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The "Christmas proper" is about to start, as it were. Tonight is a carol sing at our former church, followed by a dinner at my mother's house.
About 1/2 the snow has melted away in a day of rain, and there are enormous, frigid puddles everywhere. It's going below freezing tonight, meaning all the roads on Christmas morn will be a skating rink. Ah well. We don't have far to go.
Signing off for now, though I'm sure pictures will end up online tomorrow. Meanwhile, may you all have a fine and happy holiday and keep it joyous and holy according to your own lights.
For men are homesick in their homes,
And strangers under the sun,
And they lay on their heads in a foreign land
Whenever the day is done.
Here we have battle and blazing eyes,
And chance and honour and high surprise,
But our homes are under miraculous skies
Where the yule tale was begun.
This world is wild as an old wives' tale,
And strange the plain things are,
The earth is enough and the air is enough
For our wonder and our war;
But our rest is as far as the fire-drake swings
And our peace is put in impossible things
Where clashed and thundered unthinkable wings
Round an incredible star.
To an open house in the evening
Home shall men come,
To an older place than Eden
And a taller town than Rome.
To the end of the way of the wandering star,
To the things that cannot be and that are,
To the place where God was homeless
And all men are at home.
Or, if you prefer something a little more secular:
Now to the banquet we press;
Now for the eggs and the ham;
Now for the mustard and cress,
Now for the strawberry jam!
About 1/2 the snow has melted away in a day of rain, and there are enormous, frigid puddles everywhere. It's going below freezing tonight, meaning all the roads on Christmas morn will be a skating rink. Ah well. We don't have far to go.
Signing off for now, though I'm sure pictures will end up online tomorrow. Meanwhile, may you all have a fine and happy holiday and keep it joyous and holy according to your own lights.
For men are homesick in their homes,
And strangers under the sun,
And they lay on their heads in a foreign land
Whenever the day is done.
Here we have battle and blazing eyes,
And chance and honour and high surprise,
But our homes are under miraculous skies
Where the yule tale was begun.
This world is wild as an old wives' tale,
And strange the plain things are,
The earth is enough and the air is enough
For our wonder and our war;
But our rest is as far as the fire-drake swings
And our peace is put in impossible things
Where clashed and thundered unthinkable wings
Round an incredible star.
To an open house in the evening
Home shall men come,
To an older place than Eden
And a taller town than Rome.
To the end of the way of the wandering star,
To the things that cannot be and that are,
To the place where God was homeless
And all men are at home.
Or, if you prefer something a little more secular:
Now to the banquet we press;
Now for the eggs and the ham;
Now for the mustard and cress,
Now for the strawberry jam!
