t real. I became Santa Claus to them, helping my aunt or grandmother shop for toys, hiding them, and placing them under the tree on Christmas Eve after they had gone to sleep. Santa Claus may not have been real to me but he was to them. I always wondered, however, why they never asked how he could come down our chimney. He certainly was too fat to squeeze through the stove pipe after he got down the chimney and then into the stove, which had hot coals burning all night.
Christmas is the holiday I enjoy most. I try to forget the fact that the criminals, pickpockets, shoplifters, purse snatchers, carjackers, etc., are out in force during the holidays. What I enjoy most on Christmas morning is seeing the faces of my grandkids, as they open their presents.
But a TV commercial has me worried about the life of Santa Claus. The women in the commercial buy gifts at a store, and when Santa enters their homes, they confront him with smirks on their faces that say they don’t need him anymore. I’m not a conspiracy theorist, you understand, but I can’t help but think that, as Christmas has become more and more commercialized, some merchants may be trying to get rid of Santa Claus. Okay, I’ve seen some positive commercials showing Santa using a smartphone, so all is not lost. He’s fighting back with the help of digital technology.
To keep negative feelings from messing with my mind during the holidays, I listen to soulful Christmas music: Nat King Cole singing the traditional Christmas songs, The Temptations’s interpretation of “Silent Night”; my oldest grandson’s favorite, gravelly voiced Louis Armstrong singing “’Zat You Santa Claus”; Booker T and The Mg’s instrumental “Jingle Bells”; and Otis Redding singing the all time favorite “White Christmas.” On Christmas morning when my grandkids come for their presents, they hear Nat’s melodious voice coming from the CD player, and I watch with a smile as they open their presents.
MERRY CHRISTMAS
Labels:
Christmas,
Louis Willis
Location:
Knoxville, TN, USA
18 December 2011
And So It Goes
by Jan Grape
by Jan Grape
Okay we're only one week from Christmas, December 25th. What's happening at your house? Things are fairly calm at my place with only my alien and I and Nick & Nora, my two cats.
I put up a tree...well, I call it a tree and it honestly is one. It's made of tomato plant wire and lights. You've seen those surely? It was what I used outside my RV because there really wasn't enough room for a tree inside. The new house has plenty of room and even a lovely bay window where a tree would sit in splendor but have you priced Christmas trees lately? And the thing is, the day after the 25th the prices will be reasonable. So this year, I'm making do.
I also couldn't find my box of "grape" decorations. They were stored at a friend's house or my sister's house or someplace and I still have not located them so I'll need to buy decorations. Same thing as the tree, after the 25th everything will be marked down about eighty per cent. And my final reason for not putting up a traditional tree, with only Cason and I here for the holiday, there won't be many presents and if there were presents under the tree, the cats would probably tear, scratch, play with and generally wreck havoc.
So we have the little light tree in the bay window and from the street it looks just like a regular tree. I put some lights on the wooden railing and hand rails on the front and side porches. Which brings me to another unusual event. When I plugged in a string of lights in the kitchen, all the lights lit up and looked just fine. Ten minutes later when I plugged them in out on the porch (and the extension is fed through the front window) only half the string lit up. Mind you it's just one string. Brand new mini lights, 100 lights long and only half of them now light up. That half blinks and looks really cool, but the other half of the lights just sit there. This is NOT two strings plugged into each other, it's all one string of 100 lights. I have no idea what's going on there.
I did find my purple "chili pepper" lights that we used to attach to our RV awning when I unpaked boxes after the move. Two strings. I attached them to each wooden hand rail along the steps and both strings lit up and look awesome. All of them work. All bulbs burn on each string. Then I went out to the side porch which also has stairs and a wooden handrail. I found a string of lights I had used on my RV handrail last year. Now this is two strings of lights plugged together. I tested them inside and all the lights worked, no problem. Ten minutes later, I plugged them into the outdoor electric socket. Guess what? One string lights up and one does not.
Okay, I admit that I have the mechanical aptitude of a horned toad but good grief, even I know to check each little bulb and be sure it's tight in each little socket. There's even a little statement on the front of the box that says if one bulb burns our the rest stay lit. NOT. They all worked in the kitchen electrical outlet. What changed in that ten minutes? Heaven only knows, but I sure don't. And it happened to two different set-ups. That's what really confuses me. The 100 string lights on the front porch are brand new. The two stringer set up on the side porch are from last year. BUT they ALL worked at first. So we have a few outside lights and some non-lit bulbs. You can't tell from the street, it just looks like I only half decorated. Like maybe I'll buy more lights tomorrow. NOT.
BUT we do have stockings hung by the chimney with care. Problem is they won't stay hung. The fireplace mantle is limestone rock so I can't attach them with thumb tacks or push pins. I used Scotch tape. That worked fine for about a week and then the stocking with my name on it fell off. Scared Nora half to death when in fell just as she walked by. She's a bit of a scaredy cat anyway. Next I used that wonderful gray duck tape that holds everything together. That worked for two days and the stocking with my name fell off again. The two little stockings with Nick's & Nora's names on them fell off. At the moment all the stockings are laying on the hearth. I have yet to figure out what I'll do next. Maybe just wait until Christmas Eve, hang with the duck tape and hope the stockings stay up until Santa slides down the chimney and fills them.
In the meantime, I went to a Christmas party today and two people asked at different times as I milled around, if I was working on a new book. I shook my head sadly and said, "not right now. Not until after January first." Both looked as if they understood.
And so it goes....
Merry and Happy Everyone.
Okay we're only one week from Christmas, December 25th. What's happening at your house? Things are fairly calm at my place with only my alien and I and Nick & Nora, my two cats.
I put up a tree...well, I call it a tree and it honestly is one. It's made of tomato plant wire and lights. You've seen those surely? It was what I used outside my RV because there really wasn't enough room for a tree inside. The new house has plenty of room and even a lovely bay window where a tree would sit in splendor but have you priced Christmas trees lately? And the thing is, the day after the 25th the prices will be reasonable. So this year, I'm making do.
I also couldn't find my box of "grape" decorations. They were stored at a friend's house or my sister's house or someplace and I still have not located them so I'll need to buy decorations. Same thing as the tree, after the 25th everything will be marked down about eighty per cent. And my final reason for not putting up a traditional tree, with only Cason and I here for the holiday, there won't be many presents and if there were presents under the tree, the cats would probably tear, scratch, play with and generally wreck havoc.
So we have the little light tree in the bay window and from the street it looks just like a regular tree. I put some lights on the wooden railing and hand rails on the front and side porches. Which brings me to another unusual event. When I plugged in a string of lights in the kitchen, all the lights lit up and looked just fine. Ten minutes later when I plugged them in out on the porch (and the extension is fed through the front window) only half the string lit up. Mind you it's just one string. Brand new mini lights, 100 lights long and only half of them now light up. That half blinks and looks really cool, but the other half of the lights just sit there. This is NOT two strings plugged into each other, it's all one string of 100 lights. I have no idea what's going on there.
I did find my purple "chili pepper" lights that we used to attach to our RV awning when I unpaked boxes after the move. Two strings. I attached them to each wooden hand rail along the steps and both strings lit up and look awesome. All of them work. All bulbs burn on each string. Then I went out to the side porch which also has stairs and a wooden handrail. I found a string of lights I had used on my RV handrail last year. Now this is two strings of lights plugged together. I tested them inside and all the lights worked, no problem. Ten minutes later, I plugged them into the outdoor electric socket. Guess what? One string lights up and one does not.
Okay, I admit that I have the mechanical aptitude of a horned toad but good grief, even I know to check each little bulb and be sure it's tight in each little socket. There's even a little statement on the front of the box that says if one bulb burns our the rest stay lit. NOT. They all worked in the kitchen electrical outlet. What changed in that ten minutes? Heaven only knows, but I sure don't. And it happened to two different set-ups. That's what really confuses me. The 100 string lights on the front porch are brand new. The two stringer set up on the side porch are from last year. BUT they ALL worked at first. So we have a few outside lights and some non-lit bulbs. You can't tell from the street, it just looks like I only half decorated. Like maybe I'll buy more lights tomorrow. NOT.
BUT we do have stockings hung by the chimney with care. Problem is they won't stay hung. The fireplace mantle is limestone rock so I can't attach them with thumb tacks or push pins. I used Scotch tape. That worked fine for about a week and then the stocking with my name on it fell off. Scared Nora half to death when in fell just as she walked by. She's a bit of a scaredy cat anyway. Next I used that wonderful gray duck tape that holds everything together. That worked for two days and the stocking with my name fell off again. The two little stockings with Nick's & Nora's names on them fell off. At the moment all the stockings are laying on the hearth. I have yet to figure out what I'll do next. Maybe just wait until Christmas Eve, hang with the duck tape and hope the stockings stay up until Santa slides down the chimney and fills them.
In the meantime, I went to a Christmas party today and two people asked at different times as I milled around, if I was working on a new book. I shook my head sadly and said, "not right now. Not until after January first." Both looked as if they understood.
And so it goes....
Merry and Happy Everyone.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)