Winter Solstice II © Jerena
Tobiasen
Photo by Comfreak, Pixabay
Eirlys, the Winter Fairy, swung her dainty feet to the floor and scrubbed autumn sleep from her eyes. A sleep well earned, she thought, recalling how she had spent the previous day flitting through the forest, ensuring that the last animals were secure in their dens, that those birds who should have flown south were away, that the deciduous leaves were shed, that the coniferous cones were buried beneath decaying leaves, and that only cloudberries remained on stems awaiting her picking. “Winter Solstice!” she said aloud, her voice melodious. “My powers will return to me now!” She jumped to her feet, flung out her arms and twirled around her small chamber with joy. As the speed of her twirling increased, her nightgown billowed around her like the petals of a daisy. Her vision smeared into a kaleidoscope of bright colours. She felt her powers return, strengthening her resolve and determination. She twirled on and on until at long last the speed with which she turned carried her upward. She glanced at her crumpled bed below, opened her wings, and settled gracefully onto a carpet of woven swan down that covered the centre of the room.
Eirlys sighed contentedly, catching sight of herself in the shard of glass hung above a stack of match boxes that she had long ago stacked for use as a chest of drawers. The glass reflected her dishevelled appearance, and she released a giggle of pleasure. “Winter Solstice waits for no one,” she said gleefully, “especially the Winter Fairy!” She glanced out her window admiring the glow of a rare full moon. “I’d better hurry,” she said noting the moon’s position. “The Great Man of the Winter Solstice will be arriving at the cloudberry hive soon. I want to accompany Senior Sprite Winter during the final inspection.” Eirlys dressed carefully, donning a gossamer dress made of delicate snowflakes and spider silk. She piled her long, silver locks into a crown, held in place with jewelled dew drops, then slipped her petite feet into grey felt slippers made for her long ago by a family of rabbits who lived in a den nearby. Satisfied that she appeared every inch the Winter Fairy, she donned a cloak of royal blue, a gift given to her by the night stars on her birth at the beginning of time. The Winter Fairy fastened her cloak and stepped into the night. She peered at the orb of light that lit the land, and rose slowly, her wings stirring the crystals of night. Magic! she thought. My magic has returned, and tonight I will ride with the Great Man of the Winter Solstice. Eirlys sped toward the cloudberry hive, flitting high above a land in winter slumber. As she approached the hive, she spotted her friend Winter standing next to a stack of baled cloudberry bars made of de-beaded berries and seasoned reindeer fat. His fists rested easily on his hips. An expression of pride seemed to tug on his lips as he supervised the work of his crews.
“Win!” she said as she fluttered to a soft landing beside him. “Are you ready for the final inspection? “Hello, Eirlys,” he said, running his fingers through a mop of night blue locks. “I am. Everything should be ready. One last review before the Great Man arrives.” “He should be here any time now,” Eirlys said. “He’s never late.” Off to their left, a horn of delightful tinkling announced commencement of the final examination. Hive crews assembled next to their work and waited patiently. Together, Winter and Eirlys strolled along the line of baled cloudberry bars. Sprites and fairies eagerly awaited approval of their efforts. As they approached the final bales, Winter paused, tugging at the strings of cedar bark that held the bars in place. The string sliced through the bars. “The bars are too soft!” he said, his voice sounding anxious. “What’s happening?” He turned eyes full of worry toward Eirlys. “It must be too warm!” Eirlys’ eyes widened with fear and astonishment. “Oh my!” she said. “How can that be? I checked the temperature myself.” She squinted at Winter. “Were all the ingredients measured and prepared precisely?” “Of course, they were!” Winter replied defensively. “Always!” “Wait here,” Eirlys said. “I’ll check the other bales.” Hurriedly, Eirlys flitted along the line of baled bars, tugging randomly at the cedar bark ties. Moments later, she re-appeared at Winter’s side. “All of the bales are showing signs of softening and sagging,” she said, her voice full of despair. “What are we to do?” Winter said.
“First,” Eirlys replied, “we must think!” She folded her arms across her chest, tapped her tiny foot and thought. “There must be something to do,” Winter muttered, folding his arms and biting into his lower lip. Eirlys sighed, raising her eyes to the night sky. Suddenly, her eyes widened with delight. “It’s the moon!” she said. “We rarely see a full moon at this time of year. Its glow is too bright!” “Well,” Winter said, his shoulders slouching, “I’d say we have a problem then.” He gazed at Eirlys, his eyes filling with tears. “Even you and the Great Man can’t change the moon.” He dropped to a stump and hid his face in his hands. “You’re right, of course,” Eirlys said. “I can’t change the glow of a full moon . . . but-” She smiled a great dazzling fairy smile at her friend. “I can make it cold. I can form ice crystals and bind them into clouds that will shroud the bales from the moon’s glow!” “We don’t have time!” Winter said, lamenting. “We have not choice,” Eirlys said firmly. “Here, hold onto my cloak!” No sooner had Winter accepted the garment and draped it over his arm, than Eirlys took to wing. She darted from one end of the baled line to the other. Back and forth, she flew. Up and down, fanning the night with her magical chill. Clouds of crystals encircled the bars. Crews of sprites and fairies flapped arms and wings to stave off the sudden frost, forcing it back toward the bales. “Test the cedar strings now,” Eirlys said, shouting from above.
Winter raised his arm toward a sprite crew, encouraging their inspection. When they began dancing about, hugging each other and laughing joyfully, Winter tugged some strings himself. “It’s working!” he said, his breath freezing as he spoke. Eirlys grinned, landing next to him. “I think this is going to be a long night,” she said, scrunching her face. “I’ll have to monitor the moonglow to ensure the bars don’t soften during our journey.” “At least we discovered the problem and have a way to fix it!” Winter said. Eirlys scowled, feeling fatigued by her recent efforts. “You!” Winter said, sounding apologetic. “I mean . . . you did!” Eirlys smiled kindly upon her old friend. “No, Winter,” she said. “You’re correct. I may have discovered the problem, but we all fixed it. Unfortunately, it is down to me to continue the fix.” She pinched a finger-full of cloudberry bar and popped it into her mouth, savouring the special herbs that would keep the Great Man strong and alert throughout the night. As if he read her thoughts, a faint sound of jingling bells shattered the din, announcing that Man’s immanent arrival. The shouting turned to silence momentarily, as sprites and fairies gazed with anticipation toward the horizon. When the chariot drew into sight, deafening cheers erupted. “Thanks to you,” Winter said, holding Eirlys’ cloak toward her, “the Great Man of the Winter Solstice will not be disappointed. Snowflakes will fall; ice will form; and winds will swirl.”
He kissed her chastely on her cheek and she felt the hem of her gown begin to turn pink. “Thanks to you, Eirlys, Winter Fairy, the great freeze will happen as it should.” He squeezed her hand gently. “And, because of your Christmas magic, the Great Man will deliver gifts to children around the world and, once again, they will not be disappointed.”
See WordPlay at Work, December 2019, Issue 69 for the first Winter Solstice story about Eirlys the Winter Fairy. https://issuu.com/rclas/docs/dec_2019_ezine_issue_69
----------------------------------------------------- Winter Solstice II copyright Jerena Tobiasen
A Christmas Remembering © Julia
Schoennagel
When I was seven, I was highly interested to discover that, while my mummy came from England, just like me, her new husband came from a most marvelous country called Germany. Even more fascinating was the fact that Germany had Christmas traditions quite unlike the English ones I’d been brought up with. My new daddy explained that, on December 6, German children put out their shoes for St. Nikolaus. If they had been good, the saint filled the shoe or boot with yummy holiday goodies, but if they had been bad, their shoe was filled with a birch twig or a lump of coal. For years afterward, the thought of possibly finding even a small lump of coal in the foot of my stocking always brought me a tiny, momentary thrill of terror, just in case I hadn’t been quite as good as I’d thought. In Germany they laid out Advent wreaths of evergreen boughs with four red candles to light, one on each Sunday before Christmas, and children counted the days until Christmas using an Advent calendar, opening one window each day to find a picture or sweet inside. The German tree was hidden until Christmas Eve, the Heiliger Abend, or holy night, when everyone dressed in their best for a family dinner and presents were opened. Later, the candles on the tree were lit and everyone gathered around to sing carols, especially “O Tannenbaum” and "Stille Nacht". I knew about candles on the tree, ‘cos that was an English custom, too, but I loved this idea of presents on Christmas Eve— after all, that was a whole day earlier than I was used to. Among many other things, I also learned about the Weihnachtsteller, a beautifully decorated plate
filled with oranges, nuts, marzipan, and chocolate, that German children get on Christmas Eve. Christmas Day in Germany was a festive time for having a big supper with friends, but apparently they ate peculiar things. Germans eat fish or special weiners or goose (Gänsebraten) with potato dumplings and spicy red cabbage cooked in wine, or with stewed kale. They also enjoy stollen (a bread full of almonds, raisins, and dried fruit), Lebkuchen (or gingerbread), and good luck marzipan pigs with golden chocolate coins in their mouths. They drink EierlikÜr and gluhwein. But in England on Christmas Eve, I remembered, carols were sung outside by sauntering carollers, and presents from family and friends (not Santa) were wrapped and placed beneath the tree. The whole day was a flurry of anticipation and excitement as the house was decorated with streamers and holly. We hung up our stockings and put out mince pies and brandy for Father Christmas, plus carrots for his reindeer. An English Christmas Day sees many families attending church services with the opening of presents later on. Dinner may be a roast turkey, goose, or chicken with stuffing and roast potatoes and veg, followed by mince pies and plum pudding aflame with brandy, and which might contain coins or lucky charms. The pulling of Christmas crackers always precedes the meal.
You probably
know that a cracker is a brightly coloured paper tube containing a party hat, riddle, and toy. Everyone, young and old, dons the silly paper hats and laughs at the even sillier jokes. Later in the day, Christmas cake may be served - a rich fruit cake topped with marzipan and practically indestructible royal icing – with tea. Well, you can imagine.
My seven-year-old brain reeled with the delights of
planning a new Christmas for my new family. And because I was such a smart little girl, I soon amalgamated all the customs I liked best. I had an Advent calendar every year. On Christmas Eve, I loved dressing in my prettiest dress, and could hardly wait until my dad came home from work. We had a quiet
meal together as I eyed the tree with eagerness. We ate our family’s favourites, and, even as a teenager, it was told, the last forkful was barely swallowed before I was whisking away the dinner plates and rushing to the kitchen to wash up. (My mum should have been so lucky the rest of the year.) After we ate, it was finally time for the unwrapping of gifts, one by the one, and singing around the candle-lit tree, always ending with my dad singing “Stille Nacht” in his mellow tenor voice. Then we hung our stockings “by the chimney with care”, and, because we were up so late, slept late the next day. Undoubtedly this was a blessing for my hard-working, somewhat sleep-deprived parents. Our Christmas Day included a leisurely brunch and the opening of the stockings left by Santa Claus, while the giant turkey roasted in the oven for dinner later on with hordes of friends. Sometimes we were 30 or more, and I loved having so many children to play with, though I realize now what an enormous amount of work it all was for my mother, 'cos in those days there was no such thing as pot luck. Our dinner included turkey and cranberry sauce, stuffing (we never called it ‘dressing’), mashed potatoes and gravy, Brussels sprouts and heaps of other veggies, pickle and olive plates, but we were the only house that served up flaming Christmas pudds with rum sauce. We pulled crackers in the English way, and the Weinachtstellers were put out for everyone to share. And after the remains of the feast were cleared away, the candles on the tree were lit and we sang English and German carols in the magical glow of the shining little lights. One year, it is told, a candle caught the branch above, and my dad in his calm, take-charge manner, picked up someone's beer and chucked it at the flames, and kept on singing. In my childhood it always snowed for the holidays, and friends bundled up warmly to brave the nippy air and the long drives home through the snow on Christmas night. Over the years, of course, traditions changed as our family and friends grew up, moved away, and had families of their own. However, the memories of my first
Christmases in Canada are very precious to me and still remain unrivaled in my heart. Now I believe that making memories is the most important thing, whether at Christmas or during the rest of the year. Most of the time we're too caught up in the busy-ness of life to stop and take time to be truly in the moment with somebody.
And as we get older, the
opportunities for these special moments of closeness become less. We're often told "you can't take it with you", and it's true. All those gewgaws and toaster ovens and I-whatevers stashed under the tree, those gifts we spent hours shopping for and that we'll spend months paying for, they really mean nothing compared to the occasions we spend with those we love. With people. We don't actually have to love all of them totally and dearly; but if we are able to give any person (don't forget your pets!) even a few minutes, a bit of mindful attention, a bit of togetherness, then perhaps this is one of the greatest gifts of all. We can't ever know when time will run out. Certainly these small moments will be something we can well remember long after all those fancy presents have broken or lost. This year of a COVID Christmas will definitely be strange and different because we can't have the same gatherings and physical closeness, but we can send cards and Zoom together and make phone calls. Just keep in touch however you can. Remember what the Grinch tells us, "Maybe Christmas, doesn’t come from a store. Maybe Christmas … perhaps… means a little bit more!" And so--Merry Christmas, Feliz Navidad, Vrolijk Kerstfeest, Joyeux Noel, God Jul, Bono Natale, Hauskaa Joulua, Boas Festas, Happy Hanukkah, Froehliche Weinachten - well, you get the picture. And may you all always have wonderful Christmas memories to share.
---------------------- A CHRISTMAS REMEMBERING 2018 copyright Julia Schoennagel
The “Junk” Blazer is a Keeper © Eugene
Ip
With its broad lapels and loose fit, the blazer makes me look out of date by what is trendy of men’s suit jackets. I am sure it used to be the latest look when it was tailor-made in Hong Kong. That would have been in the late 1960s. However, I observe that people would rarely notice the unfashionable style and instead quickly get drawn to admiring the material and to marvelling at the color. In the style of an expensive boarding school uniform blazer, the wool-cashmere garment is in emerald green. When I put it on, it makes me feel I exude a persona of somebody whom I admire for having more of certain qualities and attributes I aspire. On the first day of classes of a new academic year, I would bring the blazer to work and leave it on the coat tree in my college office so that it is always on the ready for me to slip it on before I hurry out the door to teaching a class. But what has over time become even more eye-catching about this blazer is its torn linings. You would think, this inside part of the blazer would be most protected and showing the fewest casualties of age. Once, I was for the first time taking a critical eye to checking out how these holes with shreds of ripped fabric in different parts of the blazer’s inner surface would come to being. Then, it became obvious that where the linings have these big yawns of breakage; these would be places most readily chafing against the body parts that rub on the seats and backs of chairs. The surrounding areas of these gaping holes show their threadbare condition, threatening to break and join adjourning tears. In class, I wore the blazer unbuttoned. The linings would be readily visible when I made gestures with my arms, pulling the sides of the jacket up and exposing its disintegrating other side. Among my students, the polite would see the sorry state of the inside fabric, quickly look away and betray with a look of stifling something a forced effort to stay on track with
the class subject discussion going on at the moment. I had the more naturally friendly and outspoken students coming up to me for a chat and they found openings to sneak in comments to the effect that I might consider buying a new jacket. One young woman offered her mom’s alteration service to give my blazer a lining make-over. To all these good-nature, sensible sartorial advises, I had without hesitation graciously replied thanks, but no thanks. The weeks after my dad passed away in 2008 I helped my mom make decisions on my father’s personal stuff in their condo home. We were organizing things into those to donate, those to throw out and those to keep. The last category included items mom could use – an example was dad’s collection of pens and pads of writing paper; and items that we – mom and my three siblings – collectively and individually wanted to keep to remember dad by. Among the things I took immediate affection of to keep for myself was – you’ve got it – dad’s wool-cashmere, emerald green blazer. While it ekes out an unsightly existence today, it remains as total original as when it complemented my dad as a renaissance, stylish and charismatic, fun-loving individualist. When I put on the blazer – less now than when I was a college instructor before retirement, I am convinced of my dad’s DNAs inevitably left dormant yet fully intact in the microscopic nooks and crannies of the garment’s material. For me, then, dad literally lives on and up close to me. Where I need to move up a few notches in moments of everyday life, I would confidently conduct myself with a glow of energy and inspiration sporting the wool-cashmere, emerald green blazer – that garment of a style outdated and with linings in condition beyond repair most others would see as belonging to the recycle bin.
--------------------------------------------- The “Junk” Blazer is a Keeper copyright Eugene Ip
A Good Man of Bethlehem
© Margo Prentice Samuel let it be known that those who worked for him had to be at the inn before sunrise. It was a special holiday and there was much work to do. Breads of wheat, rye and oats, needed to be baked in the outdoor oven. Lamb roasted in the cooking pit. Dried fruits and nuts were arranged on platters. The wine had to be poured into vessels. All this work had to be completed before sundown. His workers were a Godly people, daughters, wives and sons of Shepherds. They walked through the door to the fire while taking their cloaks off. After they had warmed themselves they joined hands to start their work day with prayer. After a prayer Samuel told them,” We have much work to do, on this special day. Something wonderful is going to happen I can feel it in my bones!" His anticipation unnerved him. These were terrible times, a time of hunger, violence and war throughout the world. A Messiah must come soon to this dark land, he thought. Samuel had prayed for this every day. He was a good man who followed the Torah with strength and conviction. Samuel was generous and kind; he walked a righteous path all his life. Everyone was busy with their tasks as Samuel watched to see that all ran smoothly. Rooms were cleaned and fresh blankets put on each bed. When the sun set, it would be very cold and they would need extra blankets. The smell of roasted meat and bread filled the inn all afternoon. The guests were to arrive late afternoon with each room occupied before the sun set. The guests arrived on time and they sat down to eat. Over the clatter of people enjoying their meal, Samuel could hear the bell ringing from the entrance. He said to his wife, "Do you hear the bell?” "Yes someone is ringing to come in, I'll get it." “No, Samuel said, "You take care of our guests I'll get it; we cannot take another tonight. I have to send them to Jacob. He is a stingy man; they will get a roof but no extras.
Samuel walked to the back entrance slid the wooden board to open the door and glanced into the dark night. Standing at the entrance was a young man and his pregnant wife, all bundled in cloths to keep warm from the bitter cold night. They had a donkey on a rope behind them. "Come, come, warm up, I am sorry we have no more room.” When the young woman removed the hood from her coat to reveal her face, Samuel was awestruck. She was beautiful and there was a radiance about her that stunned him. "I can send you to another inn; he may have a place for you. It is about one mile straight down at the end of town. I am sorry I will have to send you a long way on such a cold night. But wait, I have an extra blanket for your wife, please take it, it will come in handy." "Thank you,” the young man said as they walked out the door. He helped his wife onto the donkey. They walked towards the other inn into the cold night. Samuel could see the whites of their breath as they walked away. Samuel and his wife worked until everyone was in settled in their room. He could not get the vision of the young woman out of his mind. The image of this young couple would not leave him. He filled pots with food from the kitchen, put on his cloak and proceeded to the door. He yelled to his wife, “I must go see how the young couple I turned away is, she looked like she was about to give birth soon,” he yelled to his wife. You go to bed I have something important to do," Samuel knew that Jake was very greedy and he would not provide this couple with any food. He made the decision to pack a feast of leftovers from his kitchen to bring to them. "Are you mad Samuel, there are very bad people on the streets this time of the night!" his wife called from their room. "Don't worry my dear wife I will be fine God is with me tonight,” and off he ran into the dark night. As he walked out in the darkened street he saw beggars, drunks huddled around fires trying to keep warm. Oh dear God just what does it all mean? Samuel was safe, the people on the street knew him he often gave them bread from his kitchen. The night was clear and the stars sparkled. As Samuel looked up, he thought, God is good. He walked towards Jacob's place and noticed how much brighter the night became and was struck by sense of impeding joy. It was bright as a sunlit day. The light shone on Jake’s barn but the inn was dark. How strange, he thought.
Over the barn was a beautiful, bright star. As he walked towards the entrance he recognized some of the local sheep herders. He whispered to his friend James, "Why aren't you working tonight, are you not afraid the wolves will get your lambs." James replied, "Glory to God in the highest!" This perplexed Samuel. He proceeded inside the barn with his bundle of food he had kept warm under his cloak. He blinked his eyes at what he saw! The young woman and man, who were at his door earlier, were standing in front of a manger filled with straw. A baby was lying there wrapped in the blanket he gave them. Beside them Samuel saw something that made his heart beat with a fear and excitement he had never known. A beautiful glowing creature with giant wings was standing by the baby! It was an angel and he gestured Samuel to come to look. Samuel approached slowly and felt the wonderment he had been experiencing all day. He thought his heart would burst! The angel said to Samuel, “Do you recall what you thought today about what the world has come to? And I say to you Samuel, come see what has come to the world. He gazed at this baby for some time, then walked quietly towards the young man and introduced himself, "I am Samuel. I have brought you food to eat as I did not expect you to get any, please sit and eat." "My name is Joseph and this is my wife Mary, and this is our son who we will call Jesus.” Samuel laid out the feast for them to partake. As he looked around the room three richly dressed men there as well and he wondered why they were there. He welcomed all who were in the barn to eat. Three richly dressed men stood by the manager and Samuel wondered why they were there. After the meal was over he said good bye to Joseph and Mary. “If ever you come to Bethlehem, you will always have a place to stay and please let me know all about your son Jesus, He too, will always have a place in my home.” Samuel looked once more at the baby then looked back at the angel again shaking his head in amazement. He walked home feeling happy knowing that surely he had been a part of something much greater than himself!
----------------------------- A Good Man of Bethlehem copyright Margo Prentice
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