Two days ago, I asked:  When do you think the next 0-1-2-3 year will be?

What is a 0-1-2-3 year?

The simple answer is a 0-1-2-3 year, in our Western calendar, is a year that has the four digits 0, 1, 2 and 3 present, individually, without a repeat. Our current year, 2013, is such a year because it contains each of those four digits. The last such year was 1320, and the next 0-1-2-3 year will be . . . 2031 — eighteen (18) years from this year.

Why is this significant?

For starters, in all of time, if you use our Western calendar, there are only eighteen (count them – 18) years that are 0-1-2-3 years: none in the First Millennium; 1023, 1032, 1203, 1230, 1302 and 1320, for six (6) in the Second Millennium; 2013, 2031, 2103, 2130, 2301 and 2310, for six (6) in our present Third Millennium; and 3012, 3021, 3102, 3120, 3201 and 3210, for six (6) in the Fourth Millennium; and then no more 0-1-2-3 days for the rest of time.

From 1 AD to the year 10,000 AD, there are only eighteen (18) 0-1-2-3 years. In fact, in all of the Arabic-Indian counting system, used in the Western Culture nations, there are only eighteen (18) 0-1-2-3 numbers.

Check me on this. I don’t think you can use a formula to reach the result. You have to work out all the possible four-digit numbers using the rule that a 0-1-2-3 year has to contain the glyphs 0, 1, 2 and 3 without a repeat of any digit. In other words, you have to use an algorithm or procedure, not a formula. To learn more about algorithms, see the July 12, 2012 blog post entitled in part, “Delorean Hoaxes & Eratosthenes Persistence” – it’s all about algorithms and the Sieve of Eratosthenes to sort out the prime numbers. Type the words in the search box at the top of the page and the post should pop up.

The first four digits in the Arabic-Indian numbering system are 0, 1, 2 and 3.

What does each of the 0-1-2-3 digits represent?

“0” is the number glyph to represent a digit that isn’t there. Can you see your “0” finger? Of course not, it isn’t there, but the concept is. You believe in that absence even if you can’t see its presence. It appears the absence of something can be believed to be something, if placed appropriately. This may be the secret of the success of the Arabic-Indian numbering system. One other thing about “0,” look at the shape of the glyph – a circle. A circle has no discernible beginning and no end, no recognizable start or finish. You know it has both, both a start and a finish, but you can’t see or find either. “0” is the perfect shape for that which can’t be found but is known by faith and believed to be present. You can’t start without “0” and you can’t continue without “0.” It starts everything out and keeps it all going.  In short, “0” is the “Creator” number, the beginning of it all and the necessary concomitant of any effective system of counting.

“1” is the representation of the individual, of you and me separately. For its place, let’s call “1” the “Me” number.

“2” is the pair number. It is the joining of two “1” individual “Me” numbers into the first numerical couple, which is “2.” It is the first prime number, the first combination, the first divisor and the first number with progeny. In the land of numbers, it is the Adam and Eve. We shall refer to it as the “Parents” number for its fundamental procreative role in the order of numbers.

“3” return us to the land of the numerical unknown. Trinitarian concepts insist on children, and off-spring ensure continuance of the creation. If we want the count to continue, the count would end at “2” if there was never a “3”. “3” launches us into the great uncertain, because it requires us to trust in the future. We can see the beginning, but we cannot know the ending. We depend on faith for that. Once “0” acts to create “1” and “2”, “2” act together to engender “3,” which leads all the numbers forward in prime combinations and assorted continuances. Frightening as it may be, “3” is the start of the “Children.”

If “0” is the “Creator,” “1” is “Me,” “2” is the two of us as “Parents,” and “3” is the start of the “Children,” then 2013 AD can be seen as us as Parents, acting with the fundamental Creator principle upon which all things are based, to overcome the “Me” that wants my way, to give the gift of continuance in our “Children” to all the human race.

Now, that’s one New Year’s Resolution we can add our numbers to.

I think I like this year New Year 2013 AD.

I hope you do, too,

Grandpa Jim

As we discussed yesterday, 2013 is the first 0-1-2-3 year in 693 years.

Now, let’s address a different question.

In what century and millennium does our current year 2013 reside, and in what century and millennium was the Baby Jesus born?

To begin, let’s start with what “Western Culture” means. In America, we trace some of our first immigrant roots to Columbus and the European explorers who followed his daring sail-across-the-Atlantic voyage. Of course, today, we are a land of many immigrants from many continents, but back in 1492 AD, when Columbus sailed the ocean blue, the migration to the Americas was largely from Europe. In turn, much of Europe traces its roots back to the Roman Empire, which lasted over 500 years, from Julius Caesar becoming dictator-for-life in 44 BC, to the fall of Rome to Germanic invaders in 476 BC, a total of 520 years. As a result, Western Culture refers to countries that have a European heritage heavily influenced by the old and very long lasting Roman Empire.

In Western Culture nations, such as the United States, the convention used to date the current year can be traced back a 6^th Century monk by the name of Dionysius Exiguus living in Rome. It is reported that Dionysius was thought to be the most learned abbot of the city of Rome. Well, Dionysius was upset with the way folks dated the current year. Some went back to the beginning of the world, which was calculated to be over 5,000 years before then, a large and cumbersome number of debated origins. Others dated the current time from the beginning of the reign of some politician or emperor or tyrant, and Dionysius didn’t think much of memorializing such people. So, Dionysius Exiguus did some research and some calculating and proposed to his learned colleagues a new base date to begin the count of years. “Why don’t we start from the year that baby was born in the stable in Bethlehem?” he asked at the Thinkers Club one day. “Most folks like that story,” he explained, “and that babe sure has a lot of followers, at least around here.” His colleagues scratched their heads and wondered aloud when that birth had occurred. Back then, birth records weren’t what they are today. It turns out Mr. Exiguus was also a mathematician and a historian. “I ran some numbers and did some checking,” he said to his on-lookers, “this year is 525 years since the year of our Lord.” “You mean Anno Domini,” a colleague asked. “Exactly,” Dionysius answered, “today is 525 AD, for short.”

It took a few more years for everyone to get on board, but by the year 731 AD, people were using AD and BC (for “Before Christ”) to date everything from birthday parties to Easter egg hunts. Our friend Dionysius had invented the Anno Domini (AD) era, and we, in the West, have been keeping track of things his way ever since.

Here’s how it work.

There is no “0” year. Jesus was born in the year 1 AD, and the year before he was born is 1 BC. This is a bit odd, because on January 1, 1 AD, Jesus was not yet born (not until the end of the year on December 25), but we still call the whole year the 1 AD year. Also, the baby Jesus’ 1^st birthday was on December 25, 2 AD. That’s just the way the Anno Domini system was set up by the good monk back in 525 AD.

The first century goes from 1 AD to 100 AD. So, the year 100 AD is in the first century, not the second century. The second century starts January 1, 101 AD and goes to December 31, 200 AD. This way to identify each 100-year interval (a century is 100 years) also applies to when each millennium, each 1,000-year interval, starts and finishes. In their words, the experts tell us a new century begins in a year with the last digits being “01” (for example 1801, 1901, and 2001). In like manner, a new millennium begins in the “01” year (for example 1001 and 2001). The media and the public do not care much for this technical convention. Many of you may recall that the ball dropped at Times Square in New York City to celebrate the most recent new millennium on January 1, 2000. The experts say we should have waited a year to drop that ball, because the new millennium really started on January 1, 2001.

Whether you and your family use the “00” year or the “01” year to move to the next century and millennium, when we cross that time line, we add “1” to name the new century and millennium. For example, 104 AD is in the 2^nd Century, 1947 AD is in the 20^th Century and 2013 AD is in the 21^st Century. For millennium, 1776 is in the 2^nd Millennium and 2013 is in the Third Millennium. Again, according to the experts, the Third Millennium commenced on January 1, 2001 and will end on December 31, 3000.

Now, back to the question above stated that started us on this journey through time: In what century and millennium does our current year 2013 reside, and in what century and millennium was the Baby Jesus born?

And . . . the answer is: Our current and most fantastic New Year 2013 is in the 21^st Century of the Third Millennium – according to the experts; and the Baby Jesus was born on December 25, 1 AD in the First Century of the First Millennium – according to the expert computations of the monk Dionysius Exiguus.

After traveling that far and that fast, I think we all need a break and a Slurpee.

In what century and millennium, was the Slurpee invented?

Enjoy your drink and think 7-Eleven,

Grandpa Jim

2013.

What does it mean, how does it stack up and how unique is it?

For numerologists, such as ourselves, this is a most fascinating year for the numbers.

0, 1, 2, 3 are the first four digits of the Western or Arabic pattern of tracking the march of things and the passing of time. Actually, this system of counting and recording was developed by Indian mathematicians in the 5^th Century, but was first counted out in change to European traders in the 10^th Century by Arab merchants from Africa and the Middle East – hence the name “Arabic.” The Arabic-Indian system is a revolutionary system of count because it includes zero (0) and positional notation (1,000 rather than a symbol, like “M” in Roman Numerals). As a way of tracking the numbers, it is highly efficient, neater than beans and an important way to start our New Year with just the right assortment of glyphs. For many years now, the glyphs used in the decimal Arabic-Indian numbering system have them 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 and 0. You can see them there at the top of your keyboard.

That’s the overview. Now, on to the year itself.

2013

I think it has been over six hundred years since the first four digits of our numbering system have all appeared individually, without a repeat, in the representation of the current year.

Let’s test this proposition.

We can’t count the first thousand years since the birth of Christ.

By way of background, our year notations are most often referred to as A.D., for “Anno Domini.” Anno Domini is Latin and is used to indicate the number of years since the “year of our Lord,” the literal meaning of A.D. Another representation you see these days is Common Era, or C.E, for the number of years since the birth of the Baby Jesus. A.D. and C.E. both have the same starting point

To restate, we can’t count the first 1,000 years to the year 1,000 A.D., because, for example, the year 123 is not represented in the Arabic system with a “0” in front, say as 0123. So, in the first three centuries, you had 123, 213, 312 and those types of 1-2-3 years, but only 3 digits and no leading “0”. After the start of the 4^th Century (400 A.D.), you couldn’t even get a 1-2-3 year, because of having to use the 4-5-6-7-8-9 digits in every year, until the year 1000 A.D. So the baby year 0 to the year 1000 A.D. or C.E. are out of the race.

In the second thousand years, starting in the year 1000 A.D., in the 10^th, 12^th and 13^th centuries, you had the possibility of a number of 0-1-2-3 years, starting with 1 and then combinations of 0-2-3 without repeats, for example 1032, 1203 and 1302. There could be no 0-1-2-3 years in the 11^th century, the 1100’s A.D., because every year in that century had double 1’s, for example 1123.

So, the last 0-1-2-3 year, that I see in the past, was the year 1320. Check me on this, but I think that’s how the numbers shake out for me.

Since the year 1320, I don’t think there has been the possibility of another 0-1-2-3 year — until yesterday, January 1, 2013, the start of the year 2013 A.D. The 1400’s, 1500’s, 1600’s, 1700’s, 1800’s and 1900’s are all out because they all had digits other than 0-1-2-3. It wasn’t until the 2000’s that the possibility existed for another 0-1-2-3 year, and that possibility has just been realized. Pass the biscuits and honey, and hold the cheers applause.

From 1320 A.D. to 2013 A.D. is a grand total of 693 years.

So, we have waited 693 years for a 0-1-2-3 year.

This year, the year 2013, is that year.

Count them again: 0, 1, 2, 3.

Line them up: 2013.

This year,

Our New Year,

Is here for a whole year!!!!

The first time snce 693 years ago.

I cannot wait until the next 0-1-2-3 year.

When do you think that will be?

Keep on counting,

Grandpa Jim

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