Sing Me Another Christmas Song

Merry Christmas to One and All. Another Uncle Bardie lyric:

Sing me another Christmas song
Sing me another Silent Night
Hark the herald angels sing
All is calm, all is bright.

The story so big
Wide and full of light
So sing, sing out, friends
Songs of love, hope and light.

They came from the East
Those Wise Men of old
In search of a Song
Through heat and the cold.

So sing me another Christmas song

Snow was on the ground
A chill in the air
On a misty morn
Suddenly a choir.

Heavenly creatures
Angelic singers,
A Joy to the World:
A Child in a manger.

So sing me another Christmas song

A new dawn had dawned
For a brand new day
For the wise and the fool
For the us and the they.

The song once sung
Continues to sing,
“Peace on the earth
Good will toward all things.”

So sing me another Christmas song
Sing me another Silent Night
Hark the herald angels sing
All is calm, all is bright.

Christmas With the Joneses: A Hero’s Journey

For many of us, Christmas is the big WOW of the Year. It’s the Superbowl of holidays. Year after year, we’ve lived one remake of Christmas after another. Like the Batman origin remakes, we can’t seem to get enough of them. This year we visit our heroes, Mom and Dad Jones, as they go on a Christmas Hero’s Journey.

1. Ordinary World.
Thanksgiving. It’s Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, the turkey feast and Cowboys football for Dad and the kiddies at the Joneses.

2. Call To Adventure.
Mom grabs her purse. “I’m off to Walmart,” she says, noticing none of the Jones gang pays attention.

3. Refusal Of The Call.
Mom takes in the line at Walmart and she’s already done before getting her foot in the door. Mom Jones has had a rough week. It’s like she already has ptsd and the combat hasn’t even begun. She turns to leave.

4. Meeting The Mentor.
Betty Smith, an older neighbor, calls out to Mom, “Don’t leave. I’ll show you the Black Friday tango.”

5. Crossing The Threshold.
Grabbing Mom Jones’ hand, Betty zips in and out of the crowd. Then nosedives through the front door. Before they can say, “Snap! Crackle! Pop!” Betty and Mom are honing down on the last of the Tuckees and the Whiz-Banger-oonies.

6. Tests, Allies, Enemies.
Mom gets home with all the junk…I mean, gifts she paid big time bucks for. Little does she realize they’ll all be on sale two weeks before Christmas. But she’s done her part. There’s one more test she has to survive before the day is done. She has to keep herself from killing Dad Jones. He slurped down the last slice of that pecan pie, and she’d wanted it. Bad!

Now comes Dad’s turn. It’s Monday and he’s taken the day off to fulfill his obligation to save beaucoup bucks. He’s up early for Amazon’s Monday Lalapalooza Prime Day. The Prime Day to Beat All Prime Days. He pours himself a big “World’s Greatest Dad” cup of coffee. Before you know it, he’s racking up brownie points galore.

With a smile on his face, he comes to his last challenge. It’s a must-have must-have. And there’s only one of them at half price. A Family Summer Vacation at Boony World. Let the bidding begin. Just when his finger is at the ready-to-send button, there’s a power glitch. Three hours later Boony World Vacay has sunk into the swamp.

In the days that follow, there’s tree hunting. Christmas tree lights to plug in. The nativity scene alongside Santa’s sleigh. There’s putting together the this-that-and-the-other. There’s way too much egg nog for Dad at the annual Christmas party. There’s the DUI he gets on the way home from the office Christmas party.

And for Mom, she still has nightmares from the last night before Christmas. This year there’s the Christmas cookies for the PTA Christmas party that just about poisoned half the school. There’s the Christmas letters she sent that were returned for lack of a stamp.

7. Approach To The Inmost Cave.
Christmas Eve. Mall time for Dad, that giant bit of Americana that seems to be fading into the sunset these days. He’s after a super-dooper Super Dooper for Mom. He’s gonna get one for his One-and-Only come hell or high water. Even if he has to kidnap it.

8. Ordeal.
Christmas Eve. The kiddies are tucked into bed. Mom and Dad Jones start to put the swing set together for Little Alice. Unfortunately the instructions are in Chinese. Dad being handy around the house thinks he’s got the job licked. On his first try, the darn thing comes out lopsided and upside down. Then he realizes he’s been reading the instructions backwards and they’re all Greek to him anyway. There’s three screws missing, and I’m not talking about in his brain. If he had only not thrown away that small bag of leftovers, he would’ve been a-okay.

9. Reward (Seizing The Sword)
It’s one o’clock in the morning and the parents have the swing set together and the tree ready and waiting with their goodies. They drop into bed, exhausted, knowing their ordeal is just about over. Christmas Day is only a few hours away.

10. The Road Back.
The next morning Mom and Dad are awakened by a noise downstairs. It’s Snookles, the family Saint Bernard. And it’s pretty darn sure that he’s going to wrap the tree and the presents with drool. Someone forgot to close the back door last night. Heading down the stairs, they move with the speed of light.

11. Resurrection
They are surprised to find Snookles, Junior and Little Alice waiting in the living room, with big smiles on their faces and a “Very Merry Christmas.”

12. Return With The Elixir.
It’s been a long, long journey for our family, the Joneses. The presents have been opened, the dinner has been served, the God-bless-us-everyones have been said. Christmas night, after the kiddies and Snookles are put to bed, our hero couple sit snuggled together on the sofa. For just a few moments, thoughts of joy to the world and peace on Earth good will toward all run through their heads. Then Mom reaches over and kisses Dad and says, “Next year we’re going to our parents for Thanksgiving, then take a month-long cruise.” Dad nods his agreement.

Merry Christmas one and all.

What I did on my summer vacation. Not.

Since it’s back-to-school days, I’m thinking back to the Day. My English teachers, and I’m sure yours, issued the ultimate in essay assignments, “What did I do on my summer vacation.”

Unfortunately the essay gods were not kind to me. I had no answer to that question. You see, my summer days were boring as heck. So boring, I won’t even try to extrapolate on the boredom. Take my word for it. They were boring, and I didn’t want my teachers to get a case of the boredoms. Can you contemplate how many thousands of these exercises in torture the average teacher must have to endure?

Which left me no alternative but to be creative. And creative I became.

There are many forms an essay may take. The first year, following my new strategy, I gave my teacher a list. And not just any list. I gave her a list that would have made Alexander the Great proud.

Why would Alex be proud? I became him with a list of my conquests, beginning with El Gordo, the Gordian Knot. The pyramids, the Parthenon, the Hanging Gardens of Babylon. I gave her the names of places she’d never heard of, like Akkad, Phrygia, Persepolis, Lagash and Memphis. And I don’t mean, Memphis, Tennessee.

The next year I went descriptive. I was Cleopatra floating down the Nile, watching the crocodiles crocodile and ibises ibis-ing. Then I saw Marc Antony on the shore. His nose would give any nose a run for its money. And man, he had one heck of a sword.

One year I tried out a Tom Sawyer and a Huckleberry Finn. After all, they’d put down their summer vacations as “The Adventures of–.” Any adventures of is a summer vacation in my book. I let the teacher know I had been such a good entrepreneur. I sold places to the paint-my-picket fence celebration. When it was finished, I had enough money to hire a raft and sail down to New Orleans on the Mississippi.

Another year I took on a Just-call-me-Ishmael and gave her my best Moby Dick impression. Then I related how I had done a Sherlock Holmes and solved the case of who ate Grandma’s apple pie. I cannot tell a lie. It was me.

Then one year I decided autobiography was the thing. I wrote about how I found my Uncle Ralph’s treasure trove of Playboy Magazines. I had never seen anything like it. All she had to say, “That sure puts the phrase ‘carpe diem’ in a whole new perspective.”

Son of Mary

Happy Easter everyone. Inspired by Leonard Cohen.

Son of Mary,
come along up the hill.
Look down into the valley.
Don’t you feel the thrill
of worship, of the praises?
So don’t resist. Take the pill.

Son of Mary,
come along up the hill.
Change the water into wine.
Let them drink their fill.
Feed the empty and the hungry
till they’ve had their meal.

Son of Mary,
come along up the hill.
Give us your tales and stories.
Heal the blind and the ill.
Teach us wisdom; teach us Truth.
Teach us the false from the real.

Son of Mary,
come along up the hill.
Spread your arms till they are wings.
Surrender your will.
Let the blood flood below.
Then the earth shall be still.

The Hound of Culann

To celebrate St. Patrick’s Day, here is an Irish tale. It is based on “Táin Bó Cúalnge”. In English, that’s The Cattle Raid of Cooley.

The Blood of Cu Chulainn

In the long long ago days before Patrick came to the Emerald Isle, before the Holy Man chased the snakes away, before the Blessed Saint converted the Irish folk away from their pagan ways, there was a mighty mighty man. Mightier than Hercules of the Romans and the Greeks, Mightier than Thor of the Norsemen. Mightier than Paul Bunyan.

His name was Cu Chulainn, the Hound of Culann. Known by some as The Cuke. For one thing, it was easier to pronounce. For a t’other, the mighty mighty man had a tendency to run amucksky from time to time. His amucksky was enough to throw the Incredible Hulk into a corner, crying for his mommykins. That’s how badass The Cuke was.

Now that we’ve met our hero, it’s time to meet the Villain. Notice I capitalize Villain. Her name was Medb, but we’ll call her Maeve. Take Catwoman, stir in a dose of Mystique, throw in a dollop of Bella Lestrrange, then toss in a dollop of Morgan Le Fay, and you’ve got Maeve.

Being bested in a contest could get her dander up. She did not take lightly to losing. Take the time she was runner-up for Miss Teenage Celt of Ireland. Miss Teenager Celt dropped dead the day after her coronation. Everybody said it was poison but they couldn’t prove it. There was no CSI in those days.

Before that, she was supposed to be Paris’ lady love. Maeve was none to happy that he ran off with Helen. Maybe that was why Troy ended up the way Troy ended up. And when Arthur came calling, then change his mind and went after Guinevere. Well, it was bye-bye-Miss-American-Pie for Camelot. As you can see, Maeve was used to getting her way. When it came to Maeve, it was like Nancy Sinatra sang. You didn’t want to go messing where you shouldn’t be messing. Just ask her four husbands. After all, she was the daughter of the High King of Ireland.

One night, after playing a game of frisky with her fourth husband, Ailill, King of Cannaucht, the two got into an argument of who had the bestest–and the mostest–stuff. Laughing, she said, “I’ll show you.” So they jumped out of bed and had their servants bring all their treasures to the Great Hall: silver buckets, golden pots, rings, jewelry, sheep, horses and pigs. People were really into livestock in those days.

When they got to cattle, Maeve turned up one bull short. That just wouldn’t do. There was no way that the daughter of the High King was going to be one bull short.

Now she figured that since she was one bull short, why not get the best bull. She decided she wanted Donn Cualinge, The Brown Bull of Cualinge. But he was up in Ulster. There was nothing to do but go and get him. Unfortunately, the bull was guarded by none other than The Cuke.

Maeve called in all the favors owed her and Ailill. She sent messengers to the Four Counties. “We’re going to war.”

To ready herself, she gave her fashion designer, and all-around good dress maker, a hoot and a holler. He was someone who had dressed queens from one end of the planet to the other. You name the princess and he’d done her get-up. Now Maeve needed some get-up and go for her ownself. And she was about to get it. He had saved his best work for Maeve. After all, his blood bled green. “I have just the thing for you, dahling,” he said.

And it was just the thing. A silver helmet that left her long red hair free to flow in the wind. Golden armor that reflected the sun, and yet revealed the physicality of her physicality. In it, her curves had curves.

And the piece de resistance was her makeup. Her makeup artist painted her face with such war paint that it could’ve scare the bejeesus out of Hades. She looked her best kick butt. And, of course, her chariot was the Ferari of Chariots from none other than Chariots Ellite. It was the latest CE-337.

She seated herself beside her driver, then the chariot pulled out in front o her army. With her green eyes ablaze with war, she commanded, “On to Ulster.” Away she went, leading her troop to war. As they made their way through the countryside, people lined the roads to watch the parade go by.

Since every war needs a theme song, her men marched onward, singing, “Faigh scuab agus nigh do chuid fiacia.” Translated, it meant “Get a brush and clean your teeth.” Maeve was way ahead of her time when it came to hygiene. She showered twice a day. She’s the one who came up with “cleanliness is next to godliness.”

Guiding the way to Ulster was Fergus mac Roich. Once upon a time he was King of Ulster, but no more. Though he was on the outs with the current king of Ulster, he was still buddy-buddy with The Cuke. He secretly did a Paul Revere and sent his friend a message, “The Irish are coming, the Irish are coming.” Then he led the queen here, there and everywhere, but not to Ulster. To give his friend time to prepare.

“Fergie, what are you trying to do, Big Boy?” Maeve asked with her best Mae West. “Why’s it taking so long?”

“Well,” Fergus answered, “it’s a long way to Tipperary.”

“We’re not going to Tipperary.”

“That’s not what your husband told me.”

Ailill defended himself. “I didn’t say Tipperary. I said temporary. We’re going to Ulster, you goof.”

“Don’r call me a goof. Apologize or I’ll have you for lunch.”

Not wanting to distract from the current campaign, Ailill apologized.

“Just watch it,” Fergus said.

Queen Maeve was tired of the tit for tat. “We’re going to Ulster, and you are a goof.”

“Why didn’t you say so?” Fergus asked. “Ulster’s that way. At least, I think it is. Without the gps, I’m not for certain.”

“You’re just trying to put things off,” Maeve said. “Now let’s get to it before I turn you into a frog.”

“You can do that?” Fergus wanted to know.

“You bet your sweet booties. Now on to Ulster.”

“Would you like to go  the secret way? That way we’ll get the Bull without anybody knowing. And we’ll avoid The Cuke.”

“Cuke, smuke. We have an army. We have two armies Ulster will be no match for us. Besides they have the Curse.”

The Curse? you ask. Years earlier, a witch, one of Macbeth’s three-bies, placed a Curse on the Ulstermen. When an army approached, they would go off into a little snooze. Because The Cuke was a superhero, the Curse never affected him.

Maeve’s army came to a river. The heads of four of her warriors were facing her, sticking out their tongues.

“Who did this?” Maeve demanded.

“Only The Cuke could do such a thing,” Fergus answered the sixty-four thousand dollar question.

“We’re just going to have to whop up on this Cuke,” the queen said, and she meant it.

The great warrior Froech of the mac Fidaigs stepped forward. “Your majesty, I’d be pleased as punch if you would let me do the pleasure.” And off he went, taking nine buddies with him. The Cuke took them out like Captain America took out Red Skull.

Next up was another group of warriors with muscles up the ying-yang. The Cuke did a Muhammad Ali on them, KO-ing them like there was no tomorrow.

Over the next few days, The Cuke stacked up the bodies and begged Maeve to keep ’em coming. There was no way she was going to get past him if The Cuke had anything to say about it. Unfortunately he didn’t have anything to say about it. All the rough housing and beating the crap out of guys who wanted to be the next champion of the world had worn him out.

Maeve managed to sneak past him without her army. She picked up the Bull and slipped him past The Cuke. And then she took off, heading back home.

The Cuke gave chase. But it wasn’t much of a chase. His energy had sapped out and he dropped. That was when daddy showed up. Lugh was a god and he had come to get his boy back in shape. Fro three days and three nights, Lugh put his healing magic to work.

The Cuke recovered and chased Maeve and her army. Then he wreaked his vengeance on her men. Maeve begged for more folks to go out and take on The Cuke. “Are you crazy?” the asked, knowing that she was half cuckoo. She promised them gold and sex, and silver and sex, and sex and sex. She was very persuasive. So they went after The Cuke. They met him in the swamp known as Blood Iron. They did not make it back.

Finally she called for The Cuke’s foster brother, Ferdia. She promised and she promised and she promised. But he kept saying, “Ain’t no way, lady. He’s my bro.” Then she lied, “He said that slaying you would be so easy peasy.”

Ferdia had his pride. There was no way he was going to take that from anybody. Even a brother. So he armored up and headed down to the river.

“Bro, I am not going to fight you,” The Cuke said.

“You got no choice,” Ferdia said, no realizing he’d been tricked by the Wicked Witch of the West.

First it was short spears they fought with. The it was long spears. Then it was large stabbing spears. Each time The Cuke protected himself with a shield that would take three large men to lift. Ferdia was elegant with his shield maneuvers as well.The next morning it was stabbing spears. The day after that, swords were the weapons. After each fight, the two spent the night, reminiscing and toasting each other and feasting till their bodies were filled. Then they slept like logs.

Finally, on a bright summer’s morning, the two met for one last battle. They put on their best armor. Then, like Hector and Achilles, they charged each other. Ferdia swung hard, each swing barely missing. The Cuke’s temper got the best of him. He leaped in the air, brought the spear down, drove through Ferdia. Ferdia dropped to the ground.

The Cuke’s temper left him. All he was left with was sorrow. Uncontrollable sorrow. Holding his brother in his arms, tears ran down his face. Then Ferdia died. The Cuke lowered the limp body to the grass. Then he sang a lament.

The next morning he was joined by the men of Ulster. The Curse had been lifted. Then they went to battle. When Ulstermen went to battle, they really went to battle, slashing and bopping and cutting and thrusting and do all sorts of un-choreographed maneuvers that looked really cool. They fought the men of Connaught and they fought till the men of Connaught had no more fight in them.

Realizing the foolishness of it all, Ulster and Cannaught smoked the peace pipe. Fergus was the one who summed it up best. “What was it all about? A cow. Can you believe that?”

The Cuke joined in with the sentiment. “Let her have her stupid cow. Let’s go home.”

And for seven years there was peace in the land. And when men gathered around a fire, they sang of the Cattle Raid of Cooley. And remembered fondly the deeds of Cu Chulainn, the Hound of Culann.