Notes, Notings, and Common Refrains

I sometimes use Windows' Solitare to answer a Yes/No question.

If there are four or more red cards showing, the answer is "Yes" (It's like flipping a coin, except I don't have to worry about the answer falling off the table and rolling to the other side of the room).

When I asked the Solitaire Oracle if I should post about how I learned to celebrate the Winter Holiday as I was growing up, it showed me: Black, Red, Red, Red, Red, Red, Black. That looks like a pretty emphatic "yes" to me, so:

My dad was an airline pilot; when he was working, he was gone for 3-4 days at a stretch. When he was home, he was fully home, and had time to spend with mother and me, so I probably had a stronger relationship with my father than other kids did, whose dads spent their time commuting to an office every day. But when he was gone, he was gone. So most of my cultural learning I got from Mom, since it was just her and I in the house, doing our thing.

I was raised, culturally, Christain (Quaker), but, in practical terms, my upbringing was secular. I was taught, by my parents, the story of Jesus' birth, and that the star on top of the tree represented the Star of Bethleham.* The music in our Christmas collection was all Traditional as in Folk or Classical-based (a lot of albums by Pete Seeger and Joan Collins and Leadbelly -- the Leadbelly album was one of our favorites). Never any Chimpmunks, or Bing Crosby. Many of the carols on those albums told the story from the human side of things: the social justice angle, focusing on the parents' poverty, and the generousity of strangers, rather than glorifying God and redemption from sin. My mother was about as tone deaf as anyone I've met, but we all, always, sang along with the records-- or danced; passive listening was not an option.

But mother also told me, from the time I was seven or so, that Jesus was not really born in December. That we celebrate Christmas when we do because of the ancient pagans who celebrated the winter solstice, that they would light candles and fires to entice the sun to come back, and bring greenery into the house to encourage life to keep going. And that the main reasons why we give gifts to each other, and have feasts and sing songs because we've got a long, cold winter ahead of us, and things would get very depressing, otherwise.

(I was five when she told me that "Pagan" meant country-dweller, and "Heathan" meant people who lived on the heath-- and that she admired pagan women for being strong; this was in 1969)

In my teens, she started a brief tradition of holding a Winter Solstice potluck party at our house, inviting all the neighbors over. When the sun set, she would try to encourage people to join in a collective cheer, to say good bye to the old sun, and get ready for the new one to come... mostly, people just looked at her like she was weird. But she cheered enthusiastically, anyway.

We always bought a live ball-and-burlap tree; we took off the decorations and moved it to the basement on Twelfth Night (I was also told it was bad luck to keep it up any longer), where it could stay cool-yet-protected until the ground thawed in the spring. Then it would get planted somewhere on the property.

She also told me that it was good luck to have a bird ornament somewhere on the tree, because it represented the continuation of life in the coming new year -- I really do not know which culture she got that from. Our ornaments were always eclectic and folk-arty /homemade -- none of this Martha-Stewart style "Theme" stuff. But nearly every year, we'd buy one new bird ornament to hang in the tree (And it was considered especially auspicious if we found a real bird's nest somewhere in the branches of our tree. I remember that happening a couple of times).

Anyway, that's what I remember. So it's hard for me to really get my head around the apparent conflict some see between celebrating Christmas and celebrating the winter solstice, because I've known all my life that the two are linked, and that both halves are important to people, though each half is more or less important to different people, and that's okay.

For the record, I never really talked to my mother about how she was raised, religiously. I think they went to an Episcipalian church in New York City when they were kids, though I think she and her siblings spent more time running around the church towers, getting into mischief, than actually listening to any of the sermons. She once told me, near the end of her life, that she considered Mathematics to be her religion, and that the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost were useful metaphors for the Past, Present and Future, respectively-- and that when we die, she thought it could be that we're reincarnated into the daisies that we push up, and that our souls, if souls we have, just become part of the pattern of energy in the universe as a whole. So I guess most "normal" people would call her an atheist. But she was a very spiritual, maybe-believing-in-magic-along-with-science, atheist. She specifically asked to be cremated, and for her ashes to be periodically spread on our compost heap.

I miss her. And I miss having someone else in the house to sing carols with. I have been singing them out loud, myself, but it's not the same.

---

*It was thin wood, a geometric design, and painted barn-red. My mother bought it at a Danish design store, iirc, for my parents' first Christmas as a married couple. I think we used it every year, at least, until Mom died.

She also bought, at the same time, a wooden Danish "Santa" decoration. It was a nearly two dimensional wooden sculpture of the Winter Gift-Giver, except for a wooden "button" nose, cotton wool beard, and a red wool tassle on the top of his red hat. He was painted with a blue coat, and white mittens, that had an abstract holly design on them, black shoes with buckles, and red-white-striped socks. He stood a little over 18 inches tall, irrc, and his wooden stand was about three inches wide. I miss him. There were also thumb-sized little wooden gnome/troll figures that managed to show up around the start of the season, placed in random spots around the house, on shelves and in odd corners.

---

Tomorrow is the start of Saturnalia!!

Because the poll response, yesterday, was in favor. And it was interesting to actually go back and look for what I've written (the earliest, I never wrote down, until now)

( A Filking I did of HOLLY AND IVY (December, 2001 [maybe?]) )

---

This one is my most successful; after I posted it to Mudcat, it got printed in a San Francisco folkmusic club's newsletter, and one Baptist musician asked if I would be offended if he adapted the lyrics to be more Christian (Turnabout=Fairplay FTW!!)

( RAISE ALL YOUR VOICES (November, 2002) )

---

This one is one of my personal favorites; I based it on tidbits from that book Santa Claus: Last of the Wild Men. In my personal Yule Fanon, Furry Nicholas (Pelznichol) kidnaps the naughty children and takes them back to his workshop, and forces them to make the toys for all the good children for a year-- sort of like supernatural Juvie Hall. ;-P

( BELLS ON THE WIND (December, 2004) )

---

This is my protest song against the saying that "It is better to give than to receive," because I know how insulting it feels to always be on the receiving end of charity (or even basic help). I also remember feeling depressed while writing this song (I think I was still coping with the fact that Shrub had just been re-elected), and so wrote it to cheer myself up.

( SIMPLE, LITTLE, THINGS (December, 2004) )

---

This is another dark one, at least, in terms of the tune it wanted to go with; I think I was having premonition of my father's cancer diagnosis, or something.

( TREE OF LIFE (December, 2005) )

---

I posted this last month, but for the sake of putting all my holiday songs together, for the record, I'm reposting. It's only tangentially Yuletide-themed, but it does mention winter, and the coming new year, so:

( MY FAIR SHIP (December, 2006) )

First of all, I trust readers of this LJ (especially those on my f'list) to be culturally literate to know that much of what we, today, recognize as aspects of the "Traditional Christmas" were actually revived, and (perhaps more important) reimagined by Charles Dickens, with his little novella A Christmas Carol, and that between the Cromwellian Revolt (Mid-1600s) and Dicken's day, the festival of Christmas had all but been forgotten, except by a few nostalgic and romantic souls.

The writings about this are all over the place, and I am too tired and cranky, right now, to sift through online sources to find the best of them and pick out the best quotes. So here is a page of Google hits for: "A Christmas Carol", "Charles Dickens", History-- happy web-surfing!

( Cut to avoid the wrath of tl;dr, while still keeping this an inflict-folklore-on-the-General-Public post )

Oh, and by the way, have a vintage illustration of "Father Christmas"

This is one of the ideas for funky, leftist, lawn art
I mentioned in that poll I posted;
(Illustration from The Book of Christmas, 1888)

I've posted this thought before, in Christmasses past, but I feel the need to say it afresh, with new words, rather than just posting an old link.

(And with Special Good Thoughts winging their way to Terry Pratchett)

THERE IS A PLACE WHERE TWO GALAXIES HAVE BEEN COLLIDING FOR A MILLION YEARS, said Death, apropos of nothing. DON'T TRY TO TELL ME THAT'S RIGHT.

"Yes, but people don't think about that," said Susan. Somewhere, there was a bed...

CORRECT. STARS EXPLODE. WORLDS COLLIDE. THERE IS HARDLY ANYWHERE IN THE UNIVERSE WHERE HUMANS CAN LIVE WITHOUT BEING FROZEN OR FRIED, AND YET, YOU BELIEVE THAT A ... A BED IS A NORMAL THING. IT IS THE MOST AMAZING TALENT.

"Talent?"

OH, YES. A VERY SPECIAL KIND OF STUPIDITY. YOU THINK THE WHOLE UNIVERSE IS INSIDE YOUR HEADS.

"You make us sound mad," said Susan. A nice warm bed...

NO. WE NEED TO BELIEVE IN THINGS THAT AREN'T TRUE. HOW ELSE CAN THEY BECOME? said Death, helping her up on to Binky.

--Hogfather, by Terry Pratchett.

---

Christmas, in Dickens' time, was nothing like the Christmas he wrote about in his little book A Christmas Carol. When the book came out, Scrooge's philosophy was that of the majority. Oh, scholars and historians were starting to take an interest in the ancient, almost forgotten rituals around December 25, and social progressives were writing pamphlets about the horrid living conditions of the poor (Dickens among them, to make ends meet, since his latest novel wasn't selling, and he had a new baby on the way).

But all that scholarly effort, and earnest social preaching and pamphlet-printing wasn't doing anything much to change things. And then, while out doing research for one such pamphlet, Dickens got the idea for a Christmas ghost story.

He became obsessed with it, and worked on nothing else for six weeks. His publishers had no faith in it, and suggested he send it in to be published in a magazine, instead. But Dickens had the feeling it needed to be a stand-alone book, hardcover, and paid all the costs for a vanity printing, in spite of the fact that money was so tight.

It was an instant hit. One reveiwer, after reading an advance copy, was so impressed, he sent out for a turkey that very evening, and invited friends in to dine.

And the small book ended up making Dickens' fortunes, again.

...

No, the Christmas he described in A Christmas Carol wasn't true. It did not exist. But Charles Dickens believed in the idea. And his creative powers of persuasion convinced others of the idea. And the Christmas that wasn't true became true.

...Just something to think about, as we enter the new year. And think about, if you have an idea you feel the need to get out there, and others try to dissuade you from self-publishing (or whatever else you need to do), because you'll only be taken seriously if you go through "legitimate," already established, channels.

Have a joyous, creative 2008, everyone!

And Happy Hogswatch!

(This post is also a reply to this one from spiralsheep, btw. But the spinster in that picture was using the modern, high-tech spinning wheel [came to Europe in the 16th century], and the heroine in this story is using a hand spindle, which has been around since roughly neolithic times, and is still in use around the world wherever people do not have finished floors in their houses.)

Frau Holle is the same goddess as Frau Perchta, that I equated with Mother Goose, here, but "Holle" is the name she goes by in northern Germany, and
"Perchta" is the name she goes by in southern Germany.

Note that A) Mother Holle brings the snow, and B) the rooster crows at the heroine's (and anti-heroine's) return.

(Translated in 1884 by Margaret Taylor, so it's public domain. So I'm posting it publicly. :-P)

MOTHER HOLLE

There was once a widow who had two daughters -- one of whom was pretty and industrious, whilst the other was ugly and idle. But she was much fonder of the ugly and idle one, because she was her own daughter; and the other, who was a step-daughter, was obliged to do all the work, and be the Cinderella of the house. Every day the poor girl had to sit by a well, in the highway, and spin and spin till her fingers bled.

Now it happened that one day the shuttle was marked with her blood, so she dipped it in the well, to wash the mark off; but it dropped out of her hand and fell to the bottom. She began to weep, and ran to her step-mother and told her of the mishap. But she scolded her sharply, and was so merciless as to say, "Since you have let the shuttle fall in, you must fetch it out again."

So the girl went back to the well, and did not know what to do; and in the sorrow of her heart she jumped into the well to get the shuttle. She lost her senses; and when she awoke and came to herself again, ( Read more... )

Because I'm just in a mood to post something cheerful and irrelevant.

Many, many years ago, I read an article in a Neo-Pagan Internet 'zine (Link now defunct) that made the argument that Mother Goose is the personification of the Solar Goddess in her Crone aspect, and that the gold egg her goose lays represents the rebirth of the winter sun.

The Mother Goose Treasury (From which I got my most recent rhyme postings) starts out with the full poem, from beginning to end. Probably, the poem itself was composed in the nineteenth century, or late eighteenth century (I can look it up, but I won't just now. That's just my guess), So I'm not making any claims that this is ancient folklore, or anything, though it quilts together elements from other folk stories.

Behind the cut, because it's long.

( Old Mother Goose, and the Golden Egg )

---

Faux (quasi) Historical side-note:

There is a theory that the "Real" Mother Goose was a Queen Bertha of France (either late Eighth or Tenth Centuries, depending on which story you choose to believe), which has been discounted by "serious" historians.

However, there is a figure in Southern German folklore called Frau Perchta (<- wikipedia article) or "Berchta," or "Bertha," as she's known in English. And we all know how the northern border of France/southern border of Germany can never quite make up its mind where it belongs, don't we?

Anyway, in my edition of Funk and Wagnall's Dictionary of Folklore, Mythology and Legend, the article of Frau Berchta says that in Christain times, she became the guardian of the souls of babies who were stillborn, or died before baptism, and on Twelfth Night, she would transform them into geese, and lead them in a flight over the world (Raymond Briggs' Snowman style). Sure sounds like a "Mother(ly) Goose" to me!

Here is a blog entry I just found that shows a softer, gentler version of Frau Berchta than the one painted in the Wikipedia article, that may have been a transition figure between the witch that eats your guts and the little old lady who does nothing worse than dropping babies' cradles from treetops: Where is Mother Goose from? Is she from France? From Germany?