Christmas passed . . .

 

Christmas passed . . .

 . . . quite quickly! We had a very quiet day on 25^th, just the two of us and the animals, though a couple of the daughters ‘phoned, which was really nice. They’re all so busy on Christmas Day, and we never expect, or demand, that they call. We know how they feel.

We had been invited to our children’s homes, but cannot leave home for more than four hours at a time, because of having to feed Jellicoe regularly, and they all live at least an hour away. He cannot control his diabetes all by himself!

We had roast duck, which was a mistake – I never realised that duck could repeat quite so much! ‘Quack, quack,’ it went all evening.

Our eldest great-grandson, aged ten, spent Christmas Eve in A & E, with testicular torsion. If all the men are wincing, you’re welcome. After an emergency operation, he was discharged in time to go home and wait for Father Christmas’s visit, though I think his attention was on things other than the potential fillings in his stocking. He’s still in a lot of pain, poor child.

His grandfather, our son-in-law, also had a hospital appointment on Christmas Eve, to assess the progress of his repaired Achilles’ tendon. His leg is constantly swelling, which is a concern. It will be several more months before he can return to work, no thanks to the misdiagnosis when the accident first occurred. Sometimes it’s true that the further away from London you live, the more uncertain is the medical treatment. Perhaps that’s true of any community far away from up-to-date city facilities.

His wife, our eldest daughter, was busy feeding the five thousand - three adult offspring, in-laws, in-laws’ in-laws, grandchildren, friends, and anyone else looking for a place to lay their head.

Our youngest daughter was unwell with cough, cold, aches and pains and two lively boys. She is recovering now, just in time for her birthday today, on 29^th December. Why can’t parents be more responsible and give birth to their children at a sensible, less busy time of year? Her ankle is much improved.

Our middle daughter had a strange day. Her oven stopped working and so did her washing machine - somehow the two seemed to be connected in some way - so she had to improvise a Christmas meal for her twelve-year-old son, which worked well enough. At least she was able to spend the day with him, which had been in some doubt until almost the day itself. Long, sad, unfair story. She came home for the day on Saturday, and we had a Christmas meal together, which we all enjoyed much more than the ‘Festive Fare’ on Christmas Day. She and her little dog have gone home to her cats now, and it’s just the two/six of us again.

Our son prepared a feast on Christmas Eve for his three adult children and their partners and friends, which they all enjoyed, and then he created another banquet on Christmas Day. He is an excellent cook, and a genial host.

Barry went to lose some more blood to the NHS on Christmas Eve, too. He’ll have none left at this rate.

So, we limp towards New Year’s Eve, never my favourite night of the year, so we shall stay in, maybe watch the fireworks from around the world, but probably have an early night. I miss the New Years’ Eves of my youth in Kent, when all the ships marked the passing of the old year and the welcome to the new with a ‘Whoop whoop.’ Heart-stirring stuff!

The young of the community will return to their homes in varying degrees of intoxication, singing or shouting, full of bonhomie and beer. The foxes will announce their presence and call for mates, as they have been doing for several nights, now, and 2025 will dawn, grey and still, and life will continue.

Happy New Year to one and all! 

Cold collation . . .

 

Cold collation . . .

 . . . or cold meat and pickles, with some bubble and squeak.

We had a lovely piece of roast beef on Saturday, when Susannah came home. She’s vegetarian so she had a Quorn roast, but the three of us enjoyed a fine selection of roast vegetables.

As usual, I had been over generous with the joint, so we had plenty of meat left over. That suited me, as I prefer cold cuts to hot food. I have unsophisticated food tastes, a child’s palate, perhaps, while many of the children in my extended family appreciate exotic dishes.

Barry has just informed me that he’s looking forward to a slice of beef with a dressing of stinky cheese melted over it. Nooooo!

We pulled Christmas crackers on Saturday. I cornered the market in crackers a few years ago. I don’t know why it happened, but I bought dozens of them, a hangover from the days when I catered for 15 to 20 people for Christmas lunch. In the same way, I have never quite adjusted to catering daily for less than six, and it’s been many years since we had a houseful of family living with us.

I have sufficient mince pies to keep us satisfied stuffed for months, and there is a mountain of cheese in the fridge. It will all be consumed until we are as fat as a house, or as portly as a pig. At least, I will be - Barry is far more disciplined than I.

Never mind, once the white rabbits of the new year’s January have been welcomed, ‘sensible’ eating will ensue, not starvation – there’s no future in that. However, there are only two more days to go . . . I am convinced that all will be well. Everything Most things will keep . . . won’t they?

Now, just in case you haven’t had enough feeble seasonal jokes, here’s one for you from my cracker.

Why did the chicken resign?

She was being paid a poultry amount! Boom boom!

The joke actually said ‘he’ not ‘she’ – dear, dear, chickens are females, aren’t they, or was this a woke joke?                                                              

Warming

 

Warming

            Herschel warms the cockles of his heart, before taking up residence in Barry’s chair.

A bit of nonsense

 

A bit of nonsense

Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

 ‘Twas the week after Christmas

And all through the land,

There was moaning and groaning

And pinching waist bands.

 

The turkey’s not finished,

And nor are the sprouts,

The curry’s quite filling  -

Of that there’s no doubt.

 

Excitement is dimming,

The presents unwrapped,

We’re tired with headaches –

Our energy sapped.

 

So, look to the future,

The New Year awaits,

Goodbye to the past,

We welcome our fates.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Silent monks and the Hallelujah! chorus

 

Hallelujah!

                             Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!

Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!

For the Lord God omnipotent reigneth.

Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! 

Don't forget to count your Hallelujahs!

Ding dong merrily on high

 

Ding dong, merrily on high

Ding dong, merrily on high, 

In heav'n the bells are ringing;

Ding dong, verily the sky 

Is riv'n with angel singing.

Gloria, hosannah in excelsis!

Gloria, hosannah in excelsis!

E'en so here, below, below,

Let steeple bells be swungen,

And io, io ,io,

By priest and people sungen.

Gloria, hosannah in excelsis!

Gloria, hosannah in excelsis!

Pray ye dutifully prime

Your matin chimes, ye ringers;

May ye beautifully rhyme

Your evetime song, ye singers.

Angels

 

Angels

Angels from the realms of glory

Angels from the realms of glory,

Wing your flight o’er all the earth;

Ye who sang creation’s story

Now proclaim Messiah’s birth;

Gloria in excelsis deo,

Gloria in excelsis deo.

Christmas mushroom?

 

Christmas mushroom?

I bought a little bauble in the shape of a mushroom for the Christmas tree. It’s the fly agaric mushroom, or Amanita muscaria and I thought it attractive. However, it’s not something I had ever associated with Christmas, so I looked into it.

 Some researchers have claimed that during the winter solstice, which occurs on 21^st or 22^nd December, Amanita was used in the ceremonies of ancient Arctic communities.

Fly agaric grows on the ground near birch and pine trees and is a formidable hallucinogenic. It is said that the shamans collected the mushrooms and conducted a festive ceremony for the winter solstice. The toxicity of the fungus was lessened by being filtered through the digestive tracts of reindeer. The resulting urine was then able to be drunk, and its magical properties experienced.

Another way to ingest the mushrooms without harm was to allow them first to dry out on the branches of trees or stuffed inside socks over a fire.

All this seems highly speculative. There is more conjecture here. Whatever the truth of it, fly agaric is attractive, though deadly. By the shortest day of midwinter, it is not generally to be found in the woods, which rather undermines the colourful theories.

Dogs and chocolate

 

Dogs and chocolate

                            Whisky, gently taking part of a KitKat from my mouth.                         That was the year we had the same colour hair/fur, Whisky and  I, though hers was natural.

In the years before anyone realised that dogs and chocolate were a dangerous combination, we used to hang chocolate decorations on the Christmas tree.

We came home one day to find that all the chocolate had been comprehensively sucked out of the foil wrappings and our Labrador, Whisky, was looking rather pleased with herself. We knew it wasn’t our small children – they would have taken the decorations off the tree in their entirety. It was our fault. We had trained her with chocolate - she was the gentlest dog.

That was the last year we put chocolate on the tree. Now, of course, chocolate is kept strictly away from dogs and cats.

However, Buddy Liver Spots once ate a complete chocolate cake one Christmas, to our grandchildren’s delight and admiration. He didn’t suffer any ill effects whatsoever and didn’t even look full or guilty. 

Buddy Liver Spots,counter surfing, supported keenly and optimistically by Dominie

Dalmatians are as greedy as Labradors, taller than them, and adept at counter surfing! We became quite used to placing food out of their reach  and have to do it still, since Jellicoe is a Labrador in disguise, always looking for something to eat. However, cats can and do climb, so it's even more of a challenge to keep them away from our comestibles!

 

The Entropy Gang’s Christmas 2024 blog

Herschel: The SERVANTS have been busy. They both went out the other day really early. We didn’t mind because we had our breakfast early too. Then the THINKER came back without the MAID.

Jellicoe: He took the DOGS for a walk, Roxy first, then Gilbert. We were a bit worried in case he forgot to give us our elevenses. It’s usually the MAID who feeds us.

Herschel: We need not have worried. I don’t think he would have forgotten for long, not with Jellicoe yowling round him and nipping his arm.

Jellicoe: I was just reminding him! Anyway, he soon went out again. Some people just can’t sit still.

Herschel: We were pleased when he came back, because the MAID was with him, and she gave us our threeses. So, everything was back to normal.

Jellicoe: They put up a tree for us to play with. At least, we thought it was for us.

Herschel: Gilbert’s tail swiped the dangling ornaments and made them dance . . .

 Jellicoe: . . . so, of course, we had to tap them with our paws . . .

Herschel: . . . and before we knew it, the tree fell over!

Jellicoe: The angel at the top lost her head . . .

                             With her head tucked underneath her arm . . .

Herschel: . . . and it had to be glued back on.

Jellicoe: One or two of the baubles fell on the floor and the THINKER stepped on them . . .

Herschel: . . . but they’re not glass - we don't have those  ‘coz of little feet and paws.

Jellicoe: The MAID hadn’t been very happy with the tree anyway, because the lights had been put on last, not first, and the wires all showed up horribly . . .

Herschel: . . . so she had to take everything off and put it back properly . . .

Jellicoe:  . . . and that was all right, because the THINKER found some of the lost lights . . .

Herschel: . . . and now it looks much prettier . . .

Jellicoe: . . . until it falls over again!

Christmas children

 

Christmas children

                        A Christmas three-year-old with matching doll

Nothing can compare to the delight in a small child’s face when faced with the joys of Christmas. All is magical and wondrous, and their eyes grow rounder and brighter as each new glory unfolds before them.

They retain that innocence throughout their pre-school and Infant school years, from the ages of two until seven. As they lisp their way through whichever version of a Christmas story they are telling in their concert,  wise adult eyes grow moist. Even their teachers, who have guided and drilled them through their words and songs, often find themselves unexpectedly moved by the unworldliness of small humans who have not lived on this earth for long.

Nonetheless, there are moments of unforeseen hilarity. Mary, struggling up a slope, slides backwards, and Joseph gives her a hearty shove. The Three Kings/Wise Men, always misplaced in the Nativity, fling their gifts at the little family with a grunted blessing and hurry away to the back of the stage. The shepherds try to herd their sheep, who are in some cases much bigger than them, and the donkey’s headdress keeps slipping over his eyes. The cattle have got colds and keep wiping their noses and Mary is trying to look like a caring little mother while unceremoniously thumping the baby (doll) into the crib. The Angel Gabriel appears amidst a host of angels and one of the angels has an enormous, homemade pair of ungainly wings which threaten to make her overbalance, if they haven’t already put out a smaller child’s eyes.

The words of the carols are sometimes not explained, so children happily sing nonsense, like ‘highly flavoured lady,’ and ‘stay by my side until morning is night,’ and ‘poor as I yam,’ that last one heard even among recordings of the exalted King’s College choir.

Almost without fail, the children will search the audience for their parent or grandparent or aunt or big brother, and will wave to them, even though they have been told repeatedly not to. There is usually at least one child who hasn’t got a family member attending, and it’s so sad to see their distress growing as their lips tremble and tears spring to their eyes.

Among the very youngest children, there will often be one or two who will be overcome by the occasion and burst into tears or wet themselves – sometimes both at the same time – or simply refuse to go onto the stage with the rest of the ‘cast.’ The solemnity of the occasion will be lost on many, who will proceed to chat, pinch, adjust their neighbour’s costume and ignore all warning glares from supervising adults.

Some children sing with gusto. The following clip is one I have shared before which never fails to make me laugh. The older children can be seen trying valiantly to maintain the ‘glory’ of the moment, while the younger ones are torn between admiration and astonishment.

By the time term ends, the children will have ‘done’ Christmas multiple times and their excitement will know no bounds. Overtired, over-stimulated, they are prey to all the bugs around and frequently fall victim to coughs, colds, sore throats, diarrhoea and vomiting and will be in no fit state to enjoy the actual festival.

All too soon, the greatly anticipated ‘most wonderful time of the year,’ as the song informs us, is over. New Year celebrations are understated, unless you’re a Scot enjoying Hogmanay, and at the very beginning of January, the spring term starts.

The small, exhausted children, having had very little time to appreciate their new toys, or catch up on their sleep, are chivvied back to school, where they are reacquainted with their equally tired teachers, and life continues. The term of generously shared illnesses proceeds apace, worried parents telling each other that it’s important for their offspring to undergo these ailments in order to build their immune systems, and so they do.

The wheel of the year turns, and all too soon, Easter eggs and rabbits and other chocolatey delights cram the shelves of shops, at just the right height to attract children. Amidst all this, at school, the children learn about ‘Cheesus’ and try to absorb the meaning of new life. After all, they are still very new themselves.

A typical scene?

 

A typical scene?

Christmas cards come in many designs, but frequently snow is featured on them in UK. We used to have snowy winters, though I cannot remember ever having a white Christmas in the south of England. I have lived in many other regions, but a white Christmas has always been most elusive.

 Nonetheless, many cards depict pretty scenes of snow-covered roofs, or churches nestled in the hearts of picture postcard villages. Not many people live in such locations.

This mug shows a snowy house on a fine, bright day, with a cheerful robin in the foreground. It looks idyllic. Imagine the roaring fire in the drawing room and the kitchen bursting with tempting smells. In the dining room the table is laid with the best china and silver and glassware in expectation of a fine feast, impeccably cooked and served. Everyone’s plate, warmed beforehand, of course, is laden with delicious fare and no-one’s food is cold.

If you can manage that, I applaud you. Etiquette dictates that no-one may start to eat until everyone has been served. That is possible if there is a party of four or five, but with a family of fifteen or more, which happens as people add to the company with spouses and offspring, it is well-nigh impossible.

The reality is rather different. The house, old, draughty, with uncertain air currents and ill-fitting windows and doors, gives its inhabitants cold noses and toes. The fire gutters and goes out, the roof leaks, and everything feels damp. Lunch was planned for one o’clock, but the oven is unpredictable and those in charge of the cooking had forgotten about the gravy or the sprouts. The huge turkey, which barely fits in the oven, should have been started on its culinary journey at least three hours earlier. Eventually, everything is ready and the meal commences hours later. Despite the delays, everyone enjoys their meal, but most of all, it’s being together that can be pleasing.

The other side of the mug shows a little more of the village in which the big house stands. Splendid trees, crowned with snow, provide a background to the gabled roofs of houses. The stream that runs under the bridge is frozen. It is a peaceful, bucolic scene.

Again, the truth may be more prosaic. Heavy rains fall and melt the snow, the water level in the stream rises, and the inhabitants find their homes flooded. Services are cut off and those who had the foresight to stock up with candles try to enjoy the strangeness of a home without any noise from appliances, hoping that the novelty will not last long.

However, it’s fun to dream.

The bands at the top and bottom of the mug show oak leaves and acorns, national symbols of the UK. They represent strength and fortitude, good fortune and health.

Actually, I must have liked this mug enough to buy it ten years ago, but I really don’t care much for it now. What was I thinking?

Gilbert the Good – Christmas Epistle

 

Gilbert the Good – Christmas Epistle

Andrew mentioned that I hadn’t written a blog post recently. My last one was in August this year.

I am pleased to report that I’ve been going out for long walks in the forest with Barry. It feels strange to go out without Roxy, as I really like playing with her, but at the moment, she goes out first and then I go out afterwards. I like meeting people and playing with different dogs, but Roxy is my best playmate, followed by Arthur, Susannah’s dog.

 I can’t wait for Janice to get back into walking. Maybe, when she’s had her injection on Friday, she’ll be able to walk further than the end of the drive, then we’ll all be able to go out together, like we used to. Paws crossed!

It's been a strange year. Susannah came to stay for a few weeks with Arthur and the cats. Now she’s moved to London, and we all miss her. She’s coming to see us soon and that will make Roxy and me very happy, especially as Arthur will come with her.

Barry has been back and forth to different hospitals for months. I don’t know what months are, but I think it means a long time. He’s had so much blood taken that I think his arm must be empty by now, and he needs a photograph album for all the pictures he’s had taken of his insides. I can’t see the point of that. I mean, you wouldn’t want to frame them and put them on the wall, would you? Everyone seems to be pleased with him, though, so that’s good.

The angle of this photograph makes Jellicoe appear bigger than his brother, but he's much smaller than Herschel.

Jellicoe is much happier since he had some teeth out and his breath certainly smells sweeter. He’s spending more time with Herschel, even sleeping in the same bed – one of our dog beds - though they still squabble from time to time.

Here's Jellicoe with Roxy.

Most of the time, Herschel and Jellicoe like to cuddle up with us, and that’s really nice.

Here's Herschel with me. He's looking quite cross, but he's not. He's just relaxing.

I hope it won’t be so long before I write another blog post, but it has been a busy year and we all hope that next year will be much, much better.

Meanwhile, I wish you all a Very Merry Christmas and a Happy and Healthy 2025. Make the most of every day and try to ‘Always look on the bright side of life.’

 TTFN

Gilbert

The Holly and the Ivy

 

The Holly and the Ivy

One of my favourite Christmas carols, this song dates from the early 19^th century, though the association between Christmas and holly goes back to at least mediaeval times.

The Holly and the Ivy

The Druids of ancient Celtic times in Britain, Ireland and France considered holly a symbol of both fertility and eternal life. They thought the tree possessed magical powers. Ivy represents friendship and loyalty and is believed to protect against disaster. Holly and ivy together signify harmony in the family.

In the carol, holly represents Jesus and ivy represents  Mary.

The small white summer flowers of the holly are symbolic of peace and optimism. In the carol, the words ‘as white as the lily flower’ are reminders of the birth of the baby Jesus.

The scarlet holly berry is ‘as red as any blood,’ and the sharp, prickly leaves are thought to represent Christ’s crown of thorns. The holly tree bark is bitter, like the gall that was raised to Christ’s lips on the cross. The gall was thought to be a drug to ease pain.

Thus, the carol brings to mind the whole of Christ’s life, from lowly birth to ignominious death as a common criminal.

The rising of the sun

And the running of the deer,

The playing of the merry organ,

Sweet singing in the choir.

Time to decorate the tree

 

Time to decorate the tree . . . at last!

                                The tree in all its naked glory

The annual dressing of the tree is taking place in the Cooke household. There is a tradition in place, which we never wish to repeat, but somehow always do. Every year, without fail, there is a small drama around the Christmas tree lights. Each Twelfth Night, when I strip the tree, I carefully wrap the lights round tubes so that they won’t tangle when I get them out. Then I put them ‘somewhere safe,’ along with the tree and the decorations.

                         What's in the tin? Something toothsome?

                                    What do you expect me to do? 

There is quite a lot of toing and froing in our house, with people coming and going, and ‘things’ are moved around. So, this year, we cannot find them. We know they’re somewhere in the house . . . or possibly the garage, which is another disaster area, with absolutely no room for a car. 

                                                     Decorations!

Rather than tear our hair out in a probably fruitless search, we have decided to buy another set. Again, this is quite a familiar task, for if we do ever manage to track down the missing illuminations, we often discover that they don’t work/bulbs are missing/wires are frayed. I am full of puzzled admiration for those families who manage to keep their lights for years and never have a problem with locating them and/or getting them to work. That is never going to be our fortune.

Meanwhile, until the new lights arrive, our tree sits in quiet understated splendour.

  

I have a tiny tree which has an ever-changing light display to spread some Christmas cheer while we wait. How long will it be before the battery gives out, and will we have the right size replacement? That’s another perennial teaser.

What were we doing?

 

What were we doing?

Photographs like these pop up in our displays all the time and they stir many memories.

Just before Christmas in 2009, we were delighting in our baby black Labrador puppy, Gus. He adored Frodo, my Velcro dog and spent as much time as he could tucked up with him or following him around. Frodo was an awkward dog with anyone he didn’t know, including other dogs, but was as gentle as could be with all the young ones in our family, whether two or four-legged. He was a faithful, loyal companion. He had many health problems, but he taught us so much. There are a number of blog posts about his life.

Gus grew into a very handsome boy, much admired by those who met him. He was a kind, sensitive dog, always anxious to please. He lived with enough dogs in the family that he never felt the need to meet and greet other dogs, though he was perfectly friendly if they approached him. He wrote many blog entries.

They are both much missed. Being remembered by those who loved them grants them immortality.

                ‘Dogs do speak, but only to those who know how to listen.’

Orhan Pamuk (1952-present)

Candy canes

 

Candy canes

Today’s mug is an interesting shape and features images associated with Christmas festivities. I’m familiar with all of them, though the candy canes were not something associated with Christmas when my children were growing up. I have noticed them increasingly in recent years and they now seem to be an established part of Christmas décor in UK.

A legendary explanation for the origin of candy canes comes from Germany. It claims that in 1670 a harassed choirmaster at Cologne Cathedral was seeking a way of keeping his high-spirited choirboys quiet during Mass on Christmas Eve. He asked a local confectioner to make some sugar sticks that he could give the boys. In order for the sweets to be acceptable in a religious setting, he asked the confectioner to bend the tops of the sticks so that they resembled shepherd’s crooks, which would remind the children of the shepherds involved in the Nativity.

Peppermint candy canes

Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

There is no way to prove the truth of this story, but references to it were not made until the middle of the twentieth century. The tradition of candy canes spread from Germany to other European countries and eventually to the United States. The first recorded use of candy canes in the States came in 1847, when a European immigrant in Ohio decorated a small tree with canes.

For two hundred years, candy canes were white. Coloured stripes were not introduced until the beginning of the twentieth century. Traditionally, candy canes are red and white, and flavoured with peppermint, but today they can be found in assorted colour combinations and tastes.

Peppermint is a natural deterrent to animals. It is thought that peppermint canes were hung on Christmas trees to discourage rodents and other small animals from damaging them.

Made to measure

 

 Made to measure

Jellicoe and Herschel enjoy the Christmas season. They particularly appreciate the influx of cardboard boxes. No matter what size they are, they have to be assessed for the efficiency of their insulation. Does cardboard have tog ratings in the same way that duvets do?

It's more of a tight squeeze for Herschel . . .

 

                        . . . but possession is nine tenths of the law!

Gilbert is intensely interested in boxes at any time of the year. His nose nudges human hands working to open them. He likes investigating the packing material so often found inside and frequently carries it to his bed for further inspection. This involves pulling it gently apart with his teeth, to further understand its composition. Roxy is often invited to aid in the analysis.

Just like small children, cats and dogs are as delighted by the boxes as by the contents. I wish we could all be so readily pleased.