We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.
"The post-totalitarian system touches people at every step, but it does so with its ideological gloves on. This is why life in the system is so thoroughly permeated with hypocrisy and lies: government by bureaucracy is called popular government; the working class is enslaved in the name of the working class; the complete degradation of the individual is presented as his ultimate liberation; depriving people of information is called making it available; the use of power to manipulate is called the public control of power, and the arbitrary abuse of power is called observing the legal code; the repression of culture is called its development; the expansion of imperial influence is presented as support for the oppressed; the lack of free expression becomes the highest form of freedom; farcical elections become the highest form of democracy; banning independent thought becomes the most scientific of world views; military occupation becomes fraternal assistance. Because the regime is captive to its own lies, it must falsify everything. It falsifies the past. It falsifies the present, and it falsifies the future. It falsifies statistics. It pretends not to possess an omnipotent and unprincipled police apparatus. It pretends to respect human rights. It pretends to persecute no one. It pretends to fear nothing. It pretends to pretend nothing."
What a seemingly-simple poem it is. A prayer, really. The sly Robert Frost claimed he wrote it in one minute, but anything that simple usually takes a long time to get right.
Winter solstice, the longest night of the year in these here parts. Julius Caesar placed it on December 25 (for the convenience of Santa and his reindeer, of course), but it's more accurately placed today. Sad to say, the US climate has been getting colder in recent years. Call it "climate change" and spend a lot of time worrying about it (remember - not using plastic grocery bags will make a really, realy big difference in making it colderwarmer whatever).
It's not mid-winter for a month or so, but just the beginning of what we hope will be another invigoratingly chilly and snowy one:
Ever since the signing of the Oslo Accords in 1993, Americans and Israelis who were trying to make peace in the Middle East have had one insoluble problem: how to explain the fact that Palestinian leaders say one thing to the Western media and quite another to their own people in Arabic.
My NYC daughter's Yorkie pup is three months old. (That white thing is a Christmas hair bow.) Pees on the floor, gets up on her hind legs to challenge our big dog - gets right in his face. Sort-of does "Sit" and "Stay" thus far, but not really "Come" or "heel."
Well, The Voices of Ascension sang a bunch of Renaissance motets, and some Christmas carols too, in front of the Met Museum's Neapolitan Christmas tree last night. It was a sold out crowd, of course. We had the whole darn museum just to ourselves, too. Remarkable.
A 24-person a capella choir can sound just like an organ. There is nothing better. Anchoress would love this. They did Lauridsen's Magnum Mysterium of course but not the great Palestrina's Sicut Cervus, which is one thing by The Voices which I could find on YouTube:
Here's King's College choir doing Lauridsen's transcendent version of Magnum Mysterium:
The words of Magnum Mysterium:
Latin text
O magnum mysterium,
et admirabile sacramentum,
ut animalia viderent Dominum natum,
jacentem in praesepio!
Beata Virgo, cujus viscera
meruerunt portare
Dominum Christum.
Alleluia.
English translation
O great mystery,
and wonderful sacrament,
that animals should see the new-born Lord,
lying in a manger!
Blessed is the Virgin whose womb
was worthy to bear
Christ the Lord.
Alleluia!
A motet can be almost any compact choral work with complicated interactions of voices. The Voices of Ascension are the world-famous choir of the Church of the Ascension on Fifth Ave and 10th. Not amateurs!
No pics of them allowed, but I did snap a few at the museum:
Ever seen the TV show? I hadn't, but a chef friend who loves the show advised me to check out the YouTubes. It is entertaining and educational. Chef Gordon Ramsey goes into messed-up restaurants and advises them on how to improve.
You'll never want to go to a mid-range restaurant again to eat their thawed crap. Plenty of Ramsey's job seems to be family therapy. It's a study of excuses, blaming, and scapegoating. The family interactions in the Italian restaurants are hilariously hostile. A sample (lots more fun ones on YouTube):
...what if you are afraid to control your own destiny? What if you have such low self-confidence that you believe it isn’t worth it to even try, that a Steve Jobs is the exception rather than the rule?
Here's how we keep it simple and organized in the BD household: We store the Christmas stuff in chests of drawers in the living room. Nothing to lug up and down, no boxes, etc.
Another good trick: throw your tree lights in the garbage, and buy new ones each year. Something strange happens to them during a year's storage. Not really worth saving, between the untangling and the dead bulbs.
Our pal Gwynnie makes it even simpler: he has his fake tree pre-wired, and just drags it up from the basement. I am not ready for that level of decadence. Sheesh. Why not just keep the ornaments on it too, and lower it on a wire from a niche in the attic, then spray Balsam fragrance on it? Just email me, Gwynnie, and I'll give you a hand. I like Christmas trees.
We had our family Christmas last night. The kids will be away, all over the planet (Vietnam then Czecho, Birmingham Alabama, etc) on the 25th. We had Lobster hors d'oevres, Butternut Squash soup with my special herb and parmesan crouton on top, Italian pork loin with bay in wine vinegar, roast taters, beets, Brussel Sprouts in oil, and Christmas Tree Cake plus a mountain of Italian pastries ("Don't forget the cannolis"). All with either champagne, or Martinelli's for the teetotalers.
We're planning our little neighborhood Christmas Eve light supper before church, as we always do. Cocktails and Eggnog, poached salmon with dill and yoghurt sauce - then run off to church to sing carols. Nice. I have always felt that Christmas Eve with family, neighbors, and friends is more special than Christmas day. It's like anticipation of a birth. However, with Christmas on Sunday this year, I think we'll go to church then too. Why not? Church always does me good.
Off to the Big City now for a first delivered Christmas present - The Voices of Ascension at the Metropolitan Museum with dinner after with my in-laws (we focus on events and experiences - not stuff - for Christmas treats. Feeding the soul is how I think of these things.)
I buy no things, or almost none. Cool experiences last forever, but stuff is just stuff that takes up space, and I have enuf guns and neckties.) Man, did I get some good, fun tix for this holiday season including some Met Museum Christmas singing tix, some Met Opera Butterfly tix, ballet and dance tix, etc. for the kiddies. There is nothing better than dinner and tix in NYC for memorable Christmas season treats. No NYCB Nutcracker - seen that enough times. Once is wonderful but, like magic, once is enough. OK, maybe twice. Nobody does it better...
Pic is a relaxed Christmas Dog. I need to get a good pic of the BD daughter's pup too. We always pretend to detest tiny dogs, but you cannot help but love them once you meet and get to know them. These little things just crack you up. I just worry that my pup will bite its head off in playfulness.
It ain't over 'til the fat lady sings. Tough to find a 15 year-old Butterfly, so they don't even try:
The reason to link that bit of trivia is to reflect on how these sorts of things would have been handled by the MSM in the Bush admin. Bush, on his vacations, went to his dusty ranch and labored. A Texan with his family's Yankee genes and habits.
1:26 In the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent by God to a town in Galilee called Nazareth,
1:27 to a virgin engaged to a man whose name was Joseph, of the house of David. The virgin's name was Mary.
1:28 And he came to her and said, "Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you."
1:29 But she was much perplexed by his words and pondered what sort of greeting this might be.
1:30 The angel said to her, "Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God.
1:31 And now, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus.
1:32 He will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David.
1:33 He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end."
1:34 Mary said to the angel, "How can this be, since I am a virgin?"
1:35 The angel said to her, "The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore the child to be born will be holy; he will be called Son of God.
1:36 And now, your relative Elizabeth in her old age has also conceived a son; and this is the sixth month for her who was said to be barren.
1:37 For nothing will be impossible with God."
1:38 Then Mary said, "Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word." Then the angel departed from her.
Dominican Brother "Angelico" spent more of his career in the Dominican Friary of San Marco in Fiesole (just outside Florence).
That old friary is now a convent. You can visit the chapel just by hopping off the Firenze to Fiesole bus at the tobacco shop on the corner, which is what we did. We were the only people there. In fact, we had to bang on the door to get somebody to come and unlock the chapel for us. We like staying in the Fiesole hills and busing down to town, just like Lorenzo di Medici used to do on his Vespa.
It's better to look at art in situ than in museums. Fra Angelico's Nativity, in that chapel:
"Though Christmas is a religious holiday, secularists should appreciate its great contribution to Western Civilization: the lesson that all men are equal in their fundamental human dignity."
The celebration of Christmas has been a powerful teacher of the dignity of the human person. For Christians, Christmas is the feast of the Incarnation—the celebration of the moment when God became a man in order to live among men. It shows that God thought of human beings as worthy of being saved, and that he sought to save them by taking on humanity in a perfected form, thus opening the way to their own perfection. Christian belief in the Incarnation is thus inseparable from belief in the objective, and even transcendent, value of the human race as a whole, and of each human person as an individual.
Immensity cloistered in thy dear womb, Now leaves His well-belov'd imprisonment, There He hath made Himself to His intent Weak enough, now into the world to come; But O, for thee, for Him, hath the inn no room? Yet lay Him in this stall, and from the Orient, Stars and wise men will travel to prevent The effect of Herod's jealous general doom. Seest thou, my soul, with thy faith's eyes, how He Which fills all place, yet none holds Him, doth lie? Was not His pity towards thee wondrous high, That would have need to be pitied by thee? Kiss Him, and with Him into Egypt go, With His kind mother, who partakes thy woe.
In addition to your usual gift of a free subscription to Maggie's Farm, our present, once again, is an introduction to artist George Henry Durrie (1820-1863):
Born in Hartford, Connecticut, George Durrie was known as the "snowman" because of the many winter scenes he painted. He lived most of his life in New Haven and earned a reputation for rural landscape scenes, especially snow scenes, which he introduced as subject matter in American painting. His paintings "provide an excellent record of rural life in the mid-nineteenth century . . . and his carefully recorded details of nature and foliage added authenticity to his depictions."
This is Road to Boston, 1861. More of his work at this site.
"End of the Line." Reader reminded me this one, with the then recently-late Roy Orbison's guitar in the rocking chair, and with George Harrison with his cancer growing, unknown, inside him. Dylan? Just a humble member of the group.
Good tune (not embeddable, but well-worth the effort of pushing the link). Good fellows making music. I love it. I'd guess Captain Tom would love it too.
"Well, it's all right, even if you're old and gray..."
Gotta remember to tell Pastor that, if I get hit by a truck, he can play this tune in church. "It's all right...we're going to the end of the line."
The Monks of Norcia would like to wish you a Merry Christmas, as the nativity of Our Lord nears. We also want to share with you our most recent newsletter.
We thank you for being a part of our extended monastic family, as you provide much prayer and support for us throughout the year. May God bless you abundantly during this special season of Christmas.
Sincerely in Christ,
The Monks of Norcia
Regular readers know that the Bird Dog family, while Protestant in tradition (well, Mrs. BD is RC in tradition, Protestant in current practice), are fond of the Benedictine Monks of Norcia, offer them some modest support, and visited them, chatted with them and worshipped with them this past summer. Some American monks there.
Norcia was the home of St. Benedict. It is a joy and a privilege to support these people.
Not to seem irreverent, but the other reason to visit Norcia is for the food. They run buses up from Rome for the day just to eat and drink there, and to ride home in a wonderful Italian stupor with their bags of salumi, country wine, and dried stringozzi beside them. Possibly the best food in Italia: Porcini, Salumi, Cinghiale, Stringozzi, Polenta, Risotto, Tartuffo - and happily no spaghetti and no tomato sauce to be found.
Photo was our Italian Primo in Norcia - polenta with tartuffo sauce. The antipasto was also superb with the local cinghiale salumi and prosciutto, olives, and amazing Pecorino. As I recall, we had, as Secondo, Cighiali stew with porcini with a side of spinach with oil and garlic. That's real Italian. Can't beat it.
But is Maggie's a "conservative" website? I think we're centrist. Speaking only for myself, in my link collections I just try to link info, events, and perspectives that the MSM tends to overlook or desires to insulate us from for their own political reasons. Perhaps "contrarian" would be a word.
She's wrong, I think. Rich or poor, there will always be rotten people who work any system and use any system for freebies. Shame on them all, whether Welfare Queens, lazy jerks with aching backs, or Jon Corzines. They are more deserving of pity than of scorn. Throw them some money, and the heck with them.
"The post-totalitarian system touches people at every step, but it does so with its ideological gloves on. This is why life in the system is so thoroughly permeated with hypocrisy and lies: government by bureaucracy is called popular government; the working class is enslaved in the name of the working class; the complete degradation of the individual is presented as his ultimate liberation; depriving people of information is called making it available; the use of power to manipulate is called the public control of power, and the arbitrary abuse of power is called observing the legal code; the repression of culture is called its development; the expansion of imperial influence is presented as support for the oppressed; the lack of free expression becomes the highest form of freedom; farcical elections become the highest form of democracy; banning independent thought becomes the most scientific of world views; military occupation becomes fraternal assistance. Because the regime is captive to its own lies, it must falsify everything. It falsifies the past. It falsifies the present, and it falsifies the future. It falsifies statistics. It pretends not to possess an omnipotent and unprincipled police apparatus. It pretends to respect human rights. It pretends to persecute no one. It pretends to fear nothing. It pretends to pretend nothing."
Stuck in Ohio with the Memphis blues? 
Why you 
From MIT:
Here's how we keep it simple and organized in the BD household: We store the Christmas stuff in chests of drawers in the living room. Nothing to lug up and down, no boxes, etc.
Reader informed us that 
A friend told me that
Nativity
In addition to your usual gift of a free subscription to Maggie's Farm, our present, once again, is an introduction to artist George Henry Durrie (1820-1863):
Dear Friends,
Toon via 