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

Today, a week from Christmas Eve and the barring to the doors at midnight of the last shopping mall to end the commercial cacophony and ease us each to a day of Holiday rest and repast – today . . . I exhort and encourage us each in loud hortatory cheer to break from our frantic pace and partake in a simple libation to relax the frayed and frazzled nerves.

Let’s have an egg nog.

In Canada and the United States, when the boreal winds commence to blow, the time is propitious for an indulgence in that opalescent beverage known as egg nog or eggnog. Especially during the Christmas season, there is a scurry in those ancient scoriac-rimmed cook books for the favorite family recipe for this delicious beverage of family delight.

Egg nog is a stirred, mixed, whipped and frothed drink of milk, sugar, eggs and spices. Cream can be added to make the drink even richer and thicker. Vanilla is a pleasant flavor enhancer. On top, grated nutmeg is often seen and enjoyed, perhaps with a tad of cinnamon and even, for some, a dollop of sweet whipped cream and a few curls of chocolate. This inviting concoction can be served cold or warm. I like it both ways. Smallish clear cups or mugs present an easy and tempting vista for the Holiday treat.

First mixed and poured in the English isles, it made a quick trip to the Colonies where it became a must for travelers boarding the morning stages to be whisked through the wintry countryside on the way to Grandma’s house.  Wikipedia reports this book entry from 1800: “The American travelers, before they pursued their journey, took a hearty draught each, according to custom, of egg-nog, a mixture composed of new milk, eggs, rum, and sugar, beat up together.” One for the road and off we go. . . .

As you see, that nog in egg nog was often a bit of Colonial grog of alcoholic origin, likely a lacing of rum added to the mix and served in a noggin or wooden mug — to warm those adventurers for the roads ahead.

The beverage of festivity is delightful without the grog and many consider this to be the better course. Certainly that was the case at the United States Military Academy during the Christmas of 1826 when the Eggnog Riot resulted in the court-martial of 20 cadets. So, if the grog is to be added to your egg nog, I encourage you to behave responsibly, designate a driver and protect our children.

At this season, we are reminded by recent events how precious our children are and how diligent we each should be in guarding and protecting those young lives.

This is a wonderful time of year to spend time with our children. Take a break from the fevered pace, slow down and mix up a batch of your favorite-recipe egg nog — without the rum. Share a cup with your kids and grandkids, grab a favorite story, and all gather round on pillows and under blankets for a Christmas read and comforting sip of a very special beverage for a very special season.

I’m on the way . . . save some for me,

Grandpa Jim

Ladies and Gentlemen, Children and Teens, Friends and Neighbors, Passer-bys in Cars, Trucks, Vans and Buses — All Honking and Shouting, Pointing Peoples in Planes Propping and Pooshing, Shouting Sailors on Seas in Ships Sailing, and Stomping Subsurface Submariners Submerged in Submersibles Sinking and Sloshing,

Keep shouting, clapping, stomping, using noise makers, honking, pointing, flapping your arms, blowing bubbles, and waving,

It was so true. 12-12-12 was the Greatest Monosyllabic Number Day of the 21st Century. Twelve (12) is the highest or largest number in the English language that is pronounced as only one, count it again, only one – not two or three in two words – only one (it is true, it is only one), syllable in length. Whew and away what happened there and then? Well, on a day we just passed, three twelves in single syllables were aligned on the calendar of the 2,000’s. December 12th of the 12th year only occurs once a century, and it has occurred for us. December 12, 2012 was the greatest monosyllabic number day for the 21st Century, our current 100-year cycle. The day won’t happen again for a hundred more of those years. To commemorate this every second-in-ten decades event of the Century, people proposed wildly and ran running hand-in-hand in two’s to City Halls around the globe to recite their nuptials, be declared wedded then-and-there, and hurry off around the planet on special honeymoons for newlyweds. It had to happen by midnight, before the day came to its end, or their new lives might be postponed for a 100 years more, at least. Wow, that was a hurried, rushed and noisy day for only one syllable.

Don’t stop the fun.

A new day has burst forth and brought into publication and posting on the web site of Uncle Joe Stories the first ever Christmas story. Hopefully, you won’t have to wait another 100 years for another Christmas story on this site, but one should always take advantage of a good excuse for a party and a read.

A story for the season is just such a reason.

Please stop by the Home page and witness for yourselves the debut of “The Christmas Song.”

As a story, “Song” is, in part, monosyllabic of title. As such, it shares in something of the life joys of the 12-12-12 event. In its ending, I think you will see that “The Christmas Song” shares in a tomorrow day that has its own joys of welcome and goodbye.

May your Holidays be filled with sweet thoughts, your tummies with sweet treats, and your homes with dear friends and family,

Grandpa Jim

At this season of the year, it is traditional to invite others to share in our Holiday feast.

You may want to consider a few rutabagas.

There is a legend (which I am, just now, making up, but it does have a ring of authenticity), there is a Scandinavian legend that a cabbage and turnip married. For their honeymoon, the two vegetables escaped to a lake of great beauty and remoteness in the far north of Sweden, near the Finnish border. Unbeknownst to them, a mighty blizzard was swooping down from the Arctic. No sooner had they arrived than the storm struck. Assaulted by the fierce winds and biting blowing ice, the newlyweds were forced to dig themselves into the ground, There, covered by the warm dirt and blanketed under layers of snow, the two newly married vegetables waited until the next spring, when the warming rays of the returning sun brought them back to the surface. To the surprise of the other emerging plants, the cabbage and the turnip had with them their new arrival, a child who looked and acted a little like Mom and a little like Dad. The proud parents called the new one their little Cabbage Root, or Kålrot, in the Swedish language – a baby’s name which, in Canada and the U.S., translates as my little Rutabaga.

From legend and fact, the kålrot or rutabaga is a cross between the cabbage and the turnip. Much younger than its parents, the rutabaga was found growing wild in Sweden in the early 1600’s, only some 400 years ago. Showing his age, the cabbage has been domesticated for over 3,000 years. The turnip, on the other hand, is younger, say 2,700 years (she may shave a few years if you ask, so be polite and nod in agreement).

Perhaps from that first hard winter, the rutabaga has a bit of a bitter taste. Perhaps because of that very distinctive flavor, the young one has quite a following, many who find it to be good mix with other vegetables, a pleasing accompaniment to main dishes and a main ingredient in others. In the lands of Sweden, Finland and Norway, the Holiday meal must have a side of mashed rutabagas, potatoes and carrots. Swedish Christmas Casserole, or Swede Box, is composed of rutabagas, water, salt, breadcrumbs, egg, cream, syrup, butter and spices. In Scotland, rutabagas (called neeps by the Scots) and potatoes (to the Scottish, tatties) are mashed and served separately as neeps and tatties beside their favorite main dish, haggis, which is too scary to describe and will be left to your Internet perusals. And, in England, the rutabaga is a traditional part of the Sunday roast.

In the U.S. and Canada, however, the little kålrot or neep is not often invited to dinner. On the shelves of groceries, it waits sadly to be noticed by passing shoppers with their Holiday lists. It is there and you walk right by, but it’s not someone you’d think to include. There are others like that, and they are not all vegetables.

Perhaps, there is something to be learned from that little root of mixed origins. Perhaps, it’s time to broaden our horizons and try something new. Perhaps it’s time to include a few rutabagas in the Holiday feast. And, while we’re at it, perhaps it is time invite a few friends we don’t often see and who may not have much of a feast of their own to attend. I have a feeling they’ll both very much enjoy being part of the festivities.

Who knows, you may find yourselves growing attached to your new dinner guests. And, when they ask, “What is that interesting side dish?” you may find yourself replying, “Something we’ve never tried before, but you know we’re starting to like it. It’s different, but it seems to fit in very well, very well indeed.”

Maybe it is time to start planning that Holiday meal, before someone else invites those rutabagas to dinner.

Don’t miss the fun,

Grandpa Jim