RSSMix.com Mix ID 56094

Christmas In the Olden Time Story

nobody@vox.com(Chris) — Sat, 13 Dec 2008 01:55:44 -0500

If you can understand this Christmas story, I'll be impressed! Them "olden times" are more like confusing times :)

On Christmas-eve the bells were rung; The damsel donned her kirtlesheen; The hall was dressed with holly green; Forth to the wood didmerry men go, To gather in the mistletoe. Thus opened wide the baronhall To vassal, tenant, serf and all; Power laid his rod of rule asideAnd ceremony doffed his pride. The heir, with roses in his shoes, Thatnight might village partner choose; The lord, underogating, share Thevulgar game of Post and Pair. All hailed, with uncontrolled delight,And general voice, the happy night That to the cottage, as the crown,Brought tidings of salvation down.

The fire, with well-dried logs supplied, Went roaring up the chimneywide; The huge hall-tables oaken face, Scrubbed till it shone, the dayto grace, Bore then upon its massive board No mark to part the squireand lord. Then was brought in the lusty brawn By old blue-coatedserving man; Then the grim boars head frowned on high, Crested withbays and rosemary. Well can the green-garbed ranger tell How, when andwhere the monster fell; What dogs before his death he tore, And all thebaitings of the boar. The wassal round, in good brown bowls, Garnishedwith ribbons, blithely trowls. There the huge sirloin reeked: hard byPlum-porridge stood, and Christmas pye; Nor failed old Scotland toproduce, At such high-tide, her savory goose.

Then came the merry maskers in, And carols roared with blithesomedin. If unmelodious was the song, It was a hearty note, and strong; Wholists may in their murmuring see Traces of ancient mystery; Whiteshirts supplied the masquerade, And smutted cheeks the visors made; ButO, wht maskers richly dight, Can boast of bosoms half so light!

- By Walter Scott

Link to original Christmas story

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'Twas the Night Before Christmas - The Totally Not Understandable Synonym Technical Version

nobody@vox.com(Chris) — Sat, 13 Dec 2008 01:30:08 -0500

Here's where I found this funny Christmas story...

Twas the nocturnal segment of the diurnal period preceding theannual Yuletide celebration, and throughout our place of residence,kinetic activity was not in evidence among the possessors of thispotential, including that species of domestic rodent known as Musmusculus. Hosiery was meticulously suspended from the forward edge ofthe wood burning caloric apparatus, pursuant to our anticipatorypleasure regarding an imminent visitation from an eccentricphilanthropist among whose folkloric appellations is the honorifictitle of St. Nicholas.

The prepubescent siblings, comfortably ensconced in their respectiveaccommodations of repose, were experiencing subconscious visualhallucinations of variegated fruit confections moving rhythmicallythrough their cerebrums. My conjugal partner and I, attired in ournocturnal head coverings, were about to take slumberous advantage ofthe hibernal darkness when upon the avenaceous exterior portion of thegrounds there ascended such a cacophony of dissonance that I feltcompelled to arise with alacrity from my place of repose for thepurpose of ascertaining the precise source thereof.

Hastening to the casement, I forthwith opened the barriers sealingthis fenestration, noting thereupon that the lunar brilliance without,reflected as it was on the surface of a recent crystallineprecipitation, might be said to rival that of the solar meridian itself- thus permitting my incredulous optical sensory organs to behold aminiature airborne runnered conveyance drawn by eight diminutivespecimens of the genus Rangifer, piloted by a minuscule, aged chauffeurso ebullient and nimble that it became instantly apparent to me that hewas indeed our anticipated caller. With his ungulate motive powertravelling at what may possibly have been more vertiginous velocitythan patriotic alar predators, he vociferated loudly, expelled breathmusically through contracted labia, and addressed each of the octet byhis or her respective cognomen - Now Dasher, now Dancer et al. -guiding them to the uppermost exterior level of our abode, throughwhich structure I could readily distinguish the concatenations of eachof the 32 cloven pedal extremities.

As I retracted my cranium from its erstwhile location, and wasperforming a 180-degree pivot, our distinguished visitant achieved -with utmost celerity and via a downward leap - entry by way of thesmoke passage. He was clad entirely in animal pelts soiled by the ebonyresidue from oxidations of carboniferous fuels which had accumulated onthe walls thereof. His resemblance to a street vendor I attributedlargely to the plethora of assorted playthings which he bore dorsallyin a commodious cloth receptacle.

His orbs were scintillant with reflected luminosity, while hissubmaxillary dermal indentations gave every evidence of engagingamiability. The capillaries of his malar regions and nasal appurtenancewere engorged with blood which suffused the subcutaneous layers, theformer approximating the coloration of Albions floral emblem, thelatter that of the Prunus avium, or sweet cherry. His amusing sub- andsupralabials resembled nothing so much as a common loop knot, and theirambient hirsute facial adornment appeared like small, tabular andcolumnar crystals of frozen water.

Clenched firmly between his incisors was a smoking piece whose greyfumes, forming a tenuous ellipse about his occiput, were suggestive ofa decorative seasonal circlet of holly. His visage was wider than itwas high, and when he waxed audibly mirthful, his corpulent abdominalregion undulated in the manner of impectinated fruit syrup in ahemispherical container. He was, in short, neither more nor less thanan obese, jocund, multigenarian gnome, the optical perception of whomrendered me visibly frolicsome despite every effort to refrain from sobeing. By rapidly lowering and then elevating one eyelid and rotatinghis head slightly to one side, he indicated that trepidation on my partwas groundless.

Without utterance and with dispatch, he commenced filling theaforementioned appended hosiery with various of the aforementionedarticles of merchandise extracted from his aforementioned previouslydorsally transported cloth receptacle. Upon completion of this task, heexecuted an abrupt about-face, placed a single manual digit in lateraljuxtaposition to his olfactory organ, inclined his cranium forward in agesture of leave-taking, and forthwith effected his egress byrenegotiating (in reverse) the smoke passage. He then propelled himselfin a short vector onto his conveyance, directed a musical expulsion ofair through his contracted oral sphincter to the antlered quadrupeds ofburden, and proceeded to soar aloft in a movement hitherto observablechiefly among the seed-bearing portions of a common weed. But Ioverheard his parting exclamation, audible immediately prior to hisvehiculation beyond the limits of visibility: Ecstatic Yuletide to theplanetary constituency, and to that self same assemblage, my sincerestwishes for a salubriously beneficial and gratifyingly pleasurableperiod between sunset and dawn.

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A Funny Christmas Story About How Angels Got On Top Of Trees

Thu, 11 Dec 2008 23:59:02 -0500

Link to the original funny Christmas story

One Christmas, a long time ago, Santa Claus was getting ready for his annual trip; but there were problems …… everywhere.

Four of his elves were away sick and the trainee elves did not produce the toys as fast as the regular ones. So, Santa was beginning to feel the pressure of being behind schedule.

Then, Mrs. Claus popped in to tell Santa that her mother was coming to stay for Christmas; which stressed him even more.

After a while, he went to harness the reindeer, he found that three of them were about to give birth and two had jumped the fence and run away, heaven knows where to.

Then, when he began to load the sleigh one of the boards broke and several large toy-bags fell to the ground, scattering their contents all over the place. Needless to say, Santa was not in the best of moods.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang and he went to the door expecting another problem. But when he opened it, there was a little angel with a great big Christmas tree that she had brought especially to cheer him up.

The angel greeted him very cheerfully, “Merry Christmas Santa Claus. Isn’t it just a wonderful day? I have a beautiful tree for you. See, isn’t it just the loveliest Christmas tree you’ve ever seen? Where would you like me to put it?”

Thus began the tradition of the little angel on top of the Christmas tree...

The Phrase Fathers Fear Most On Christmas Day - A Funny Christmas Story

Thu, 11 Dec 2008 23:55:45 -0500

Link to the original funny Christmas story

There are three words often heard at this time of year that strike fear into the hearts of fathers everywhere. Those three words can crush the spirit of even the most capable Dad. Those words: “Some assembly required.”

My children have now grown beyond the stage where every blasted Christmas gift they receive needs to be constructed using tools thinner than sewing needles by the skillful, unwavering hands of a neurosurgeon. I cannot tell you how many times I have cursed Santa’s elves – or the blue-vested Toys-R-Us guys – for not pre-assembling the mountains of toys my kids have received over the years. I have the scarred knuckles to prove my point.

“Come see what Santa brought us!” our kids would yell when they were very little. “Daddy, why are your hands bandaged and packed in ice?”

It’s easier when kids are very small. Many of their Christmas toys come pre-assembled. In fact, many come in one piece. Parents just remove the expensive gadgets from their boxes, make sure all the bells ring and the buzzers sound. Then we put the toys on the shelves because the kids are too busy exploring the empty boxes rather than enjoying the whiz-bang educational SAT improving PBS and pediatrician approved learning plaything we just bought, thanks to a bank loan.

“Some assembly required.” That phrase echoes in my head like Edgar Allan Poe’s raven, or that abrasive duck from the insurance commercials.

It’s harder when the kids are at that in-between age where they are too young to assemble toys themselves and too young to be of any help whatsoever.

“Hey, pal, please hand me the screwdriver.”

“You mean this?”

“No. That’s a garden hose. The screwdriver is the long metal thing with the plastic handle.”

“You mean that?”

“No. That’s a shovel that we use to clean up after the dog. Never mind. Go get Mommy for me now that I’m pinned under this basketball hoop and can’t move. Tell Mommy that Daddy is losing consciousness.”

Now that three of our kids are teenagers and one is an almost-teen, gift giving doesn’t involve Craftsman tools, words under my breath or directions written in Swedish. The only knuckle scraping I experience now comes from constantly reaching into my back pocket for my wallet. And the only blood loss I risk comes from putting things in envelopes and risking paper cuts.

“Merry Christmas, Sweetheart! Here’s a Target gift card to keep along with your Borders gift card and your Blockbuster gift card!”

I know that giving gift cards seem like the lazy man’s way out. There are times when I look back sentimentally on those past Christmas Eves, where my wife and I stayed up until 3:00 a.m. struggling to follow the directions for assembling dollhouses, bicycles or life-sized Batcaves. Our hands shook from overwork and from downing two-liter bottles of Diet Coke to stay awake. Our eyes were tired and crossed from trying to connect too many slots “A” to slots “B”. Then after getting about twenty minutes of sleep the kids would stampede into the bedroom announcing that Santa left behind a mountain of toys, and several empty plastic soda bottles.

I do miss the blissful looks on their faces and the loving hugs around the neck from tiny arms. I do miss the excitement that the anticipation of Santa’s visit brings to young children. I miss the trampling of tiny feet up and down the steps. I don’t miss the bruises and contusions and the clanking at midnight that comes after Daddy tripped over the toolbox.

The nightmares have stopped but the haunting phrase “some assembly required” still makes me flinch. It is important to remember, however, that scraped knuckles do heal over time.

by Tim Herrera

Tim is the author of “From Wedgies to Feeding Frenzies: A Semi-Survival Guide for Parents of Teens.” For more information e-mail Tim at thedadof4@yahoo.com or log onto his website at www.timherrera.com.)

The Legend of Babouska - - Kid's Xmas Story

http://christmas-stories.gaia.com — Fri, 21 Nov 2008 01:01:35 -0500

It was the night the dear Christ-Child came to Bethlehem. In a country far away from Him, an old, old woman named Babouscka sat in her snug little house by her warm fire. The wind was drifting the snow outside and howling down the chimney, but it only made Babouscka's fire burn more brightly.

"How glad I am that I may stay indoors," said Babouscka, holding her hands out to the bright blaze.

But suddenly she heard a loud rap at her door. She opened it and her candle shone on three old men standing outside in the snow. Their beards were as white as the snow, and so long that they reached the ground. Their eyes shone kindly in the light of Babouscka's candle, and their arms were full of precious things--boxes of jewels, and sweet-smelling oils, and ointments.

"We have travelled far, Babouscka," they said, "and we stop to tell you of the Baby Prince born this night in Bethlehem. He comes to rule the world and teach all men to be loving and true. We carry Him gifts. Come with us, Babouscka."

But Babouscka looked at the drifting snow, and then inside at her cozy room and the crackling fire. "It is too late for me to go with you, good sirs," she said, "the weather is too cold." She went inside again and shut the door, and the old men journeyed on to Bethlehem without her. But as Babouscka sat by her fire, rocking, she began to think about the Little Christ-Child, for she loved all babies.

"To-morrow I will go to find Him," she said; "to-morrow, when it is light, and I will carry Him some toys."

So when it was morning Babouscka put on her long cloak and took her staff, and filled her basket with the pretty things a baby would like--gold balls, and wooden toys, and strings of silver cobwebs--and she set out to find the Christ-Child.

But, oh, Babouscka had forgotten to ask the three old men the road to Bethlehem, and they travelled so far through the night that she could not overtake them. Up and down the road she hurried, through woods and fields and towns, saying to whomsoever she met: "I go to find the Christ-Child. Where does He lie? I bring some pretty toys for His sake."

But no one could tell her the way to go, and they all said: "Farther on, Babouscka, farther on." So she travelled on and on and on for years and years--but she never found the little Christ-Child.

They say that old Babouscka is travelling still, looking for Him. When it comes Christmas Eve, and the children are lying fast asleep, Babouscka comes softly through the snowy fields and towns, wrapped in her long cloak and carrying her basket on her arm. With her staff she raps gently at the doors and goes inside and holds her candle close to the little children's faces.

"Is He here?" she asks. "Is the little Christ-Child here?" And then she turns sorrowfully away again, crying: "Farther on, farther on!" But before she leaves she takes a toy from her basket and lays it beside the pillow for a Christmas gift. "For His sake," she says softly, and then hurries on through the years and forever in search of the little Christ-Child.

From "The Children's Hour," published by the Milton Bradley Co.

Tags:christmas stories, hands christian andersen, a christmas story, match seller story

The Little Match Girl - A Sad But Insightful Christmas Story

http://christmas-stories.gaia.com — Fri, 21 Nov 2008 00:11:22 -0500

This story kind of made me sad, but I also found it to be really deep. It's not such a simple story even though it's short...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once upon a time . . . a llttle glrl tried to make a living by selling matches in the street.

It was New Year’s Eve and the snowclad streets were deserted. From brightly lit windows came the tinkle of laughter and the sound of singing. People were getting ready to bring in the New Year. But the poor little matchseller sat sadly beside the fountain. Her ragged dress and worn shawl did not keep out the cold and she tried to keep her bare feet from touching the frozen ground. She hadn’t sold one box of matches all day and she was frightened to go home, for her father would certainly be angry. It wouldn’t be much warmer anyway, in the draughty attic that was her home. The little girl’s fingers were stiff with cold. If only she could light a match! But what would her father say at such a waste! Falteringly she took out a match and lit it. What a nice warm flame! The little matchseller cupped her hand over it, and as she did so, she magically saw in its light a big brightly burning stove. She held out her hands to the heat, but just then the match went out and the vision faded. The night seemed blacker than before and it was getting colder. A shiver ran through the little girl’s thin body.

After hesitating for a long time, she struck another match on the wall, and this time, the glimmer turned the wall into a great sheet of crystal. Beyond that stood a fine table laden with food and lit by a candlestick. Holding out her arms towards the plates, the little matchseller seemed to pass through the glass, but then the match went out and the magic faded. Poor thing: in just a few seconds she had caught a glimpse of everything that life had denied her: warmth and good things to eat. Her eyes filled with tears and she lifted her gaze to the lit windows, praying that she too might know a little of such happiness.

She lit the third match and an even more wonderful thing happened. There stood a Christmas tree hung with hundreds of candles, glittering with tinsel and coloured balls. “Oh, how lovely!” exclaimed the little matchseller, holding up the match. Then, the match burned her finger and flickered out. The light from the Christmas candles rose higher and higher, then one of the lights fell, leaving a trail behind it. “Someone is dying,” murmured the little girl, as she remembered her beloved Granny who used to say: “When a star falls, a heart stops beating!”

Scarcely aware of what she was doing, the little matchseller lit another match. This time, she saw her grandmother.

“Granny, stay with me!” she pleaded, as she lit one match after the other, so that her grandmother could not disappear like all the other visions. However, Granny did not vanish, but gazed smilingly at her. Then she opened her arms and the little girl hugged her crying: “Granny, take me away with you!”

A cold day dawned and a pale sun shone on the fountain and the icy road. Close by lay the lifeless body of a little girl surrounded by spent matches. ” Poor little thing!” exclaimed the passersby. “She was trying to keep warm!”

But by that time, the little matchseller was far away where there is neither cold, hunger nor pain.

- By Hans Christian Andersen

Tags:christmas stories, hands christian andersen, a christmas story, match seller story

Why Bother to Understand Christmas Stories, When They're Just For Entertainment?

Tue, 11 Nov 2008 03:23:53 -0500

Right around Christmas time, its no mystery that pastors love to tell a good Christmas story....

Religious Leaders Love Christmas Stories

Mon, 10 Nov 2008 00:30:58 -0500

Christmas stories and teachings have been used for over two centuries to educate, inspire, and...