Christmas Bells are Ringing

Merry Christmas everyone!!!  It is Christmas Eve, and like everyone else who celebrates this holiday, I’ve got a million things to get done before tomorrow.  So this is going to be a quick post. 

Many times in writing, I try really hard to make my words hit those emotional chords.  I believe that stories speak to us through emotional truths.  I know that I struggle immensely to get the right emotion on the page.  It is extremely challenging.

I’m sure that writing a song is far more complicated than I can imagine (writing a story sure was), but writing is just words and a song is words and music.  The music alone can tap into our emotions and make us feel, but combine that moving music with strong lyrics and the song can create a powerful emotional experience that words alone cannot do.

I love music, especially Christmas music.  Nothing else can bring the spirit of the season into my home like Christmas carols.  I love so many of the Christmas songs, and it is hard to find one that I can't at least sing a bar of, so it was touch to narrow this down, but here are my top four favorite Christmas songs.  I hope they will bring the spirit of Christmas into your home.

My favorite secular Christmas Carols:

1.  Carol of the Bells

 

2.  The Christmas Song (Chestnuts roasting on an open fire)

 And because I am a Christian, my favorite religious Christmas Carols:

1.  O Holy Night

 

 

2.  What Child is This

 

To me, these songs just capture the spirit and meaning of Christmas. 

What are your favorite Christmas Carols?

~MaryAnn

Boekweg Family Christmas Story Tradition

Merry Christmas, Prosers Everywhere! I hope you are all bundled up with the people you love, drinking eggnog, and ignoring the fat content...just like I am.

Every year, my kids and I have a tradition. We sit around the computer and make up a story. It's all my kids,  I just gently prod them with questions, and type.

In case you are wondering how to start your own story telling tradition. I'll share the first starter questions and their responses. Hope it inspires you to start your own tradition, because this is my favorite.

Me: If you could tell a Christmas story about anyone who would it be.

Boy Child: The Grinch!
Girl Child: No Santa.

Fighting commences.

Me: Okay stop fighting, how about we tell a story about how the Grinch met Santa.

Children: Yay!

Me: Okay, so where did they meet?

Girl Child: The North Pole.

Me: Great! So how did the Grinch get to the North Pole?

Boy Child: I know, The Grinch lives in California, and he...

Commence Typing.

Granted my children are brilliant and creative. Most kids are.  Why not see how brilliant and creative your children are, they might surprise you.

When the story stalls, I ask questions like, "What does the North Pole look like? What clothes is Santa wearing? What does he say?" When that all fails to spur on the story, I ask my favorite question, "And then what happened?"

All dialog, description, plot twists, and store names are brought to you by my children.

And here, in it's fresh and festive glory, is the Boekweg Family Christmas Story 2012. Enjoy!

The Grinch and Santa

By The Boekweg Kids

The Grinch lives in California, and wanted to go visit his mother in Ohio. So he bought a plane ticket, but there was a mix up. The pilot  accidentally put the wrong destination into the plane, which sent him to the North Pole.

So the Grinch, wearing a blue sweater and pink earmuffs, got off the plane.

“This doesn’t look like Ohio,” said the Grinch.

The North Pole is icy, and close to Greenland, (not Iceland. Weird, right?). The plane left the Grinch with only a few people from Greenland who were waiting for their Christmas trees to be delivered, because there are no trees in Greenland. (again, weird)

The Grinch was feeling very sad. He missed his mom so bad. He went to a store to get some hot chocolate, and there behind the counter at the hot chocolate store was Santa, the big guy himself. Santa was wearing red and white clothes, and black boots. He had a white beard, and there were elves helping Santa add the marshmallows to the hot chocolate, and blow on the hot chocolate, so it wasn’t too hot.

The Grinch took a drink of hot chocolate, “Santa,” he asked between sips, “am I on the naughty list?”

“Yes,” said Santa.

The Grinch frowned. “No, you’re on the naughty list.”

“No,” said Santa, “you’re on the naughty list.”

“No,” said the Grinch, “You’re on the naughty list.”

“Let me have your hot chocolate back,” said Santa

“No,” said the Grinch. “I need it, I’m so sad.”

“Why are you sad,” asked Santa.

“Because I miss my mom. I’m on the table”, said the Grinch, laying on the table.

“Blah,” said Santa

“I slapped myself.” said the Grinch, as he slapped himself and spilled all of his hot chocolate onto his earmuffs.

“Okay?” asked Santa.

“Poop,” said the Grinch as he wrung out the hot chocolate from his earmuffs into a cup, and then dumped the cup on Santa’s hat.

“Mom!” said Santa.

“Toot,” said the Grinch

“I just want to be done,” said Santa, and he walked away and started playing games on abcmouse.com.

So the Grinch walked away from Santa and the hot chocolate store, and went to a different hot chocolate store, called Home Depot.

So the Grinch was at Home Depot, and bought some more hot chocolate. I have to find my way to Ohio, thought the Grinch.

One of the workers said, “Hey, I have twenty plane tickets you can have. Grab one of these tickets and go back to the airport and go to Ohio.”

That was oddly specific, thought the Grinch as he took a ticket, said nothing, and walked away.

So then he went to the airport at the North Pole, but there were no planes, and the plane ticket wasn’t a 

plane ticket it was a trap. There was a scanner near the airport, and it had this thing on it, and it scanned the fake plane ticket and a cage fell on him. He was trapped.

Luckily, the Grinch was so thin, he escaped through the bars of the cage and said. “I’m out!”

But nobody heard him, because he was all alone.

"I know how I’ll get home," said the Grinch, to no one, because he was all alone.

It was Christmas Eve, so the Grinch walked to Santa’s workshop and sneaked into the bag of presents. So when Santa flew to Ohio, the Grinch stole a few presents, jumped off of the sleigh, and walked to his mom’s house.

“I missed you so much,” said the Grinch’s mom.

“Poop,” said the Grinch as he handed her the present. It was a one thousand dollar gift card for hot chocolate.

“I don’t know what this is,” said the Grinch’s mom.

“Say thank you,” said the Grinch

“No. You say thank you,” said the Grinch’s mom.

“Ank you! Ank you! Ank you!”

“Whatever.”

The End.

The Ghost of Christmas Past

Last year, I wrote a letter to myself on Christmas Eve, giving myself some advice about how to minimize the side effects of this crazy time of year, since I knew I'd have blocked it all out of my mind by now. Whether you find yourself about to embark on an adventure of the novel writing sort, or whether you are hitting the holiday season with some trepidation, I hope you enjoy this letter from Christmas past.

(Yes, I'm cheating. This is a reposting of the letter I wrote last year. But the advice is good, so read it again)

December 24, 2011

Dear Melanie, 

When you open this, it will be October 31, 2012. Halloween. A little early to be thinking about Christmas, I suppose, but if I know you, and I know I do, you're starting to think about it--maybe even to dread it a little. You know what's coming--the exhaustion, the aches and pains, even the panic...it's all part of the Nanowrimo/Christmas deluxe package, right? 

I don't think so. This year can be different. You can give yourself something special for Christmas this year, but you need to start TODAY. Are you with me? Here's the plan. 

October 31, 2012: This is the make it or break it day, right here. Somehow you always manage to push it out of your mind, but you have a serious sugar addiction, and if you aren't tough today, you'll spend the rest of the year with your blood sugar soaring like a kite. So, as a gift to yourself for Christmas this year, make Halloween a sugar free day. DO NOT buy candy until moments before the Trick or Treaters arrive, and let someone else pass it out. Or give out pencils. 

November 1, 2012: Nanowrimo, Day 1!!!! I smile just to think about it. You've been training for this for months, and I know you've got a lot to say. Give yourself an early Christmas present: DO NOT buy candy when it's marked down 75% and tell yourself you'll save it for Christmas. You won't. Besides, if you're not in the store, you'll have more time to write.  

Throughout the month of November: 

Exercise. I'm serious. I know what you've got to give up in order to find time to write a novel in November. Trust me. I've been there, done that. But exercise. In the morning. It doesn't have to be a ton. In fact, I'd say that 10 minutes 6 days a week ought to cover it. 3 days of strength training, 3 days of running a mile or doing Zumba or jumping rope. Just break a sweat. You try for any more than this, and you'll probably decide to skip it altogether. 

When you're in a writer's haze, you won't even notice whether it's carrots you're chomping on or Laffy Taffy. For some reason you never remember this until the last week of November. Instead of stocking up on bargain priced candy, stock up on healthy foods. Whatever's easy to grab--that's what you'll eat.

And a month of eating green salad with chicken and walnuts for lunch never hurt anyone. If you get sick of it, Italian Peasant Stew is always a pleasant alternative, though I recommend leaving out the Italian Peasants. They are awfully expensive this time of year, and you'll hardly miss them. 

Moderation has never been your strong suit. It may look like one candy bar to you, but it's really two months of swirling in a vortex of bad health choices until you are spit out onto the rocky shores of exhaustion. You're not a spring chicken anymore, you know, and those days of trekking back where you belong are getting tougher. 

 

November 26, 2012: Cyber Monday. No matter how far behind on your novel you think you are, stop what you're doing and order Christmas presents. You'll be glad you did. Remember how long the World Soccer Shop and Deseret Book take to fill your orders? 

December 1, 2012: Time for another early Christmas present. Finish that book. Even if the last half of the book is encapsulated in two pages, get to the words "The End" and leave it alone. You've got the rest of the winter to edit and tinker and add to your book. That's why you write a novel in November in the first place. But December is for family, and trying to add novel writing into the mix is a well-known recipe for transforming yourself into Scrooge! Everybody needs an occasional vacation from writing, and December is yours. Let the guilt go.  

Merry Christmas, my future self! If all went the way it was supposed to, your back didn't go out on you the day before Thanksgiving, your Christmas preparations didn't exhaust  you, you didn't gain lots of weight between Halloween and now, and you spent more time enjoying the things that really matter.

January 1, 2013: Go on, open up that novel and start editing. You know you want to. 

With love,  

Melanie

(All photos from http://www.sxc.hu/home) 

Merry Christmas Proser's Everywhere!

 Yes, I'm a day early.

One of my favorite family Christmas traditions is  writing our yearly Christmas story. For fun, I thought I'd share it with you all, and then go back to the candy in my stocking, and hopefully putting a puzzle together with my mom.

I hope all of your holiday's are fabulous!

The Naughty Elf

by Ian and Mom and Clara

Once upon a Santa’s workshop, there was an elf named Aria, who made the dolls.

 As she used her paintbrush to paint on the lips, she thought, This is the most beautiful doll I’ve ever made. In fact, this is the most beautiful doll I’ve ever seen. And as she braided the doll’s yarn hair an aching need hit her in the stomach. This doll… this doll should be hers.

She looked around. Certainly no one would miss just one little perfect doll.

Maybe… Maybe she should hide it.

Just as she thought this naughty thought, the final bell rang, and Aria looked up. The puff at the peak of her hat bonked her right on the nose. It was almost time to load Santa’s sleigh.

When she looked down, she was shocked to discover the beautiful doll was gone. Where was her doll? A cart of dolls WITH HER DOLL ON TOP hit the doors on its way out of the doll room.

Oh no!

Aria hopped down from her bench and ran after the cart. The bells on her slippers jingled as she ran. She followed the cart into the wrapping room, and then followed the wrapped doll into the loading room. She even followed that wrapped doll down the loading chute and into Santa’s Sack.

          There were wrapped presents everywhere, but which one was her doll?  She opened one present, but it wasn’t her doll, it was a video game.

Oh Gingerbreadman! That wasn’t her doll. She opened another. And another. And another. Before she knew it, she had unwrapped all of the presents for every girl and boy in the whole world, but she still hadn’t found her doll. Aria was so sad, she sat down on somebody’s board game and she cried and she cried.

At last, she spotted a present hidden behind a pile of books.

Her doll! She unwrapped it and giggled as she kissed the freckles she had painted on its cheeks, and touched the lace on the dress she had sewn.

When she looked around and saw all the unwrapped presents, she felt bad about what she had done.

She left her doll on the pile of books and quick as an elf, she wrapped up all of those presents, and put the nametags on in… almost the right order.

Then she hid with the doll behind the stack of books, and because she was so tired from wrapping every present for every child in the entire world, she lay down with her fingers around her doll. She put her thumb in her mouth and fell asleep.

While she slept, Santa was working hard delivering toys. When he got to the very last house on his list, Santa reached into the bag. There was a very good girl who lived in this small house. A sweet girl named Clara who was asleep in her bed dreaming of a new doll.

Santa reached into his sack and put his fingers around the doll. Aria woke up and clung to the doll’s hand, and out she came too. Aria pulled the doll from Santa’s fingers and tried to hide the doll behind her back. But Aria was just too small. Santa saw it.

Santa told her about Clara, how she was a good girl who was learning to get dressed at night, who gave her baby brother hugs and diapers, and sang along to the radio in the car.

“But Santa,” Aria whispered, “She has so many dolls. Does she really need this one too?”

Santa hugged her, and said it was up to her to decide, and then hopped down the chimney and ate a few cookies.

Aria pouted. She looked at her doll and pouted again. But then, she thought about how Clara would feel if she woke up without any presents.

Aria sighed, and then she wrapped one more present and marched all the way across the roof, and down the chimney, and to the well-dressed tree. She put the present under the tree, and stood there for a long time, her fingers resting on the red foil paper. Finally, she swallowed, wiped the tears on her cheek, and hopped onto Santa’s shoulders.

She fell asleep on the way home.

When she woke up, all she could see was red.  A noise like the ripping of paper cleared her vision, and there in front of her face was Clara, the little girl who would get her doll. Clara smiled and picked up Aria and danced around her front room. “I love it! I love it,” Clara shouted. “It’s the most beautiful doll in the whole world.”

Aria couldn’t move. She wasn’t an elf anymore, she was a doll.

She looked at the lace on Clara’s pajamas, and the freckles on her nose. That Christmas day, Clara and Aria had tea parties, and played dress up. Clara brushed Aria’s yarn hair, and sang as they danced around her room.

That night, as Clara hugged Aria as she slept, Aria smiled her doll smile.

Everything was just right.

Well, for Aria anyway. Across town that morning, a boy named Zack opened his present expecting to see the football he had asked for, but instead he held ballet slippers.

But that’s another story.

Merry Christmas!

Nanowrimo and Christmas

Yesterday, I was stomping through the store, searching for something--anything--that would bring a sparkle of delight to my youngest son's eyes on Christmas morning. Everything I'd already bought seemed awful, everyone was going to hate it all, and I just knew I was going to forget how I wanted my novel to end before I got a chance to finish it. I wanted to go home and knock the stupid Christmas tree on the floor.

Christmas can be stressful, but add in packing for a move to a new city and a Nanowrimo novel that just won't end, and you can imagine my stress level. Even without the move though, Nanowrimo and Christmas butt up against each other in stressful ways every year. I would never give up either one, but I know I should do some things differently. Perhaps it's an odd thing to post about on Christmas Eve, but while it's fresh in my mind, here's a letter for me to open again in 10 months.

I hope you find something useful in it, even if you aren't a Nanowrimo fan. Merry Christmas!

December 24, 2011

Dear Melanie, 

When you open this, it will be October 31, 2012. Halloween. A little early to be thinking about Christmas, I suppose, but if I know you, and I know I do, you're starting to think about it--maybe even to dread it a little. You know what's coming--the exhaustion, the aches and pains, even the panic...it's all part of the Nanowrimo/Christmas deluxe package, right? 

I don't think so. This year can be different. You can give yourself something special for Christmas this year, but you need to start TODAY. Are you with me? Here's the plan. 

October 31, 2012: This is the make it or break it day, right here. Somehow you always manage to push it out of your mind, but you have a serious sugar addiction, and if you aren't tough today, you'll spend the rest of the year with your blood sugar soaring like a kite. So, as a gift to yourself for Christmas this year, make Halloween a sugar free day. DO NOT buy candy until moments before the Trick or Treaters arrive, and let someone else pass it out. Or give out pencils. 

November 1, 2012: Nanowrimo, Day 1!!!! I smile just to think about it. You've been training for this for months, and I know you've got a lot to say. Give yourself an early Christmas present: DO NOT buy candy when it's marked down 75% and tell yourself you'll save it for Christmas. You won't. Besides, if you're not in the store, you'll have more time to write.  

Throughout the month of November: 

Exercise. I'm serious. I know what you've got to give up in order to find time to write a novel in November. Trust me. I've been there, done that. But exercise. In the morning. It doesn't have to be a ton. In fact, I'd say that 10 minutes 6 days a week ought to cover it. 3 days of strength training, 3 days of running a mile or doing Zumba or jumping rope. Just break a sweat. You try for any more than this, and you'll probably decide to skip it altogether. 

When you're in a writer's haze, you won't even notice whether it's carrots you're chomping on or Laffy Taffy. For some reason you never remember this until the last week of November. Instead of stocking up on bargain priced candy, stock up on healthy foods. Whatever's easy to grab--that's what you'll eat. 

And a month of eating green salad with chicken and walnuts for lunch never hurt anyone. If you get sick of it, Italian Peasant Stew is always a pleasant alternative, though I recommend leaving out the Italian Peasants. They are awfully expensive this time of year, and you'll hardly miss them. 

Moderation has never been your strong suit. It may look like one candy bar to you, but it's really two months of swirling in a vortex of bad health choices until you are spit out onto the rocky shores of exhaustion. You're not a spring chicken anymore, you know, and those days of trekking back where you belong are getting tougher. 

November 26, 2012: Cyber Monday. No matter how far behind on your novel you think you are, stop what you're doing and order Christmas presents. You'll be glad you did. Remember how long the World Soccer Shop and Deseret Book take to fill your orders? 

December 1, 2012: Time for another early Christmas present. Finish that book. Even if the last half of the book is encapsulated in two pages, get to the words "The End" and leave it alone. You've got the rest of the winter to edit and tinker and add to your book. That's why you write a novel in November in the first place. But December is for family, and trying to add novel writing into the mix is a well-known recipe for transforming yourself into Scrooge! Everybody needs an occasional vacation from writing, and December is yours. Let the guilt go.  

Merry Christmas, my future self! If all went the way it was supposed to, your back didn't go out on you the day before Thanksgiving, your Christmas preparations didn't exhaust  you, you didn't gain lots of weight between Halloween and now, and you spent more time enjoying the things that really matter.  

January 1, 2013: Go on, open up that novel and start editing. You know you want to. 

With love,  

Melanie

A Chant Sublime

Half my living room is consumed by a grand piano, which my parents bought when I was 13. The house is too small for this behemoth instrument and I know I should sell it, but I can’t bring myself to. I hardly ever play, but every year, on December 1st, I pull out a book of carols.

Every song is special for its own reasons. I remember my first book of carols, with water-color illustrations on each facing page. "Good King Wenceslas" was the easiest to sight-read, and so I played it over and over. To this day I have no idea what that song is about.

I remember playing through "Lo How a Rose E’er Blooming" and falling in love with the simple melody. My father came into the room, singing the bass line of the four-part harmony.

My sister and I used to sit at the piano and sing "Angels we Have Heard on High" over and over and over again, trying to harmonize, trying to make our Glo-o-o-o-o-o-rias operatic. She has a voice that can be shared in public and I don’t, but I like to think that together we were lovely.

I remember Christmas Eve, joining my father in a living room lit only by the multi-colored lights on the tree, listening to The Messiah.

I remember singing "Oh Come All Ye Faithful" as we marched down the stairs—in ascending order of age—on Christmas morning. Our family was kooky, but a sweet kind of kooky. (After years teasing me mercilessly about this tradition, my husband was the one to start singing at the top of the stairs  the first time we spent Christmas morning in our own house.)

I remember opening presents and listening to the Nine Lessons and Carols broadcast from King’s College in England. "Once in Royal David’s City" always begins with a boy’s solo.  My father told me that the boys never knew which one would sing until the last second; that way the chosen singer wouldn’t crumple from nerves.

I remember when my children were babies, and I realized how many Christmas carols are just lullabies in disguise. I remember the first Christmas that I was the grown-up in my own darkened living room, lit with a rainbow of lights from my own tree, and how I sat holding a tow-headed infant and nursed and rocked and sang carol after carol.

Last year my younger one demanded "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" and "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" every night at bedtime. I thought it would stop after the holiday, but we’re going on 380-ish days and counting.

I play through all these songs and more on my living-room-sized piano. I flip through and focus on the easy ones, since I'm out of practice. I don’t usually play a second verse, except for one song that I have to play five times through. I can’t help it. I can’t stop at one verse. This song has to be sung to the end, even if the singing is in my head because my voice doesn't have much range.

On Christmas Day in 1864, in the midst of a brutal war, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was not feeling the holiday spirit. He’d lost his wife in a fire three years earlier, in which he was also badly burned. Then the Civil War broke out. His son joined the Union against his wishes. At the end of November, 1864, Charles Longfellow was severely wounded at the Battle of Mine Run in Virginia.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Hearing the bells on December 25, certain his son was going to die*, Longfellow did what any writer would do: He channeled his despair into a poem, titled "Christmas Bells." The poem is longer and much more specific to the Civil War than what we sing today. Here is a link to the text.

I like knowing this history, knowing that Longfellow found hope in the face of overwhelming grief. That's part of the gift of writing. Often I find that something good starts to emerge as I get all the bad stuff down on paper; a poem taking shape can transform sadness into beauty almost on its own. 

The holidays are supposed to be joyful, but they also bring depression for a lot of people. My holiday blues usually take the form of wishing I could hold a baby in my arms again, or missing the magic of childhood and feeling overwhelmed with grown-up things to do. Longfellow’s words comfort me every year, reminding me that there is always hope to be found in your own heart, no matter how deeply buried it may seem.

Here's a link to the Mormon Tabernacle Choir singing my favorite carol. The opening melody is by John Baptiste Calkin. That's the one I play, and it's the one I love best:

I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day

Their old familiar carols play,

And wild and sweet the words repeat

Of peace on earth, good will to men.

I thought how, as the day had come,

The belfries of all Christendom

Had rolled along the unbroken song

Of peace on earth, good will to men.

And in despair I bowed my head:

"There is no peace on earth," I said,

"For hate is strong and mocks the song

Of peace on earth, good will to men."

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:

"God is not dead, nor doth he sleep;

The wrong shall fail, the right prevail,

With peace on earth, good will to men."

Till, ringing singing, on its way,

The world revolved from night to day,

A voice, a chime, a chant sublime,

Of peace on earth, good will to men!

Have a wonderful holiday!

~Sarah

*Charles Longfellow did recover from his injuries and went on to travel the world.

Christmas by the Bay

This post comes to you through several distractions: I'm writing on my sister's Mac (why is there no right click button? WHYYYY?); my niece is running around in her adorable lady bug outfit making bee noises, and the Big Red Chicken needs our help saying the magic word so he can perform his magic show for Dora the Explorer and her friends.

I'm up here for the week to celebrate Christmas with the family.  I've been enjoying everyone elses' posts about Christmas traditions, so I'll share some of our family's.

Mostly, our traditions revolve around food.  My family is of Armenian descent, and Christmas is our time to spend days cooking traditional dishes.  Armenian food is something of a mix between Greek and middle eastern cuisines.  We'll do cheese boereg (cheese wrapped in filo dough and baked until cripsy), paklava (similar to baklava), and kefta, which is (wait for it), lamb and bulghar stuffed with more lamb and spices, molded into a small football shape, and then deep fried. They're amazing, and completely worth all the effort they take.  I'll be spending several hours on Christmas Eve shaping them.

(Oh god, the map is singing again. Who came up with this show anyway? And why do they have to go through the castle instead of just walking around it? And why is Dora's monkey so creepy?)

Other assorted traditions include going out to look at nights on Christmas Eve with cups of hot cranberry cider (imagine boiling cranberry juice until its almost syrupy, and so tart that it'll practically take skin off the back of your throat. Good stuff).  And the reading of "A Night Before Christmas" on Christmas eve, by just the light of the Christmas tree.

(By the way, this post is going to be pictureless, unfortunately, because I honestly don't know how to download a picture if I can't right-click on it and hit 'save picture as'. Stupid Apple.)

 Again, none of that has much to do with writing.  But I've been frustrated with how little time I've spent writing lately.  I suppose I'm in one of those periods again where I try to get myself in the "mood" to write, and just end up spending an hour playing minesweeper. I have to remember that the best way to get me in the writing mood is to, you know, actually start writing. For something so obvious, it's amazing how hard it is for me to remember.

Merry Christmas, everyone.

It was a Dark and Enlightening Night

On Monday night our friends invited us to go for a walk in the freezing cold.

So, we bundled up the family in the car and sang Christmas carols - okay, dh and I sang, the children sat in sullen, or maybe pained silence – until we reached the walking trails next to the wide river that divides our town from the big city on the other side. As soon as we got out of the car the wind began to worm its way up our sleeves and through the buttonholes of our coats, causing no small murmuring among the munchkins.

The dark trail we followed by the water's edge was strangely surreal. The kids ran ahead, but I took the time to play voyeur (in a very G-rated way). Million dollar condos lined one side of the path, and, as far as I could tell, hardly any of the residents made use of curtains. Rooms were packed close and stacked three and four high, each spilling out little lighted vignettes for me to see. Elegant people toasted each other at holiday banquets, while more intimate gatherings looked out over the river toward the big city lights. A few rooms were empty, still lit, a few people ran on treadmills, plugged into iPods and oblivious to the world.

We and our friends laughed and talked and wrangled the kids, finally reaching a jetty stretching out into the river. Out in the open we pulled our coats tighter and talked louder to be heard over the wind. We were all growing a little numb by the time we caught sight of what we had come for - the Christmas ships parading down the river.

I imagine in daylight the fleet is a ragtag affair, old fishing boats, maybe a speedboat or two, or even a yacht. But at night - at Christmastime - the ships are transformed. Decked out with lights on masts and hulls, one ship became Santa in his sleigh and all eight reindeer, another a skier sliding down the slopes and crashing spectacularly before the light show reset and the skier began his plunge again. Trees and angels and toy fire trucks all floated by. We forgot about the cold for a little while.

When we did remember how frozen we were, we headed back to our friends' house, greeted by a warm fireplace and hot chocolate with a pinch of cinnamon.

What does this have to do with writing? Maybe not much. Except that I’ve been keeping my nose in a computer for so long that I think I forgot how wonderful full-throttle-all-five-senses living can be. I think we can let the wonder of the season (or any season) pass us by because we think something else is so much more important. Maybe we shouldn’t. Today is the gift we’ve been given for living. I hope you enjoy yours to the fullest!

Merry Christmas!

~ Susan

Christmas Chimes are Calling Santa

When I was a kid, we used to find a big calendar in the newspaper marking the day, time, and channel of all our favorite Christmas specials. We would highlight all the ones we wanted to watch and all gather around the TV and watch them together. It was part of Christmas.

Now my kids have the same Christmas specials either on DVD or Netflix and can watch them whenever they want. I think this takes away some of the magic. I don't think my children love these stories the way I loved them and still love them.

Every time they are on, they never fail to fill me with the Christmas Spirit.
Here are my favorites from when I was a kid.




1. Rudolph the Red nose Reindeer: I always love stories of misfits triumphing over odds. Doesn't everyone love to cheer for the underdog? The claymation characters are adorable, and the songs are fun too.

2. Frosty the Snowman: I love how they sing the song and tell the story at the same time, and the show has the best mustache twirling, evil antagonist of all time. "We evil magicians have to make a living too," and "Sorry to lose and run, but I've got to get busy writing. Busy! Busy! Busy!" Classic.

3. Charlie Brown Christmas: It really is one long Peanuts comic strip, but who doesn't love the Snoopy dance and everyone singing "Hark the Harold Angel's Sing" with their noses up in the air. Plus it is always nice to get a reminder of what Christmas is really about.

4. The Grinch Who Stole Christmas: This is by far my favorite. Dr. Seuss is of course a genius, and the songs perfectly match the amazing characters and world Dr Seuss created. The adorable dog Max was always my family's favorite.

5. Twas the Night Before Christmas: This one has the opposite message of The Grinch. The whole town whines about how they’re not going to get any presents from Santa. But despite the materialistic message, I love this story. The songs are so fun, and Albert the mouse is so cute, and it ends with that beautiful, timeless poem.

There isn't much to these stories. They are mostly just fun with simple themes and little depth (except The Grinch of course). But they take me back to a time when everything was simpler. When Christmas wasn't about shopping and baking and cleaning and stressing about getting everything done, but about counting all the presents under the tree, trying so hard to fall asleep, getting up at five AM and looking out the window hoping to see Santa fly away. When everything about Christmas was magical. These little stories make me feel that again. Remind me of the wonder and excitement and joy of Christmas.

For a story to do that, to tap into those memories and emotions, to capture the essence of Christmas, is truly amazing. That is what makes these stories classics. That is good story telling.



Merry Christmas, everyone!!!
And to those of you who don't celebrate Christmas, I hope you have a very nice Dec. 25th.

~MaryAnn