Oh, Christmas Tree…

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National Christmas Tree, Washington DC, 1972
photo by Helen McMullin

On Christmas Eve 1923 President Calvin Coolidge walked from the White House to the Ellipse and threw the switch on the first National Christmas Tree, a 48 foot Balsam fir from his home state of Vermont decorated with 2,500 red, white and green bulbs.  A local choir and quartet from the U.S. Marine Band provided music for the occasion. I couldn’t find any records on how many people may have attended that first ceremony.

Now, 90 years later, the official lighting ceremony is so popular that attendance is by ticket only.  This year the 17,000 free tickets to the ceremony were distributed through an on-line lottery which ran from October 25 to October 29. The ceremony marks the beginning of the Pageant of Peace, a three week Christmas tradition which draws thousands of visitors and is free.  In addition to the national tree, a “Pathway of Peace” winds past 56 smaller trees representing the 50 states, five territories and District of Columbia which are decorated by sponsoring organizations from each state.  Other displays include model trains and Santa’s workshop, complete with Santa and his elves, reindeer from the National Zoo, and a wide variety of musical entertainment.

The lighting ceremony itself is one of those events where the best (and certainly warmest) view is from your couch, hot chocolate in hand, watching on tv.  That being said, everyone should be there in person at least once, for it is a very special experience.

I’ve only attended once, back in 1972 when I was working as a Park Ranger on an extended training assignment in Washington, DC with the U.S. Park Police.  It was an interesting time to be in Washington.  Richard Nixon had just been reelected for a second term, America was still embroiled in the Viet Nam war and the Watergate scandal was just beginning to rear its ugly head.  The Pageant of Peace that year had the potential to be anything but peaceful.

The 1972 National Christmas Tree was a 70 foot Engelmann Spruce from the Medicine Bow National Forest in Wyoming.  It was decorated with 9,000 green bulbs, 1,000 clear twinkling bulbs and 250 five-inch globes.  In addition to the 57 smaller (12 foot) trees, other displays included a life-size Nativity scene, lighted at night, a traditional Yule log, kept burning 24 hours a day during the pageant, and Santa’s reindeer, courtesy of the National Zoo. 

The reindeer became an unintended source of amusement for many of us working the Pageant.  It was apparently near the end of their breeding season according to Zoo folks and being confined in a small enclosure with nothing much else to do all day the reindeer regularly became rather amorous – usually about the same time bus loads of school kids descended on the Pageant.  More than once we were accosted by indignant teachers or parents demanding that “those disgusting beasts” be removed.  But they had their advantages, too.  If any small boys went missing, we learned they could usually be found at the reindeer enclosure hoping to improve their biology education.

The entire display required an enormous amount of power and extra circuits had to be provided by the power company.  Huge electrical cables snaked under the public walkways laid down over the grass and made walking outside the public areas an obstacle course challenge.  There had been snow on the ground, but as I remember, the day of the Pageant the temperature climbed into the mid 40′s and it rained – and then rained some more.  The snow melted, the grass churned up into a muddy morass and the walkways were wet and slick.  And it kept raining.  Which did not deter the visitors who poured into the President’s Park for the lighting ceremony, umbrellas, tarps and other coverings at the ready. 

Mainenance and electrical personnel scurried around trying to get last minute items taken care of and keep electrical equipment dry.  An electrician came by and ripped a tarp off the top of what looked like the tomb snake scene in “Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom.”  Electrical cables twisted and wound their way in all directions out of a huge box which sat in a low spot that was beginning to attract a puddle.  He plunged into the middle of the mess muttering “I hope this works, I hope this works,” made some adjustments, ripped the tarp back over the mess and disappeared into the rain, still muttering. 

As darkness approached, visitors, police, security personnel, and other behind-the-scenes workers, along with politicians, dignitaries and performers, gathered around and in the covered stage, trying to stay reasonably dry.  You could tell those of us who had been there for awhile – we squished and squelched.  I was glad for my Smokey Bear hat which at least kept rain from running down the back of my neck. 

Despite the weather, the crowd was cheery.  Looking back, security was far different from that of today.  The Park Police, DC Metropolitan Police and other agencies responsible for security and crowd contol were (and are) old hands at large gatherings and demonstrations. While we kept a watchful eye on people, there was no sudden rush to pounce if we spotted someone with strange bulges under their raincoats.  If we couldn’t figure out what musical instrument they were trying to keep dry, we asked. 

While the Marine Band was tuning up, the electrician appeared and dove into the cable snake pile again.  “I hope this is gonna work,” he muttered.  “I dunno which is gonna light up when the Vice President throws the switch, him or the damn tree.”  My partner and I moved a bit further back from the stage.

 family008tree

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The program went off more or less as scheduled, although where politicians and dignitaries are concerned, time is a relative matter.  The only hiccup occured when Secretary of the Interior Rogers Morton and Vice President Agnew engaged in a short but intense whispered exchange just back from the microphones.  These two big men – Morton stood 6’6, Agnew 6’2 – dominated the stage.  We couldn’t hear what they were saying but my partner said “Maybe they’re arguing over who has to throw the switch for the tree.”  This did not amuse the electrician who was still hovering nearby.

Finally, the moment came.  The Vice President finished his speech, all the lights were turned out around the Ellipse and Agnew threw the switch.  There was a moment of silence, the electrician took in a deep breath and held it, and then the National Tree began to light.  The electrician’s small whoop of joy was lost in the oohs and ahhs that rose from the crowd rose as the lights blazed to life from bottom to top, ending with the huge star on top . 

 The tree lights shimmered in the rain, with the Washington Monument glowing softly in the background on one side and behind us in the distance,President and Mrs. Nixon could be seen standing at the second floor windows of the White House, looking out.

There was almost complete silence in the crowd for a few moments and then, softly, a voice began singing “Silent Night.”  Slowly at first, other voices joined, until before long the Park was full of the sounds of the familiar hymn.  For a few minutes, weather and differences forgotten, we were one, reminded of the reason we celebrate this special season.

Merry (Politically Incorrect) Christmas

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Yesterday I went to our local Walgreens to do some quick shopping and was almost inside before I realized the Salvation Army Bell Ringer just outside the door had actually said “Merry Christmas” as I went by instead of delivering the usual “Happy Holidays” or other politically correct greeting you usually hear from these folks.  I just had to go back outside make sure I wasn’t hearing things but sure enough, the smiling young lady was wishing everyone a “Merry Christmas” as they went into the store.

I said “Thank you for that.  It’s so nice to hear someone saying ‘Merry Christmas’ now days.”  She said “I refuse to say ‘Happy Christmas’ or ‘Happy Holidays.’  ‘Merry Christmas’ is a part of long-standing Christmas tradition and I believe in tradition.  If people don’t like it, they don’t need to listen.” 

I didn’t realize how much I’ve missed the cheery “Merry Christmas!” greetings that always used to float through the air this time of year until I heard her.  In the push to be politically correct and not offend anyone so many have taken all the joy, color and tradition out of a very special time of year.  And if “Merry Christmas” doesn’t ring your bells this time of year, I like to hear “Happy Hanukkah,” “Happy Kwanzaa,” “Feliz Navidad” or whatever greeting is special to your particular religion or belief this time of year in return.  Even “Bah, humbug!” is better than “Happy Holidays.”  America may be one big melting pot but it’s never been a generic melting pot with everyone lumped into one big colorless lump of sameness.  The blend of cultures, religions and beliefs is what, to me, has always made this country great and what better time of year to celebrate and enjoy all that diversity than now.

Merry Christmas!  And if you have a different greeting special to this time of year, please share it, and its origins.

Happy Halloween!

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What are your favorite Halloween stories or movies? Which ones scare you into keeping the light on all night or just plain not sleeping at all? Or do scary stories bother you at all?

Ichabod Crane and The Headless Horseman, by William Wilgus 1856 Public Domain from Wikipedia.com

Washington Irving’s short story ”Legend of Sleepy Hollow,” published in 1817 (or 1820, depending on what source you look at) is still a scary story.  For some a story about being chased at night by a horseman with a pumpkin for a head may sound just plain silly but when I was growing up we lived in the country and it didn’t take much for my overactive imagination to come up with some vivid mental pictures.  Needless to say, my folks didn’t have to worry where I was after dark.

Then came Walt Disney’s “Legend of Sleepy Hollow” in 1949.  I still get shivers when I watch it.  I’m not quite sure why when I look at it rationally.   Ichabod certainly isn’t your idea of a brave and dashing hero.  Gawky, awkward and downright homely, he’s the 1820 version of today’s socially inept nerd.  And then there’s his horse.  It looks like it was put together with whatever parts were leftover from assembling a moose.  On the whole they’re an unappealing pair and then comes the question of why anyone would be dumb enough to ride alone through those woods at that time of night.  Of course something is going to happen.  Just listen to the music.

And then comes the headless horseman.  I don’t know about you, but for me that sight, in the middle of the woods on a dark and windy night, would be one of those cases where first I’d say it and then I’d do it.  Definitely new underwear time.  And that’s before the pumpkin appears.  Or the glowing red eyes and nostrils.  Forget it.

If you haven’t seen it, it’s worth watching.  If you have watch it again.  It’s one of our Halloween traditions.

 

My other favorite Halloween story, or poem, if you will, isn’t specific to Halloween but for me it certainly fits .

“The Highwayman” is a narrative poem written by Alfred Noyes which was first published in August 1906. The following year it was included in a collection of Noyes’ works, becoming an immediate success. 

I found this image on multiple web pages but never with an notation to where it came from. If anyone knows, please tell me!

The poem, set in 18th century England, tells the story of an unnamed highwayman who is in love with Bess, an innkeeper’s daughter. Betrayed to the authorities by a stableman, the highwayman escapes ambush when Bess sacrifices her life to warn him. Learning of her death he dies himself in a futile attempt at revenge, shot down on the highway. In the final stanza, the ghosts of the lovers meet again on winter nights.

Noyes, age 24, had taken rooms in a cottage in at the edge of a desolate stretch of land called Bagshot Heath in West Surrey, England. In his autobiography, he recalled: “‘The Highwayman’ suggested itself to me one blustery night when the sound of the wind in the pines gave me the first line.”

“The Highwayman“

The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees.
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas.
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding—
Riding—riding—
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.
 
He’d a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin.
They fitted with never a wrinkle. His boots were up to the thigh.
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
His pistol butts a-twinkle,
His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.

Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard.He tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred.

He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord’s black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord’s daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

 

And dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
Where Tim the ostler listened. His face was white and peaked.
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
But he loved the landlord’s daughter,
The landlord’s red-lipped daughter.
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say—

 

“One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I’m after a prize to-night,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;
Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way.”

 

He rose upright in the stirrups. He scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair in the casement. His face burnt like a brand
As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;
And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,
(O, sweet black waves in the moonlight!)
Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.
 
He did not come in the dawning. He did not come at noon;
And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise of the moon,
When the road was a gypsy’s ribbon, looping the purple moor,
A red-coat troop came marching—
Marching—marching—
King George’s men came marching, up to the old inn-door.

 

They said no word to the landlord. They drank his ale instead.
But they gagged his daughter, and bound her, to the foot of her narrow bed.
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side!
There was death at every window;
And hell at one dark window;
For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.

 

They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest.
They had bound a musket beside her, with the muzzle beneath her breast!
“Now, keep good watch!” and they kissed her. She heard the doomed man say—
Look for me by moonlight;
Watch for me by moonlight;
I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way!

 

She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years
Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold, on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!

 

The tip of one finger touched it. She strove no more for the rest.
Up, she stood up to attention, with the muzzle beneath her breast.
She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again;
For the road lay bare in the moonlight;
Blank and bare in the moonlight;
And the blood of her veins, in the moonlight, throbbed to her love’s refrain.

 

Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horsehoofs ringing clear;
Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding—
Riding—riding—
The red coats looked to their priming! She stood up, straight and still.

 

Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer. Her face was like a light.
Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight,
Her musket shattered the moonlight,
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him—with her death.

 

He turned. He spurred to the west; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with her head o’er the musket, drenched with her own blood!
Not till the dawn he heard it, and his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord’s daughter,
The landlord’s black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.

 

Back, he spurred like a madman, shouting a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high.
Blood red were his spurs in the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat;
When they shot him down on the highway,
Down like a dog on the highway,
And he lay in his blood on the highway, with a bunch of lace at his throat.

 

 
And still of a winter’s night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
A highwayman comes riding—
Riding—riding—
A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.

 

Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard.
He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred.
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord’s black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord’s daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
 
…………………………………………..
 
Whether you like scary, slasher, funny or spooky, have a HAPPY, safe Halloween and drive fly safely.

 

The Funny, Fascinating, Frightening “F”

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For the past several weeks various bloggers I follow have been playing the Letter Game floating around blogger cyber-space.  The game’s only rule seems to be to get a random letter from another blogger and then blog about ten things that begin with that letter.  The results are witty, thought-provoking and downright funny and kept tempting me to participate, but I resisted, given the list of things on my to-do list that I was already ignoring.  Then I lost my to-do list, read Jenny Hansen’s Titillating Tenacity of Tiny “T”on her Cowbell blog and decided I just had to do this.

from http://bustedbutton.com via Pinterest

Jenny gave me the letter “F”  to experiment with and I’ve been pondering it for several days.  There are lots of possibilities for F-words, but let’s face it, what’s the first F-word that comes to your mind??  Come on, be honest!  It’s a word I hate to hear and will only use if I get really, really angry, but it’s also the first one that popped into my mind.  So, rather than write around the elephant in the room, I thought perhaps I’d confront it first. 

 

 

The F-Word, The F-Bomb, or whatever you prefer to call it, or not call it, has been around a surprisingly long time.  The first generally accepted written occurence is in a poem composed sometime before 1500, but it was used far more extensively in common speech than in traceable writings, so it’s hard to pinpoint its exact origins.  Its meaning, however, has never changed, and it appears the word has always been considered obscene.  If you’re really bored some day there are a number of interesting Urban Legends that have grown up about various acronymns that try to explain how the word was formed, but its origins go back much further.  So much for today’s generations thinking they’ve discovered a new and original word to shock their parents.

OK, so much for the elephant.  Now on to better and more entertaining F-words.

#1.  Fudge.  One of my favorite food groups and a guaranteed way to get your chocolate and sugar fixes all at once.  The fudge recipe in our family, which goes back at leat 3 generations,  is very simple:

3 c. sugar
1 c. milk (dilute half if canned milk used)
3 tbsp. cocoa
1 tsp. vanilla
1 tsp. butter
Mix sugar, cocoa and milk, cook to soft ball stage.  Remove pan from heat and place in cold water to cool.  Add vanilla and butter, stir to creamy consistency and pour out onto buttered dish or pan.  If fresh, whole milk is available it makes marvelously creamy fudge.

It can be a bit tricky – let it cool too long and you get a pan full of hard sugar.  I learned to get it right from watching my Mom make it and then having her look over my shoulder while I finished a batch.  My husband had never tried this variety of fudge before and it’s still too sugary for him.  I, on the other hand, still have a hard time getting used to the stickier sweetened milk and/or marshmallow creme varieties.

#2.  French Fries.  I’m from Idaho, smack dab in the middle of the land of famous Idaho potatoes.  I grew up on potatoes and I love them in just about any style, but French fries are probably my favorite.  When we were kids out horseback riding we’d go along the edge of a potato field, dig up raw potatoes and eat them, dirt and all.  One of the horses we rode also loved raw potatoes, so you’d have to get an extra for him, too. 

 

from wikimedia commons

#3.  Fireflies.  We don’t have fireflies in Idaho.  I was always fascinated reading about them in various children’s stories and thought how much more fun they’d be than the moths and gnats we got at night.  As an adult, I went with my Mother to Branson, Missouri and one evening we attended an outdoor performance of “Shepherd of the Hills.”  As dusk settled over the packed crowd the fireflies began winking on and off throughout the trees, over our heads and across the stage, lending a mystical fairyland atmosphere to the play.  It was totally enchanting.

 

#4.  Francis Crawford.  The hero of Dorothy Dunnett’s six volume “The Lymond Chronicles,”  historical fiction which tells the story of Francis Crawford of Lymond, a Scottish nobleman.  Spanning the years from 1547-1558 and spreading across Europe, the Near East, Russia and Scotland the books weave fictional characters with real life historical figures.  She weaves a fascinating web of plots and subplots, romance, wild chases, and comedy into her novels.  Think Errol Flynn as Robin Hood, Johnny Depp as Captain Jack Sparrow, Antonio Banderas as Zorro, combine them with any swashbuckling hero of your choice and you have Francis.  If you like historical fiction, you’ll love Francis, but beware:  he’s not an easy read – you have to pay attention. 

 

#5.  Frightening.  With Halloween just around the corner, the usual run of horror and slasher movies are showing up on tv once more.  I’ve never been a fan of the “slasher” movies – maybe it’s because there are only so many ways you can stab, slash and dismember someone before all those assorted body parts and fake blood become rather boring.  Give me a good old Vincent Price movie any day.  His characters were creepy, evil and downright scary and his silky, sinister voice sent chills up our spines during Saturday matinees.  Although he played a variety of film and theater roles over his long career he’s probably best known for his creepy villains in horror movies.  Even when he was doing campy takeoffs on horror movies he was still scary.  Off-screen, he was a noted gourmet cook, authoring several cookbooks – we still use his recipe for prime rib and Yorkshire pudding over the holidays.  He was also an art collector and for a number of years Sears offered “The Vincent Price Collection of Fine Art,” with Price selecting and commissioning the works offered for sale.

#6.  Frankenweenie.  The first version of Tim Burtons’ movie in 1984 was a 30 minute live action parody of the 1931 Frankenstein movie, this time featuring a bull terrier named Sparky, who is hit by a car and then brought back to life by his young owner.  It’s cute, especially since it includes a bull terrier, my favorite dog breed, but a bit unsettling even though the actual accident is never seen.  The 2012 version is an 87 minute stop action 3D animation released earlier this month.  I haven’t seen it yet but it’s getting basically good reviews.  The new Sparky is fueling an enthusiastic collecting frenzy among my bull terrier friends.

#7.  Frankenstein.  It’s amazing what an impact a book written by an 18 year old girl in 1818 still has today.  Originally titled “Frankenstein:  The Modern Prometheus,” it still inspires plays, movies, video games, and derivative works around the world.  The character of the monster is one of the most recognized icons in horror fiction.  Originally the monster was nameless but who remembers it should be “Frankenstein’s monster” for the doctor who created it? And is there anyone who does not automatically picture Boris Karloff as the monster?  He played the monster in the original 1931 movie and two sequels and went on to play sinister characters in many different movies.  In real life, however,  he was a quiet, gentle man who contributed to children’s charities and for many years dressed as Father Christmas to hand out presents to physically disabled children in a Baltimore hospital.

 

#8.  Finished.  As in “That’s all, folks!”  I could go on forever but this is quite long enough!  But tell me, what are your favorite F-words??

Atta Boy, Chuck Yeager

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On Sunday, October 14, 2012, most media attention was focused on 43 year old Felix Baumgartner as he became the first skydiver to break the sound barrier as he jumped from a balloon from 23 miles above the earth over New Mexico.

On that same day, an F-15 took off from Nellis Air Force Base in Nevada and flying at 33,000 feet over the Mohave Desert “laid down a pretty good sonic boom” over Edwards Air Force Base in California.  It was almost exactly 65 years ago to the minute, on October 14, 1947, that the same pilot, in an experimental jet dropped from a B-29 bomber, became the first test pilot to officially break the sound barrier over the same Edwards Air Force Base.

“Retired” Brigadier General Chuck Yeager is now 89 years old.  So much for being put out to pasture.  He admits he didn’t pilot the F-15 all the way, but he was at the controls when they broke the sound barrier and finished off the flight with a fly-by to buzz the tower on the return to Nellis.

General Yeager has always been one of my heroes.  I’m not sure where I first encountered his story but I do remember seeing documentary footage of his X1 flight and reading about him when I was a kid.  For the most part, though, he wasn’t well known outside military and aviation circles until publication in 1979 of Thomas Wolfe’s book, “The Right Stuff,” about early test pilots and American astronauts, followed by the movie in 1983.  Suddenly he and other test pilots of the 1940′s and 1950′s were given some of the recognition they so richly deserved for their roles in flying and testing experimental aircraft that continually pushed to go higher, further and faster than the ones before. He wasn’t eligible to become a NASA astronaut because he hadn’t been to college, but nearly half of the astronauts who served in the Gemini, Mercury and Apollo programs were graduates of his Air Force Aerospace Research Pilots School. 

Chuck Yeager in X-1 “Glamorous Glennis.” Photo from USAF via Wikimedia Commons

His career began in World War II as a Private in the United States Army Air Forces. After serving as an aircraft mechanic in September 1942 he entered enlisted pilot training and upon graduation was promoted to the rank of Flight Officer becoming a P-51 Mustang fighter pilot. Yeager later commanded fighter squadrons and wings in Germany and in Southeast Asia during the Vietnam War, and in recognition of the outstanding performance ratings of those units he then was promoted to brigadier general. Yeager’s flying career spans more than 60 years and has taken him to every corner of the globe. On March 1, 1975 he retired from the Air Force at Norton Air Force Base, but still occasionally flew for the USAF and NASA as a consulting test pilot at Edwards AFB. For his consultant work to the Test Pilot School Commander at Edwards Air Force Base, Yeager was paid one dollar annually, along with all the flying time he wanted. The $1 allowed him to be covered by workers compensation. 

In 2004, Congress voted to authorize the President to promote Yeager to the rank of major general on the retired list. In 2005, President George W. Bush granted the promotion of both Yeager and (posthumously) air-power pioneer Billy Mitchell to major general.  Only Mitchell and Jimmy Stewart had previously been recipients of post-retirement promotions.

Chuck Yeager is unquestionably the most famous test pilot of all time and is considered by many to be one of the best pilots of all time. He proved on Sunday (as if he needed to!) that he unquestionably still has “The Right Stuff.”

“Where The Dawn Comes Up Like Thunder…”

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Sunrise in Oklahoma through smoke from 1988 Yellowstone Fires Photo by Robert J. Rathgeber via Wikimedia Commons

 For most of the summer our skies have been smoky, courtesy of the massive fires in Idaho and other parts of the west.  This morning, once again, smoke turned the sunrise seeping through the blinds in our bedroom blood red.  In the words of Rudyard Kipling “…An’ the dawn comes up like thunder outer China ‘crost the Bay!” 

This line has always spoken to me when our sunrises are so vivid.  If they came with sound it would have to be rolling thunder, ominous and threatening, more than just a bit unsettling.

I don’t remember when I was first introduced to Kipling’s poetry but I’ve always loved it.  The pictures his poems painted fueled my imagination:

“Oh, East is East and West is West, and never the twain shall meet, Till Earth and Sky stand presently at God’s great Judgment Seat; But there is neither East nor West, Border, nor Breed, nor Birth, When two strong men stand face to face, though they come from the ends of the earth!”
The Ballad of East and West

copyright Peter Stackpole, from University of Arizona Libraries

 

“By the livin’ Gawd that made you,
You’re a better man than I am, Gunga Din!”
Gunga Din

My mental picture of Gunga Din will forever and always be of Sam Jaffe playing the part in the 1939 movie,Gunga Din, starring Cary Grand, Douglas Fairbanks, Jr., and Victor McLaglen. 

 

 

“They are hangin’ Danny Deever, you must mark ‘im to ‘is place,
For ‘e shot a comrade sleepin’ – you must look ‘im in the face;
Nine ‘undred of ‘is county an’ the Regiment’s disgrace,
While they’re hangin’ Danny Deever in the mornin’.”
Danny Deever

I had a vivid imagination and this one always made shivers run up and down my spine.

Did I mention that my taste in poetry did not run to the “sappy” stuff when I was growing up? I read Elizabeth Browning and Robert Browning somewhere along the way but I was definitely not a romantic, and “How do I love thee?” just didn’t do a thing for me. Give me Robert Service any day:

photo by Ian MacKenzie, from WikiMedia

“There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.”
The Ballad of Sam McGee

My cousin once memorized this whole poem when we were teenagers. Her taste in poetry was as weird as mine.

“So I buried him as the contract was
In a narrow grave and deep,
And there he’s waiting the Great Clean-up,
When the Judgment sluice-heads sweep;
And I smoke my pipe and I meditate
In the light of the Midnight Sun,
And sometimes I wonder if they was,
The awful things I done.
And as I sit and the parson talks,
Expounding of the Law,
I often think of poor old Bill –
And how hard he was to saw.”
The Ballad of Blasphemous BillMy first exposure to this poem was a recording by Hank Snow, whose voice was perfect for the Robert Service poems. The last line made my hair stand on end.

Robert Service and Rudyard Kipling were both fascinating literary figures who had the ability to paint such vivid pictures with their poetry that I was drawn into their very different worlds (although both wrote prose as well, it’s the poetry of both I remember best). They transported me from rural Idaho to exotic India and cold Alaska and opened up new horizons.

One summer in Yellowstone a seasonal ranger I worked with was given to suddenly spouting rather bawdy versions of what sounded like a Robert Service poem but turned out to be a parody by Edward E. Paramore, Jr., better known as a screenwriter for Paramount Pictures. In the days before Google it took me forever to track down but it was worth the effort.

“But a hopeless rake was Yukon Jake,
The hermit of Shark Tooth Shoal!
And the dizzy maid he rebetrayed
And wrecked her immortal soul!…

Then he rowed her ashore, with a broken oar,
And he sold her to Dan McGrew
For a husky dog and some hot eggnog –
As rascals are wont to do.”

OK, this probably didn’t exactly expand my horizons, but it was great fun.

Probably the closest thing to a romantic poem that appealed to me as a teenager was “The Highwayman“ by English poet and author Alfred Noyes.

I found this marvelous illustration on a number of web pages, but never any attribution. If anyone knows where it came from, please let me know.

“The wind was a torrent of darkness upon the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight looping the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding–Riding–riding–
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn door. ”

It’s a tragic love story which can still make me teary-eyed, but so descriptive that it’s always been almost like watching a movie in my mind from the first time I read it.

 

How about you?  What poems, quirky or romatic, speak to you?  I’m not much of a poetry reader, so I’d be interested in hearing comments about poems/poets that are worth exploring, whether they’re old or new.

Li’l Bit – A Year Plus and Counting

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I’ve written several times about Lil Bit, the bull terrier puppy from Texas who was rescued by a very determined young lady who made up her mind to give this severely abused and neglected animal a chance at life.  What a difference a year has made.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 Lil Bit had what is hopefully her last surgery on August 23 to have the plate and screws removed from her crippled front leg.  On September 14 she had the stitches out.  How would you like to have all that metal in your leg?? 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She’s been having some problems with her immune system (who wouldn’t after all she’s been through) but hopefully vitamins, careful monitoring and loving care will take care of that.  She was just recently sent home with a prescription for lots of running and playing and is doing doggie physical therapy.  For now, the prognosis is for a long, happy and spoiled life annoying her siblings and bossing everyone.  Check out her highness on Facebook and know why her nickname (or one of them) is now Lil S**t.

 

Goodbye and God Speed, Neil Armstrong

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 It’s impossible now to put into words the impact Neil Armstrong and the other Mercury, Gemini and Apollo austronauts had on me and on my world as I was growing up.  Having always been a science fiction fan, space travel fascinated me.  Starting with Project Mercury in 1959 and progressing through the Project Gemini and early Project Apollo missions I crawled out of bed at all kinds of odd hours to watch every  launch, suffering along with Walter Cronkite and millions of other Americans at every delay and countdown hold.  I still can’t watch “The Right Stuff” or “From the Earth to the Moon” without choking up from the memories of the Apollo One disaster.  We lived through the real thing and it was heart breaking, bringing home to the American people just how much these men were risking to get America into space and to the moon.

In 1969 I was working for the National Park Service in Yellowstone Park.  I’d joined a Montana chapter of the National Federation of Business and Professional Women’s Clubs and they somehow managed to persuade me to participate in the statewide Young Career Woman program, which was meant to help mentor young career women and promote leadership experience.  I was selected Montana Young Career Woman, which meant an expense-paid trip to the national BPW Convention in July in St. Louis, where I joined 45 other state Young Career Women and three international representatives for a week of activities.

On Sunday evening, July 20, 1969 the Young Career Women, in formal evening wear, were supposed to join the Presidents from their respective states on stage at Keil Auditorium for the formal opening of the Convention. We knew the Eagle had landed on the Moon earlier and were all anxious to see what was happening when someone discovered one of the security guards had a small black and white tv in his office backstage.  Word spread and before long a gaggle of evening gown-clad girls in high heels were gathered around the tv with the security guards, watching intently as the grainy black and pictures were beamed back to earth.  When our turn came to go on stage to be introduced we’d dash out, grab our state president, make the round as fast as we could and then dash back to the tv.  The crowd kept growing.  A guard had left an outside door open for air and people on the street who saw the tv were coming in to watch.  Finally, Neil Armstrong emerged from the Moon lander and made his way down the steps.  You could have heard a pin drop in the room, and then a spontaneous cheer went up as his foot touched the surface.  It’s a memory that will remain with me always.

Shortly after his death, his family released a statement: “For those who may ask what they can do to honor Neil, we have a simple request. Honor his example of service, accomplishment and modesty, and the next time you walk outside on a clear night and see the moon smiling down at you, think of Neil Armstrong and give him a wink.”

This wink’s for you, Neil Armstrong.

Christmas Comes Twice A Year…

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Merry Christmas(es), Yellowstone Style 

 

Ho! Ho! Ho!  And a very Merry Christmas from everyone who celebrates Yellowstone Christmas each summer, whether you live in Yellowstone or not.  No, I really haven’t been experimenting with the Christmas eggnog recipes w-a-a-a-y too early this year.  In Yellowstone, “Christmas comes twice a year:  Once at home and once up here.”  The “Once up here” is on August 25, when Yellowstone Park concessionaire employees go all out to celebrate their alternate holiday.

When I worked there the Park Service didn’t take an active role in the celebrations but we always knew when the decorations came out, the trees went up and stores started playing Christmas carols.  That’s when the bewildered tourists, dressed in shorts, Hawaiian shirts and sandals would start wandering into the ranger station, confused looks on their faces, muttering “Um, the store over there has a Christmas tree up and they’re playing Christmas carols,  Um, why are they doing that?”  “Oh, Christmas is coming on August 25, so they’re getting ready for the Christmas party and Santa Claus.”

You can watch them count mentally on their fingers – August, September, October, November, December to make sure they have the right month and then ask “but this is August?  Christmas isn’t until December? “  This is usually asked hesitantly, like perhaps while they were on vacation someone moved Christmas. “Why are you doing it now?  Why is it twice a year?”

No one knows for sure when or exactly how Christmas in Yellowstone started, but tradition has it that sometime in the early 1900′s a sudden blizzard stranded stagecoach passengers at Old Faithful Inn and they made the most of their unexpected stop by having an impromptu Christmas party, complete with tree decorating, gift exchange and carols.  That works if you ignore the fact weather records for the Park indicate the most snow that ever fell in August between 1904, when the Old Faithful Inn opened,  and 1941 was 1.8 inches on August 18, 1932. Some say the “legend” was started to obscure what were probably the more accurate but less romantic beginnings of the celebration.

Beginning in the 1930′s celebrating Christmas in July was popular in various parts of the country, including Yellowstone, although it wasn’t a big celebration in the Park.  There the concessionaire employees, commonly known as “Savages,” held a much more popular Savage Day Celebration at Old Faithful on July 25, complete with floats and a parade and ending with a large masquerade ball in the evening.  The event also started in the 1930′s, possibly as part of an employees-only extension of the Christmas in July festivities.  By 1953 the annual event had become a Parkwide celebration, great fun for the employees but annoying to the employers and Park Service because it interfered with tourist services.  The Park Superintendent asked the managers of the three main concession operations to put a stop to the celebrations. 

They were undoubtedly aware that trying to completely stop such a popular celebration would be difficult, if not impossible and while 1953 was the last year “Savage Days” were held in the Park by 1955 it had been replaced by a Savage Christmas.  For several years the celebration was held on either July 25 or August 25, but by 1959 August 25 had become the “official” date, probably for several reasons.  In those days the tourist season in Yellowstone began winding down by Labor Day and since a large number of “Savages” were teachers or college students many started leaving for home the end of August, making it a goodbye celebration as well.  August 25 is also the anniversary of the National Park Service.  Last, but certainly not least, the founder of A Christian Ministry in the National Parks, Warren Ost, who worked as a bellhop at the Old Faithful Inn, had begun forming choirs in the Park and from the early 1950s through the 1990s performances of Handel’s “Messiah” were a part of the Christmas tradition. Since the choirs were formed mainly from seasonal employee ranks, most of whom arrived in June, the change in dates allowed an extra month of practice.

One year, several of my Park Service colleagues and I put our heads together and decided to come up with a Yellowstone-appropriate All Points Bulletin for Santa Claus.  It had something to do with a truckload of stolen elk driven by a jolly fat man with a long white beard and I think there was a stolen sled somewhere in there.  I was working night shift as a dispatcher at Park Headquarters, so late “Christmas Eve”  when all was relatively quiet, I read the APB over the Park radio network, trying not to laugh.  There were scattered acknowledgements, with a few chuckles, but then…  “Dispatch,” came the excited, out-of-breath response on the radio, “I missed the first part of that, but I think I saw a truck fitting that description go by awhile ago.  Should I go after it or set up a roadblock at the Junction in case he comes back?”  Tim was a new seasonal ranger, one of those big, blond kids with blue eyes who would look 12 when he turned 60, very hard working and earnest, but without a sense of humor.  If it had been anyone else, we would have known it was a quick-thinking extension of the joke, but Tim was completely serious.  The rest of his transmission was lost in my howls of laughter and the switchboard lighting up as phone calls started coming in from all over the Park as anyone monitoring a radio, including the Superintendent, joined in the fun.  I finally managed to squeak out ”Stand by,” while I tried to figure out a coherent response but was saved by his boss.  “Tim, why don’t you come by the ranger station and we’ll discuss what we’re going to do?” The next Christmas, Tim made sure he had the night off.

 

R.I.P. Rufus April 8, 2000 – August 10, 2012

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In Memorium 

“Rufus”
Rocky Top’s Sundance Kid
April 8, 2000 – August 10, 2012

Ch. Rocky Top’s Sundance Kid was the most decorated bull terrier of all time. During the 2005-2006 show season he won the triple crown of U.S. dog shows: The National Dog Show Presented by Purina, the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show and the Morris & Essex Kennel Club show, which is held only once every five years.He also won the Canadian championship, the Mexican championship, the world championship and the Championship of the Americas.

For those of us crazy enough to be owned by a bull terrier, Rufus was something special, the first colored bull terrier to win Best In Show at Westminster and only the second bull terrier in 87 years to win there.  Once he retired from the show ring at age 9, he was named Canine Ambassador for the National Dog Show Presented by Purina.  He also earned his Canine Good Citizen Award from the American Kennel Club and Therapy Dog International Certification allowing him to do therapy dog work and serve as an ambassador for the breed.

The night he won Westminster, in February 2006, I remember sitting glued to the t.v. with my Mom and husband as the show proceeded from Best in Breed to Best in Group and finally to Best In Show.  Rufus did his rounds with that jaunty stride and devil-may-care look that said “Here I am world, look at me.”  One of the announcers said later that Rufus didn’t get the award, he went out and took it like he owned the place. After what seemed like an interminable delay came the announcement “and the winner is…the colored bull terrier.”  My husband claims his ears rang for a week.  What can I say?  I tend to get excited.  I wasn’t the only one.  Rufus’ “Dad,” Tom Bishop, who was sitting in the stands, got so excited he launched himself backwards down several rows trying to get to the ring.  Fortunately, he wasn’t hurt.  When they took the traditional late night post-show tour, Tom carried Rufus through the streets of New York to keep him out of the salty, slushy snow on the sidewalks.

For Tom and Barb, thank you for sharing Rufus with us and the world.  He was a great ambassador for the breed, but more than that he was your cherished and very spoiled bully baby.