The Day After Christmas

Lots of people head back to work today, the day after Christmas. You may be thinking about New Year's, resolutions and maybe a few extra holiday pounds. But guess what. Christmas ain't over!


Today is the second day of the TWELVE days of Christmas, leading up to Epiphany, which is a celebration of the day that Jesus was made manifest to the gentiles, ie the Wise Men.


Here's an Orthodox Christian icon of the Epiphany:

The Gingerbread House - Conclusion

As he moved closer to investigate, Jeremy’s suspicions were confirmed. There most certainly was smoke rising from the tiny gingerbread chimney. And it smelled like smoke! Jeremy’s eyes grew wider the closer he got. The frosting that crept up the base of the house looked like real snow! It glistened as the tiny crystalline flakes caught the warm golden light shining from the tiny windows, which were no longer solid gingerbread, but real glass.

Now Jeremy thought he could hear voices – little, tiny voices, but real voices! – coming from the gingerbread house. It sounded an awful lot like his mother and father, Jeremy thought. As he snuck up to the table, he peered through the wavy glass; the one gingerbread room was just like the room where he was standing!

In the corner furthest from the window Jeremy looked through, there was a table just like the one under his nose. And to the right of it, just as in his own house, there was the kitchen! And far behind the little gingerbread table stood the Christmas tree, in front of a small, crackling fire. And the voices of his parents were clearly audible from two tiny figures standing in front of the tree. They were talking about their children.

“Howard, Jeremy loves his manger!” the tiny Carol said.

“I loved helping him make it. But he’s getting so big, I can’t believe he’s already nine years-old. Pretty soon he’ll be out with his friends instead of here with us, and asking us to give him the car keys instead of to play catch…”

“You can’t think like that, Howard! He loves you, and he loves spending time with you. You just have to make the time to be with him, no matter what. Like today – what if you’d stayed at the office to finish that silly year-end report?” Carol posited. Howard paused and contemplated, frowning.

“I probably would have gotten that promotion…”

“...but you wouldn’t have these Christmas memories with your family.” Carol plucked the small wooden manger from the tree and held it delicately in the palm of her hand, extending it toward Howard who looked up from sweeping soot into a small pail. Jeremy’s eyes welled with the recollection that he’d broken it to pieces just a few minutes before, and a single tear fell when he blinked.

The tiny Harold set the wrought iron broom back on its hook and paused, looking at his dirty, battered moccasins in the light of the dying fire. He raised misty eyes to his wife as he stepped over a large box, papered with light blue snowmen – Jeremy had picked that wrapping paper because the snowmen reminded him of his father, with their red scarves and brown striped caps. Harold wrapped her up in his arms, “You are my Christmas Carol.” She began to hum “Deck the Halls.” They both laughed, and he joined her, singing aloud.

"Shhh,” Carol said. “We’ll wake the children.” They smiled at one another; Howard took the manger from Carol’s hand and perched it high up the tree. He stood back, examined it, and replaced it about half-way down. Carol looked at him, confused. Then she smiled, the reason dawning on her. It was now sitting just about Jeremy’s height.

Jeremy stood back from the gingerbread house. The light emanating from it was beginning to dim as the fire inside it cooled. He walked backward into the kitchen, still not sure what to make of what he’d seen. Then he noticed that the light from his father’s study down the hall had gone out. The house was silent.

Jeremy went to the bottom drawer next to the sink and pulled out a small bottle of Elmer’s glue. He stole over to the hearth, where the fire was nearly extinguished. He brushed the pieces of his manger ornament onto the edge of his robe and picked up the corner, carrying the remnants carefully to the kitchen floor. He dumped them gently down and began to reassemble the beloved ornament he had almost kicked into the fire and lost forever.

When he was done, Jeremy looked up at the gingerbread house; it was gingerbread again. The snow was once again frosting, and there was neither smoke nor light. He sighed and took the manger ornament over to the tree, balancing it gently among the branches. He glanced back at the darkened gingerbread house, then turned, tip-toeing upstairs.

As he lay in bed, trying to sleep, Jeremy wondered how he could explain to his parents what had happened, if they could believe him. Somehow, he thought, they would. He thought of the warm gingerbread smell, and he thought he could almost smell it once again as he drifted off to sleep.

Merry Christmas!!!

Merry Christmas Eve!

Yuletide and the Hearth

The term Yuletide came to be synonymous with the Christmas season because of the tradition of burning the Yule log. At the beginning of the holiday season, a large block of oak was cut and hauled into the house. This Yule log would then form the foundation for all fires throughout the holiday season.

The tradition of the Yule log was prevalent in England, France and Germany as recently as the 1800s. The custom of bringing the Yule log into the home at the beginning of the Christmas season was equal in importance to that of bringing in the Christmas tree for many cultures.

The word Yule can be traced back to the Middle English word "Yollen," meaning to cry aloud, and is probably a remnant of the Anglo-Saxon celebrations of the discovery that winter nights were growing shorter after the Winter Solstice.

The Night Before Christmas

By Clement Clark Moore

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;
And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter's nap,
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
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 called them by name;
"Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! on Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen!
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,
With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night."

Swedish Coffee Braid

Every year around Christmas time, my grandmother would get out the ingredients to bake the traditional Swedish Christmas bread.

The scent of the Swedish bread baking in the oven is one of the warmest and most vivid memories of my childhood. The smell of yeast would permeate the house like a bakery, and fill our home with the warmth of the Christmas spirit. All the children loved these treats so much that my grandmother would have to hide them, or they'd disappear!


Here's the recipe she used:


Makes 2 braids


Bread:

• ½ cup milk
• ½ cup water
• ¼ cup margarine
• 4 ½ cups flour
• ½ cup sugar
• 1 ½ teaspoons salt
• 2 packages dry yeast
• 1 teaspooon cardamom
• 2 eggs, beaten

Topping:

• 1 egg, beaten
• crystal sugar
• sliced almonds

HEAT MILK, WATER, and margarine until very warm. Mix about one-third of the flour with the other dry ingredients and beat into liquid. Add 2 eggs and beat. Add more flour until dough can be kneaded. Knead and place in buttered bowl to rise until doubled, about 1 hour. Punch down, divide in half, then divide each half in thirds and make 2 braids.

Place on a greased cookie sheet and cover in warm place until doubled, 30 to 45 minutes. Preheat oven to 350º F. Brush dough with beaten egg. Sprinkle with sugar and almonds. Bake for about 20 minutes.

Make this traditional Swedish Christmas treat your own, and enjoy!