December 10: Inexplicable Energy, Son's Christmas Program, Catharine Savage Brown, "The Gardener," A Gary Larson Christmas

Ives standing beside him, with his arm around Robert's shoulder, felt a surge of inexplicable energy rushing through him . . . The goodness of God? he had wondered.

Pope John XXIII blesses Ives' son.  The Ives' family spends Holy Week in Italy, and, on Holy Thursday, after Mass at the church of Saint John Lateran, the Holy Father passes through the gathered crowds.  As he does so, he reaches out and lays his hand on Robert's head.  And Ives feels something.  A wave of contentment that Ives is convinced comes from God.

This morning, I attended my son's elementary school Christmas program.  I had to get there two hours early to get a good seat.  The gym was packed, from the folding chairs on the floor to the very top of the bleachers.  Grandmas and grandpas and mothers and fathers and aunts and uncles.  When that many people gather together, things happen.  People get rude.  They push and shove.  Stand up when they should sit the hell down.  Talk when they should shut the hell up.

And yet, there's a great deal of happiness.  The little kids, dressed in their Christmas best, shout and wave and sing.  When my son came into the gym, he searched for my wife and me.  His face split open with joy when he finally saw us.  Watching my son perform, I felt a wave of contentment, sort of like Ives.  For the first time this holiday season, I experienced some yuletide spirit.  And it was good.

Next Tuesday, we will be having an interment ceremony at the cemetery for my sister.  Her cremation stone is finally in place.  I spent the afternoon making the arrangements with the priest and sexton and funeral home director.  It was sad business, and yet I kept remembering my son's face when he first glimpsed me in the gymnasium this morning.  The pure and utter goodness that radiated from his smile.

Saint Marty will try to cultivate that feeling for the next five or so days, like a gardener waiting for his seeds and bulbs to bloom in a gray afternoon.

The Gardener

by:  Catharine Savage Brosman

To wait on sun and rain,
as heaven may propose;
to order his demesne,
or worry for a rose,

a man abandons time--
the trope of days and hours--
like poets for a rhyme--
or measures it in flowers.

He tends each plant and tree,
pursuing each defect
as if assuming he
were summer's architect;

and under autumn's skies
with pruners, rake, and spade
devises their disguise
for winter's masquerade;

then to the gardener's shed
to leave his tools behind,
and cultivate instead
the garden of his mind.

A Gary Larson Christmas

I love The Far Side

December 11: Clown in a Ring, Son's Christmas Program, Good Day

But the crowd loved it.  Avery heard nothing but the applause.  He liked being a clown in a ring, with everybody watching, in front of a grandstand.  When he discovered there was still a little water left in the bottom of the pail, he raised the pail high in the air and dumped the water on himself and made faces.  The children in the grandstand screamed with appreciation.

Avery, as I've said before, is a typical little boy.  He loves getting dirty, playing with frogs, collecting bugs.  And he loves being the center of attention.  Any opportunity that arises, Avery will try to grab the spotlight, even at Wilbur's award ceremony.


My son isn't quite as bad as Avery.  My son gets shy in front of large crowds.  I don't know where he gets it from.  I am not a shy person.  Neither is my wife.  In fact, we met in the theater.  I was directing a production of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, and my wife auditioned.  We love being onstage.  I love giving poetry readings, being in the front of a classroom.  These are a few of my favorite things, to quote The Sound of Music.

Today was my son's Christmas program at school.  We spent the morning in a crowded gymnasium, packed into seats that were designed for residents of Munchkinland.  The music was too soft.  The kids sang off-key.  Some kids yawned in the middle of songs (my son included).  Some kids started crying when they saw all the people in the audience.  And that many people in close quarters tend to exude a communal aroma that can be a little nauseating.

It was a great morning.

I didn't have to go to work.  I was able to clean my house, send some e-mails, and listen to Christmas music.  A good day.  Tonight, I may actually be able to relax a little bit.  No grading.  No sweeping or vacuuming.  No pressing writing projects.  Maybe I'll read something for pleasure.  Take a nap.  Write a poem.

Or maybe Saint Marty will do...absolutely...nothing.

VOTE FOR ME FOR U. P. POET LAUREATE (voting ends December 31):

U. P. Poet Laureate Voting 

Not a big fan of these kinds of clowns...

December 10: Another Miracle, Son's Christmas Program, Everyday Miracles

Next morning, Wilbur arose and stood beneath the web.  He breathed the morning air into his lungs.  Drops of dew, catching the sun, made the web stand out clearly.  When Lurvy arrived with breakfast, there was the handsome pig, and over him, woven neatly in block letters, was the word TERRIFIC.  Another miracle.

Miracles can happen every day.  Just ask Charlotte and Wilbur.  Sometimes, the miracles are astounding--a sunrise of salmon and pink over a frozen lake.  Sometimes the miracles are simple--a spiderweb in a door frame.  Lurvy has probably walked right by hundreds of miracles without a second glance.  Newborn goslings.  Fingers of frost in the pumpkin patch.  Charlotte simply makes Lurvy stop and take notice.


I am sitting in my classroom at the moment, handing back graded exams.  I just finished all of my final grades a couple of hours ago.  It's just a matter of data entry into the computer now.  Then the semester is over for me.  It's been a heck of a few months.  On the way down to the classroom, I walked by my friend Ray's dark office.  Dark.  Empty.  One of the last things Ray did for me was give me a graduate-level poetry workshop to teach next semester.  One of the last times I saw him, he smiled and said, "You're all set.  Enrollment's good."  Ray was a miracle in my life.

Tomorrow, I'm going to my son's school Christmas program.  I'm not working.  Took the whole day off.  I'm looking forward to simply relaxing, not worrying about anything.  That's going to be a miracle for me.  Watching my son sing with his classmates, that's going to be another miracle.  Having time to breathe, think, reflect.  All miracles.

I'm supremely grateful tonight for all of these things.  For Christmas programs.  Days off.  Poetry workshops.  Finished grading.  My friend Ray.

Saint Marty forgets to say thanks for the miracles in his life sometimes.  Hell, sometimes he doesn't even notice them.

You should expect miracles, too

VOTE FOR ME FOR U. P. POET LAUREATE (voting ends December 31):

U. P. Poet Laureate Voting 

December 12: "A Christmas Pageant for Americans," Christmas Program, Piece of Mind

"'A Christmas Pageant for Americans.'  It stinks, but I'm Benedict Arnold.  I have practically the biggest part," she said.  Boy, was she wide-awake.  She gets very excited when she tells you that stuff...

Phoebe is telling Holden about her Christmas program at school.  She's making sure Holden is coming to see her as Benedict Arnold.  Of course, Holden assures her that he's going to be front and center for her performance, even though their father is flying to California and won't be in attendance.  Christmas doesn't seem to be a big deal in the Caulfield household.


This morning, I went to my son's school Christmas program.  The program was based on a children's Christmas poem, with musical interludes.  I didn't hear too much of the poem.  There were too many people jumping up-and-down to take pictures and wave at their kids.  My son looked great in his little tie and vest outfit, and his face lit up like a comet when he caught sight of my wife and me in the audience.  And, even though the transitions between songs and speakers took an ice age, I really enjoyed myself.

The program sort of reminded me of better Christmases, better years.  I was able to put aside all my worries and cares for a little while and just be happy.  I didn't want to leap to my feet and yell out "Humbug!" at any point during the morning.  Well, maybe once, when some person tried to cut in front of me in the ticket line.  However, the person was politely informed that the line ended over there, about a quarter mile down the hallway.  Merry freakin' Christmas, dumbass.

If you're struggling this holiday season, finding it hard to muster up even a modicum of yuletide oomph, I recommend going to a children's Christmas program.  Even a crappy program is going to lift your spirits.  There's something about all those little kids, dressed in their Christmas finery, grinning and waving like maniacal elves, that is an antidote to even the most severe bout of Scrooge-ness.  For me, that joyful glow lasted all afternoon long.

I watched "Frosty the Snowman" and "A Charlie Brown Christmas" with my son this afternoon.  I sat on the floor with him and helped him make a paper snowman to hang on our porch window.  I even cut out some paper snowflakes.  It was a blast.  For probably the first or second time this December, I actually enjoyed doing something Christmasy.

And that's a piece of Saint Marty's mind.

A perfect morning for a dreary holiday season