Dale Patrick Chihuly paints with glass. He is called a glass artist and entrepreneur. Visionary may be closer. Piratical in appearance, he is a most amazing silica-based colorist and a constructor of glass art not seen before.

Last night in freezing cold, we wandered the grounds of the Dallas Arboretum in the dark, little for our guide but the spot-lighted and glowing glass constructions of Chihuly Nights brightening the way.

In 1976, at the age of 35, Chihuly lost an eye in an automobile accident. Three years later, he hurt his shoulder so badly that he was no longer able to blow glass, and he’s a glass artist. Give up? Not Dale Patrick. He went into the glass-coloring-constructing-making-it-bigger-and-brighter-and-weirder-than-every-before-and-I-really-like-this business, and business is good.

The sculptures are amazing at night and, I’m sure, in the day. If you want one for your own, be prepared to pay dearly. Don’t be concerned. There is little need to purchase your own – though I am sure the artistic troupe led by Dale would welcome your care, and please do, if you can. Until then, the wonders of glass and color are widely spaced and accessible around our globe in museums, gardens and other public venues.

Dale Patrick Chihuly is a marketing phenomenon. In his ways, he reflects on the human fascination with color and light. Like Thomas Kinkade, he discovered that if you light the faces of folks and their settings, those same people will lighten their wallets and shower you and your works with dollars and acclaim. Suggested beneath this tongue-in-cheek reflection is the need for incredible energy, boundless talent, a ready laugh and some large amount of humility. I suspect Mr. Chihuly possesses all these in abundance.

It is comforting that such talent can be rewarded and, because it is appreciated, so many can share in the success.

In all things, we see elements of luck, chance or, at least, unintended consequence that benefit the party most directly involved and those derivative on-lookers and participants that are ourselves. We see a Chihuly or Kinkade and know we are lucky that we can view its light and color. We see the end of the year and know that we are lucky to watch its passing.

Reaching for the can of black-eyed peas at the grocery, we know that luck is something we want in the New Year. Wondering why all the pre-cut and packaged cabbage is gone from the shelves already, we buy a head of cabbage to make our own cabbage slaw for more luck on the 1^st of the year and beyond.

No one really knows why the eating of black-eyed peas and cabbage is a lucky New Year’s tradition. No one really knows why Thomas Kinkade and Dale Patrick Chihuly are as wildly successful as they are, but all who view their works know they are themselves lucky in that viewing.

With the wish for not a little luck, we all wait to welcome the New Year. With the wish that we will be as lucky as Thomas and Dale Patrick, not a few watch to see the New Year approach. When the ball drops, the hour arrives and the clock strikes twelve midnight, we forget those thoughts, raise a cheer, kiss those we love and know that we are all so very lucky to be here just the way we are today.

Don’t forget the black-eyed peas and, if you can, stop by — we’ll have extra coleslaw.

Happy New Year,

Grandpa Jim

In the U.S., our major holidays often have something or someone associated with them.

For St. Patrick’s Day, the wearing of the Green and a friendly Leprechaun guarding his pot of gold.

For Easter, the Easter Bunny and colored egg hunts.

For the 4^th of July, the Flag, our Star Spangled Banner, and the fireworks that saw it first wave.

For Halloween, the Jack-O-Lantern and costumed candy-seekers.

For Thanksgiving, the Turkey and the Great Feast.

For Christmas, the crib of the Nativity and the lighted Tree with its tinsel and ornaments.

And, for New Year’s Eve and Day approaching, a Baby in top-hat and diapers, the tiny shoulders draped in the New Year’s banner.

But wait, what’s that I hear? Yes, there is something else playing in the background this last night and first day of the year, a sadly happy melody to bid farewell to the old and welcome in the new. “Auld Lang Syne” may make New Year’s in its notes the only Holiday remembered by a special song and its very special lyrics.

Robert Burns lived only 37 years. His roots humble, his days may have been shortened by early farmland labors. With little formal schooling but with the bard’s way with words, he is regarded as the national poet of Scotland. Robert wrote in the Scottish language and in a pick-a-pen Scots dialect the English and even some Americans can understand. The lyrical whimsy of his lines are memorable in their song-like character and catchy titles, to try a few: “A Red, Red Rose,” “Address to a Haggis,” “Coming Thro’ the Rye” and “To a Mouse.” Sometimes called the Peasant Poet, he had the gift of remembering his roots in words that were more than was there in what they recalled.

An old man sat on the bench outside the pub smoking.

“And what would it be you’re humming there, my good fellow?”

“A tune to fetch away the cold and remember yesterdays’ settings in tomorrow day’s rising.” The wrinkled face smiled as the grandfather blew a smoke ring to the evening still. “Have you the coin for a pint, young lad? It is the night of the New Year.”

Robert fetched the pint and sat and listened.

Afterword, he ran to his room and penned the lyrics to that old man’s song, but bless his true Scottish heart, Robert Burns could not restrain his enthusiasm or his natural poetic energies. The final product is as much Robert’s as that of the kindly old gentleman, a work that hadn’t existed before our Peasant Poet sat and listened and heard in what was there something that had not been heard before and graced the world and New Year’s Day with its new tune.

The first stanza raises a question:

Should old acquaintance be forgot,
and never brought to mind ?
Should old acquaintance be forgot,
and old lang syne ?

The chorus that follows, and is the most remembered of the song and our New Year’s cheer, reveals that Robert is likely recollecting with a lady friend:

For auld lang syne, my dear,
for auld lang syne,
we’ll take a cup of kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.

The next stanza is an offer to make a toast, to “take a cup o’ kindness yet,” even if Robert isn’t buying,

And surely you’ll buy your pint cup !
and surely I’ll buy mine !
And we’ll take a cup o’ kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.

In the following stanzas, their cups in the air, the young Robert remembers the good times with his good friend, the “run about the slopes,” “the daisies fine” there “picked,” having “wandered many a weary foot” together, and the two paddling “in the stream, from morning sun till dine.” Ahhh, those were the good times. “But seas between us broad have roared since auld lang syne.” The two have been separated and now our together again – or is this his wish that they were too? The final stanza takes us back to the beginning of the tune with the cups lifted as Robert reaches with his other hand to ask politely, “And give us a hand o’ thine!” With his parting words, the young poet echoes his chorus,

For auld lang syne, my dear,
for auld lang syne,
we’ll take a cup of kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.

They drink with their hands and hearts entwined to auld lang syne, to the “old long since” in its literal saying, to good friends and good times that were with us in their persons in the old year and will be with us in our memories in the new.

For auld lang syne.

I buried a friend today. He died on Christmas Day. A Robert, he was a bit of a Scot and much of a poet in his ways. I found Robert Burns before the funeral and left to finish this later, after saying Goodbye to our Robert.

For Robert, dear friend, and for all the other good friends and good times in this year leaving, on the first second of the new day of the next year arriving, with others close by, our glasses raised and joined,

We’ll take a right good-will draught,

For auld lang syne,

And for Robert,

Grandpa Jim

1957 was almost the last Christmas.

The Grinch stood on Mount Crumpit and sneered down on all of us here below in Whoville.

“Why the incessant music, Max? What makes them so happy down there? What’s so special about Christmas? Decorations, colored lights, presents-under-the-tree, roast-beasties and who-hashies? Something must be done, Max. Something must be done right away to ruin, topple, pulverize, smash and stop this Christmas-thing once and for all.”

So said the Grinch to Max his loyal dog as the great green brain hatched a despicable plot in the head above the two-sizes-too-small heart. Grabbing and gluing, sawing and nailing, bending and blow-torch-attaching, that large green-furred Grinch assembled his Christmas-steal-away sled. Lifting Max by the tail, with a sneer and a glee, the large green-thinking Grinch screwed a red bulb to the small dog’s nose and tied a single lichen-coated-and-broken antler to the worried canine’s head.

“Ready and off, mush Max. Off we go and a wheeee. . . .”

Stealing into Whoville in the dark of Christmas Eve night – sliding, slipping, squirming and crawling – the deft-and-long-green-fingered Grinch took it all. On furry green toes, he left not a crumpet crumb in a fridge, a lighted lightsie on a roof, or a present-to-be-presentedie under a tree, and then he took the tree too boot, and kicked and pushed and crammed it all in the giganteous-largess-oversizedeous bag on his sled. He even stole the electricity and cut the cord.

“Mush up, my Max, the mountain is yours to mount. Go trusty steed-courser, more rapid than a mini eaglet with small brown legs. I whistle and shout and call you, my doggedy-dog-engine, by name. Now, Max! On, Max! To the top of Mount Crumpit! To the edge of the cliff! Now, dash away! Dash away! Dash away, Max!”

And, that honest and faithful little dog did just that, though he did not like it all, not one little bit. Max pulled the sled with all of Christmas to the top of the great hill. At that height in the cold and frosty air, the Green Grinch jumped down and gloated in great-sneer-and-wait for the wails to rise from far below. He waited in freezy-frozen cold and cold-coldiness to hear all us Who’s in Whoville wake and moan and cry and whimper and sit in the snow and shiver without hope at Christmas broke, stolen, gone, lost and ruined forever. That Grinch rubbed his icy hands and listened to hear. . . .

“Fah who for-aze!
Dah who dor-aze!
Welcome Christmas,
Come this way!

Fah who for-aze!
Dah who dor-aze!
Welcome Christmas,
Christmas Day.”

“Max, come over here and stick a brown-and-broken branch in my ears. My sound drums must be aligned to a wrong channel. I hear the notes of happy-in-the-wind winding and now I see down there smiles-on-the-faces smiling.”

It was then the great Grinch dropped that stick and his eyes grew wider-than-big-widest. A “Thump, Thump, Thump!!!” was heard by Max as the green chest expanded with a new heart grown three times its size.

“Max, the can’t-be-couldn’t-be-wouldn’t-be is there where it shouldn’t be. Christmas came just as-it-is-be, without the loot-and-toot and crinkly-open-and-shout and all the gifty-get-thees, the great roast beasties on plattery platteries and the hashed hashedies in cranberryeous saucedies.” A heave of laughter shook the tall green figure with its new-and-knowing heart of lead-turned-gold and shiny-throughtedy thoughtediness. “Max, my trusty stead, saddle up. We have some presents to deliver and amends to remend and commendedy.”

As fun thoughts before the wild Grinch sled fly, When they meet with Who’s, waving to the sky; So down to Whoville, Max the Red-Nosed Grinch Dog flew, With the sleigh full of toys, and the Great Green and Smiling Grinch, too.”

And, when they arrived, before a single gift was dissembled or plate of treats reassembled, a smallish-small Who child named Cindy grabbed the large furry hand and small brown paw and pulled the two new guests into the circle of now-and-ever-always-will-be Who friends, where the overly-large-and-growing-still, greeny-green-the-color-of-Christmas Grinch added his great-clear-and-mighty voice in harmonious-harmony to that-which-he-had-missed-so-long-and-now-shared-there-with-all-this-day, as the tiny dog at his side barked the what-he-always-knew-and-now-knew-with-new-new bark and wagged his tail and rubbed his Master’s leg, and received for the first-everyess-ever time a Christmas Grinch rub back in tune:

“Welcome Christmas
Fah who rah-moose!
Welcome Christmas
Dah who dah-moose!
Welcome Christmas
While we stand
Heart to heart
And hand in hand

Fah who for-aze
Dah who dor-aze
Welcome welcome
Christmas
Christmas
Day”

May your Christmas Day be every Day, as it is with the Large-Hearted Green Grinch of Happy Mount Crumpit and his trusty and loyal companion, Max the Red-Nosed Grinch Dog,

Grandpa Jim

In the 1990 U.S. census, “Mary” was the name of more women and girls than any other name.

The most famous “Mary” is Mary the mother of Jesus. Most of our Mary’s were likely named for that Mary, who “at midnight, in Bethlehem, in piercing cold” laid her new-born son in a manger and waited for the Wise Men, who will arrive about eleven days from now, on January 6th, the feast of the Epiphany.

What does Mary mean?

Mary is the English form of the Hebrew name for a girl child named Miriam. In the Old Testament, Miriam was the sister of Moses. According to the experts on the Internet, the meaning of Miriam or Mary is unclear. It may mean “wished-for-child,” “bitter,” “rebellious,” “strong waters,” “beloved,” or “love.” Etymologically speaking, it appears to be difficult for those experts to single out and land on one meaning for the name “Mary.” Perhaps, this may be the best interpretation. In other words, perhaps there are many equally appropriate and applicable interpretations of Mary and her name, and they all apply to her. And, perhaps, this interpretation is how we know her, and those named for her, today.

In French, Marie.

In German, Dutch, Austrian, Spanish and Italian, Maria.

In Albanian, Armenian, Basque, Croatian, Czech, Danish, Finnish, Irish, Norwegian, Polish, Welsh and American English, Mary.

Do you begin to see a trend?

Mary is pretty much Mary everywhere you go.

In languages with other alphabets and in countries I haven’t listed, Mary is Mary, and she seems to be Mary in every land and every language.

This may give one pause for thought, wonder why and, in passing, a comfort to know that however far we travel, Mary will be Mary at day’s end and Mary when tomorrow’s light dawns bright again.

Wish a Mary Hello for me,

Grandpa Jim

A poem, “I Saw a Child Smile on Christmas Day,” go to the Home page this Christmas day.

To view the Christmas story, “The Christmas Song,” click the Mary & Other Stories tab and scroll down.

To see more Christmas blogs, scroll down here.

Merry Christmas,

Grandpa Jim

For Christmas Eve, the new Christmas story “The Christmas Song” is posted on the Home page.

Under the Blog Posts tab you can read the following Christmas posts, starting with the most recent:

1. Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer – Can reindeer really fly?

2. Santa Claus – Is Santa really real?

3. O Christmas Tree – When was the first Christmas tree and what is the name of that song?

4. Christmas Greetings – How do you say Merry Christmas?

5. Eggnog – What is it and where did it come from?

6. Rutabagas – What is the legend of my little cabbage root?

The Christmas story and blog posts are our gift to you at this Holiday season of the year.

Merry Christmas,

Grandpa Jim and Uncle Joe Stories

Reindeer are a type of deer native to the Arctic and Subarctic regions of the Northern Hemisphere. In North America, reindeer are called caribou. Some subspecies of reindeer are quite rare. Flying reindeer are reputedly the rarest.

On Christmas Eve night around 1823, Professor Clement Clarke Moore was up late. His wife and children safely tucked in their beds, the very practical professor heard a noise outside the house and looked through the frosty window to see what it might be,

when, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
but a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,
with a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and call’d them by name:
“Now, Dasher! Now, Dancer! Now, Prancer, and Vixen!
“On, Comet! On, Cupid! On, Dunder and Blixem!

“To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
“Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!”
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew

That was them, eight flying reindeer and none other than Santa Claus delivering presents to all those girls and boys on the night when time stops for the jolly old elf and his Christmas deliveries.

The Professor dashed off, after St. Nick had left – of course, and wrote it all down. “Twas the Night Before Christmas” was published on December 23, 1823 – only a part of the full writing is reproduced above. The poem is probably the best known Christmas verse in the history of Christmas. It may also have been the first recorded siting of flying reindeer. I love to read it every Christmas Eve, especially to the young children who haven’t heard the story or seen a flying reindeer — yet.

Some years later, I think it was the Christmas Eve of 1938. That was a bad one. The snow was snowing everywhere around the planet, where snow can snow and even some places where it’s not supposed to. Fog was fogging and snow was snowing. The weather was so bad that Santa couldn’t see a thing.

Wondering what to do, Santa looked around his secret invisible North Pole headquarters and noticed a red glow off there, where the young reindeer were playing. You know, the reindeer that were finishing their training but weren’t on schedule to fly that night.

“Could you have that red bulb step over here?” Santa asked his chief elf.

A young reindeer was brought forward. He was a good looking fellow, strong enough to pull the sled.

“What’s that on your nose, young feller?” Santa asked.

“A light, sir,” the reindeer nervously scrapped a hoof in the snow. He knew he didn’t look like the other young reindeer and they made fun of him, but he was ready to pull that sled and he wanted to fly.

“What’s your name?” Santa asked.

“Rudolph, sir, I mean Santa sir.”

Santa laughed a deep rumbling happy laugh that only Santa can laugh. “Well, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, I have just the job for you. How would you like to go on a trip around the world?”

Rudolph beamed as Santa turned to his chief elf. “Hook up Rudolph here. He’s number nine. With his nose so bright, he’ll guide the sleigh tonight.” Santa climbed in, turned and shouted with a deep and happy rumble of fun, “We’re ready to ride.”

In Chicago that Christmas Eve of 1938, Robert May was caring for his sick wife. He looked out the window of his bedroom and saw a strange light. A red dot, it grew and glowed. Then, a sleigh pulled up beside the window and stopped in mid-air.  The sled was pulled by nine reindeer, and the one in front had a most curious red nose. The laugh brought his head back to the red-suited driver, who smiled and gave him a wink as the whole contraption dashed away into the snow and sleet, leaving him wondering if he really had seen any of that at all.

Back at work as an advertising copywriter for Montgomery Ward, Robert May’s boss stopped by and asked if he would write something cheery for the next season of Christmas shoppers. Robert knew just what to write. The shoppers loved Robert May’s Rudolph poem, and some 2.5 million copies were distributed in 1939. The poem became so popular that, in 1949, the singing cowboy, Gene Autry, released the song, “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.” The song was a phenomenal success and has become one of the best loved Christmas songs. I particularly like the last line:

Rudolph, the red-nosed reindeer
had a very shiny nose.
And if you ever saw him,
you would even say it glows.

All of the other reindeer
used to laugh and call him names.
They never let poor Rudolph
join in any reindeer games.

Then one foggy Christmas Eve
Santa came to say:
“Rudolph with your nose so bright,
won’t you guide my sleigh tonight?”

Then all the reindeer loved him
as they shouted out with glee,
Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer,
you’ll go down in history!

And he did, and we know now there are flying reindeer, and one of the nine has a red nose that glows, and they and that jolly driver are all very busy and on their way, no matter what the weather may be. Bring on the snow and layer in the frog. Santa Claus will be here for all those boys and girls, and a few parents too, as they wait patiently searching the skies out their bedroom windows hoping to see Santa and his sleigh and catch a glimpse of that famous nose of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.

There, I see it, do you? Keep watching, it won’t be long now,

Grandpa Jim

Is Santa Claus real?

Yes.

The dark of midnight woke me from a light sleep. I couldn’t sleep. That’s how I knew it was Christmas Eve. It was the only night of the year that an eight-year old kid would wake up in the middle of night. Very carefully, I climbed down from the top bunk. I’d come back for my brother in the lower bed — if he’d come. Sneaking out the door, with a glance back to my parents’ room, I bent low and walked lightly toward the glow of the living room. On my hands and knees, I slowly stretched my head around the corner. It was there, the very special present, the rocket launcher on its base with the telescopic sight, the gift no parent would ever get for an eight-year old boy. I eyed a colorful glass ornament reflecting the brightly colored lights of the tree and knew I could launch one of those rubber-tipped missiles and blast that globe into dust. He’d done it. Santa had come. In that quiet Christmas moment, I knew he was real and would always be for me.

There will always be those who say they don’t believe.

Doris Walker tries to convince Susan, her six-year old daughter, that a person should be firmly grounded in the facts and not let dreams direct their actions or hopes. The young lawyer, Frederick Gailey, who lives next door, feels differently and tries to help Mom Doris and Daughter Susan, both of whom he falls hopelessly for. . . . Mr. Gailey’s efforts are not enough, until Kris Kringle shows up to lead the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. The astute Mrs. Walker promptly hires Kris to play Santa Claus at Macy’s flagship store in New York City on 34th Street. That’s when the miracles start happening in the 1947 film “Miracle on 34th Street” and the 1994 remake, which I find as delightful as the original. When the story is done, the look on Mrs. Walker’s face tells it all. She believes as do the residents of New York City, the United States Postal Department and even the folks at Gimble the Grinch’s store, who can’t seem to resist the Christmas spirit. They all believe that Santa Claus is real and Kris Kringle is Santa Claus. Cheering and shouting. Case dismissed. Wow, that is a great show.

There will always be questions that can’t be answered.

There’d be nothing to believe in, if everything was believable. Kris is an understanding fellow and he tries to explain. Yes, the workshops are at the North Pole, but they’re invisible. There, don’t you see? And, yes, it is done in one night, all the present deliveries, but, you know, time stops for that part. Like relativity and making pancakes, there appears to be more than one recipe for making time. Even Lawyer Fred Gailey, a true believer, raises his eyebrows at that one. Then, he realizes, it’s Kris. He wouldn’t be Santa Claus if he was a delivery system and had to run by the clock. Who would believe in Santa if he were firmly grounded in fact? There’d be little to hope for, if everything was scheduled and ran on time.

I believe.

A lot of things we know aren’t true, and some very important ones we don’t know are too true.

Oh, and about Santa Claus, don’t worry. He’ll be there, no matter what, because he is Santa Claus.

Watch the movie and let Susan show you,

Grandpa Jim

Charlie Brown did not invent the Christmas tree.

His small, sparsely needled tree with the single over-large ornament bending the poor little tree over and down was not the first Christmas tree. It is and will always be a fondly remembered image of Charlie Brown. That little tree was Charlie Brown’s inept but good-hearted attempt to make a Christmas for his friends. We love him for his kind and fumbling efforts, which despite all the opposing odds do succeed. His Christmas tree is a fun-loving success. In the background, Schroeder plays O Tannenbaum while Snoopy and the children dance and wave and wish us all a Merry Christmas. Even Lucy would agree that was a great Christmas special and a great song.

O Tannenbaum is, however, the wrong title for the song.

In German, O Christmas Tree is properly translated O Weihnachtsbaum.

What happened there? Is Charlie Brown spoiling Christmas again? It just doesn’t sound right. No, Charlie Brown, we are not singing O Weihnachtsbaum, O Weihnachtsbaum. Vince Guaraldi and his Trio are leaving. We want our old song back. The song is O Tannenbaum, Charlie Brown, not O Weihnachtsbaum.

And, you are right.

O Tannenbaum is an old German folk song. A Tannenbaum is a fir tree. So, the original song was entitled O Fir Tree in English, and the original lyrics do not refer to Christmas or describe a decorated Christmas tree. Those lyrics refer to the evergreen’s qualities of constancy and faithfulness and are based on a 16th century folk song.

There were no Christmas trees, as we know them, in the 16th Century. Fir trees in guild halls with fruit and candy for children date back to the 15th century, but the tradition of the brightly decorated tree in the family home started in Germany in the early 1800’s. In Canada and the United States, the Christmas tree didn’t catch on until the 1850’s.

Round and about that time, in 1824, the German composer Ernst Anschütz wrote the modern lyrics of O Tannenbaum and set the tune to the melody of that old 16^th century folk song. It was this Anschütz song that became associated with Christmas. In fact, the tune is reputed to be the first Christmas carol.

So, we have this very catchy new Christmas carol being sung in homes with the new fashionable Christmas trees. And, the song is being translated into English, because the trees are sprouting up in England and America. Then, well, what do you suppose happened next? You got it. People started singing O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree because that’s what they were looking at. In England and America, they didn’t all speak German or speak it all that well. So, they, like me, assumed O Tannenbaum meant O Christmas Tree. But, they also liked the sound of O Tannenbaum. So, they kept that as the title and just mixed O Tannenbaum and O Christmas Tree up and around and up and down because it was just so much fun and it is Christmas and, well, let’s all sing and dance and watch Charlie Brown.

Sorry, Charlie Brown, the song is not O Weihnachtsbaum, but we love you anyway, Charlie Brown.

Hit it, Schroeder,

Grandpa Jim

“Beannachtai na Nollag” in Ireland is a wish of “Christmas Blessings” to you and yours. I just received the greeting yesterday in a Christmas card from Sister Joanne at Clarke University in Dubuque, Iowa.

“Feliz Navidad, próspero año y felicidad” in Spanish is “Merry Christmas, a prosperous year and happiness.” This is the verse from the famous 1970 Christmas song by Puerto Rican singer Jose Feliciano. Feliz Navidad is literally Happy Christmas and the song is a treasure of Christmas for all.

Merry Christmas is:

“veselé Vánoce” in Czech, and I am heading down to see all the farmers and their families this weekend at the Immaculate Heart of Mary Church Hall in Abbott, Texas.

“joyeux Noël” in French, and the bells will be ringing at Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris, France, an amazing church, and the University of Notre Dame north of South Bend, Indiana, a winning football team.

“fröhliche Weihnachten” in German, and in Ivanhoe, Minnesota where my German great-grandmother Magdalene arrived from Germany not that long ago.

“mele Kalikimaka” in Hawaiian, where a resurgence of the native language has named the towns and road signs in the original tongue and where the songs of Christmas will echo under the tent of St. Michael the Archangel on the bay in Kona, Big Island.

“wesołych świąt bożego Narodzenia” in Polish, as my great-grandmother Rose wished great-grandfather John, remembering the train ride from Kansas to their new home, with the family dog following faithfully far behind – that dog somehow made it to the new farm weeks later without a compass or road map.

However we say it and wherever we are at, Merry Christmas means the way home for family and friends. It may sound differently but the greeting is the same in every country on our dear planet.

Merry Christmas, Earth. You’re doing a good job. Thanks for the ride.

And, while we’re here, share a Christmas blessing and happy greeting with someone today and all season long,

Grandpa Jim