Archives for category: Joy

As always, Merry Christmas to all!

Our dear friend Bob Shepherd gave us this gift of his writing for Christmas. It is overflowing with his wisdom and erudition.

He wrote:

He Sees You When You’re Sleeping and Other Weird and Wonderful Fun Facts about Santa Claus | Bob Shepherd

This is a piece I originally wrote for children. For them, I left out some of the stuff in paragraphs 5, 7, and 12, below. LOL. Sharing this again ’cause. . . . it’s almost Christmas. My little tribute to the Pole-ish peoples.

1 Every year, around Christmas, some newspaper runs a story saying that Santa Claus was invented by the Coca Cola Company. But there’s a problem with those stories. They aren’t true. Back in the 1931, the soft drink company did hire an artist named Haddon Sundblom to create Christmas ads. Those ads pictured a plump, jolly Santa with rosy cheeks, a red suit, and a white beard. The Santa ads were a big hit. Coca Cola created new Santa ads every year until the 1960s. A myth was born that Santa was created by Coca Cola.

2 However, long before the Coca Cola ads, Santa Claus had already appeared in other illustrations wearing a red suit and a beard. For example, Norman Rockwell painted a red-suited, white-bearded Santa for a 1921 magazine cover. That cover appeared ten years earlier than did the first of the Coca Cola Santas. So, Coca Cola didn’t invent Santa. It didn’t even create the image of him that most of us are familiar with. So, if Coke didn’t invent Santa, who did? The answer turns out to be odd and interesting.

3 About 1,800 years ago, people in Southern Europe were already giving gifts at Christmas. They were imitating the gift-giving Magi in the Bible (often referred to as the “three wise men,” though the number is not mentioned in the sole Biblical account, in Matthew. If you haven’t experienced Frankincense essence, btw, treat yourself; it’s wonderful). Some early Church leaders didn’t like this materialistic gift-giving frenzy. They thought that the gift-giving had gotten completely out of control. Lord knows what they would think if they lived today!

4 At the same time, in Northern Europe, there was a myth about the Norse God Odin. People said that every year, in the dead of winter, Odin would ride through the sky on his horse. He would bring gifts and punish the wicked. Odin wore a fur coat and had a big beard. In the same part of Europe, people told stories about little bearded elves, or gnomes, called tomtar. They wore green coats, played tricks on people, and brought presents.

5 About 1,700 years ago, there lived in Turkey a man named Nicholas. He became an important leader, a bishop in the Catholic Church. After Nicholas’s death, the Church made him a saint. This was a very high honor. They also created a holy day, on December 6, to celebrate him. It was called Saint Nicholas’s Day. Many stories were told about Saint Nicholas. Some told about how he protected children. People started telling stories about how Saint Nicholas would come on December 6 to bring presents to nice children and switches or coal to naughty children. In some of these stories, bad boys and girls would be carried away by a monster called the Krampus. (Depictions of the Dutch version of Krampus, Zwarte Piet, aka “Black Pete” or “Black Peter,” have been the subject, recently, of anti-racism demonstrations in the Netherlands). Later on, Saint Nicholas’s Day was moved to December 25, the same day as Christmas.

6 People continued to tell stories about Saint Nicholas bringing presents on Christmas, and in different countries, his name was slightly different. In England he was called Father Christmas. In France he was Pere Noel. In the Netherlands, Saint Nicholas was pronounced Sinterklaas. The old stories about Odin and the tomtar got combined with stories about Sinterklaas. Sinterklaas was imagined as a little elf man who would ride through the air and bring presents. He was often pictured as wearing a fur-lined coat and having a beard. So, Sinterklaas was a little like Saint Nicholas. He was a little like Odin. And he was a little like the elves.

7 When people from Northern Europe came to North America, they brought their ideas about Sinterklaas with them. By 1773, some people had already changed the name to Santa Claus. In 1809, a writer named Washington Irving wrote a book in which he told about a jolly Saint Nicholas. In Irving’s book, Nicholas had a big belly and wore a green coat. In 1821, a poem called “Old Santeclaus” was published in America. The poem pictured him riding in a sleigh pulled by reindeer. Where did the idea of the reindeer come from? Well, in Lapland, reindeer are used to pull sleds called pulks. Lapland is in the far northern part of Europe. The writer was telling a Northern European story and added this detail to it. The elderly, white-bearded Lapp shamans used to harness their reindeer and drive out over the snow to collect Amanita muscaria mushrooms (those red ones with the white dots). They would wear red coats in imitation of their sacred shroom. They would gather the shrooms into bags flung about their shoulders. They couldn’t eat the shrooms directly because they were highly toxic. So, they fed them to the reindeer. Then, they drank the reindeer piss (yes, you heard that right) and tripped and saw visions. Illustrations of the Lapp shamans and their Amanita mushrooms were commonly reproduced on 19th century winter postcards, and all the elements of later Santa iconography are there–the red coats, the white beard, the snow, the sack over the shoulder, the reindeer, and the pipe.

8 Modern ideas about Santa Claus were probably most influenced by a poem called “A Visit from St. Nicholas.” This poem, also known as “The Night before Christmas,” was published in 1823. The poem tells about Santa coming to a house on Christmas Eve. In the poem, a man is awakened by a noise. He runs to the window and looks out. There he sees a little sleigh pulled by “eight tiny reindeer.” The poem even gives names to the reindeer. They are called Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Conner, and Blitzen. The sleigh lands on the roof. Then its “little” driver comes down the chimney. He is jolly and plump and dressed in fur. He has a pack full of toys. And he is said to be an “elf.” When he laughs, his tummy shakes “like a bowl full of jelly.” He fills the children’s stockings and disappears up the chimney again. In drawings made by the illustrator Thomas Nash in the late 1800s, Santa grew taller. He was no longer a little elf but the size of a full-grown man. Nash also gave Santa’s address as the North Pole. Another part of the Santa legend was born.

9 Many streams can run together to make one river. In the same way, many ideas from two thousand years of history ran together to create the story of Santa Claus.

10 In 1897, a little girl named Virginia O’Hanlon wrote a letter to a newspaper in New York. She said, “Please tell me the truth; is there a Santa Claus?” A newspaper editor named Frank Church wrote this famous reply:

11 “Yes, VIRGINIA, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist. . . . How dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus. It would be as if there were no VIRGINIAS. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance. . . . He lives, and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia . . . he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.”

Copyright 2016. Robert D. Shepherd. All rights reserved.

Nancy Flanagan, retired teacher, writes here about Scandinavian concepts that she admires. She points to the link between happiness and well-being, which we as a nation seem determined to ignore. These days, some people think it’s “woke” to want all children to be well-fed, well-cared for, their basic needs met. I’m willing to take that chance and that label. Call me woke.

She writes:

The ubiquitous FB meme:

In Iceland, books are exchanged as Christmas Eve presents, then you spend the rest of the night in bed reading them and eating chocolate. The tradition is part of a season called Jolabokafload, the Christmas Book flood, because Iceland, which publishes more books per capita than any other country, sells most of its books between September and November, due to people preparing for the upcoming holiday.

Nobody ever responds: That sounds awful! My family prefers watching our individual TVs!

Generally, commenters reply wistfully, longing for a country where learning is valued and books are ideal gifts, where the dark and cold are counterbalanced by intellectual curiosity and conversation.

Thanks to the Jolabokaflod, books still matter in Iceland, they get read and talked about. Excitement fills the air. Every reading is crowded, every print-run is sold. Being a writer in Iceland you get rewarded all the time: People really do read our books, and they have opinions, they love them or they hate them. At the average Christmas party, people push politics and the Kardashians aside and discuss literature.

Perhaps because I live in a region that gets 135 inches of snow each winter, these cozy, fireside literary chats are enormously appealing to me. As is the Danish concept of hygge:

“The Danish art of contentment, comfort, and connection…a practical way of creating sanctuary in the middle of very real life.”

Hygge (hoo-ga), which has no direct translation into English—surprise!—is many things to many people: Woolen socks. Candles and other gentle light. Board games. Comfortable couches and cozy quilts. Warm drinks.

Although hygge seems to have Scandinavian roots, it’s not exclusively a cold-climate thing, evidently. A rustic cottage on a lake, with its beat-up furniture, mildewed paperbacks from the 1950s and second-hand bathing suits is very hygge, according to Meik Wiking, author of “The Little Book of Hygge” and, not coincidentally, CEO of the Happiness Research Institute in Copenhagen. The mere fact that there is a Happiness Research Institute, somewhere in the world, makes me—well, happy….

Perhaps Scandinavians are better able to appreciate the small, hygge things in life because they already have all the big ones nailed down: free university education, social security, universal health care, efficient infrastructure, paid family leave, and at least a month of vacation a year. With those necessities secured, according to Wiking, Danes are free to become “aware of the decoupling between wealth and wellbeing.”

That decoupling between wealth and wellbeing is well-reflected in this headline: Children Need Homes, Not Charter Schools or Standardized Tests, and Definitely Not Tax Cuts for the Wealthy.

That’s where our intentionality lies in the U.S., where we’re spending our hard-earned tax dollars—canned curricula designed to raise test scores and alternative school governance models, endless expensive tests—when over 100,000 New York City schoolchildren were homeless last year. According to former Senator Orin Hatch, we don’t even have money for poor children’s basic health care. As a nation, we have linked simple human well-being to wealth, and sealed it with the tamper-proof cap of low opportunity.

Ben Meiselas of the Meidas Touch blog had the rare opportunity to interview President Joe Biden in the White House. Please watch the interview.

What comes through is that President Biden is thoughtful, well-informed, and fully functional. This interview should shut up the hyenas who claim that he is senile. Trumper recently wrote on this blog that Biden was a “vegetable.” So many lies, so much hatred for a man who has tried to solve problems and help people.

The other thing that shines through is that Joe Biden is a good man. A good man. He has tried to do what is best for the American people. He has a conscience. He has a soul. He is decent. His heart is filled with kindness, not hate. He is not angry. He does not have an enemies’ list. What he does have is a long list of legislative accomplishments.

Could anyone say the same about the other guy? No.

Meiselas has been getting threats just for airing the interview. He is not intimidated.

Robert Hubbell is one of my favorite bloggers. I could not resist reposting his Thanksgiving commentary. It’s so beautiful!

He wrote:

We are living through challenging times. It isn’t easy to feel gratitude in the midst of trying circumstances. The answer to regaining a sense of gratitude is to expand our perspective—which allows us to look beyond today’s troubles to the greater blessings that will endure for generations to come.

To help regain perspective, I suggest reading an excerpt from Carl Sagan’s book Pale Blue Dot, which references our home planet. The Planetary Society website explains the background for Sagan’s reflection and quotes the most famous passage from his book. It is a fitting reflection for Thanksgiving.

Many readers have used Sagan’s Pale Blue Dot as their reflection for Thanksgiving dinner.

First, this introduction from The Planetary Society: 

The following excerpt from Carl Sagan’s book Pale Blue Dot was inspired by an image taken, at Sagan’s suggestion, by Voyager 1 on 14 February 1990. As the spacecraft was departing our planetary neighborhood for the fringes of the solar system, it turned around for one last look at its home planet.

Voyager 1 was about 6.4 billion kilometers (4 billion miles) away, and approximately 32 degrees above the ecliptic plane, when it captured this portrait of our world. Caught in the center of scattered light rays (a result of taking the picture so close to the Sun), Earth appears as a tiny point of light, a crescent only 0.12 pixel in size.

Here is Carl Sagan’s reflection on the photo and our place in the cosmos:

Look again at that dot. That’s here. That’s home. That’s us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives. The aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every “superstar,” every “supreme leader,” every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there–on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam.

The Earth is a very small stage in a vast cosmic arena. Think of the rivers of blood spilled by all those generals and emperors so that, in glory and triumph, they could become the momentary masters of a fraction of a dot. Think of the endless cruelties visited by the inhabitants of one corner of this pixel on the scarcely distinguishable inhabitants of some other corner, how frequent their misunderstandings, how eager they are to kill one another, how fervent their hatreds.

Our posturings, our imagined self-importance, the delusion that we have some privileged position in the Universe, are challenged by this point of pale light. Our planet is a lonely speck in the great enveloping cosmic dark. In our obscurity, in all this vastness, there is no hint that help will come from elsewhere to save us from ourselves.

The Earth is the only world known so far to harbor life. There is nowhere else, at least in the near future, to which our species could migrate. Visit, yes. Settle, not yet. Like it or not, for the moment the Earth is where we make our stand.

It has been said that astronomy is a humbling and character-building experience. There is perhaps no better demonstration of the folly of human conceits than this distant image of our tiny world. To me, it underscores our responsibility to deal more kindly with one another, and to preserve and cherish the pale blue dot, the only home we’ve ever known.

Carl Sagan, Pale Blue Dot, Copyright © 2006 by Democritus Properties, LLC.

I watched Tim Walz speak to a crowd in his home state of Nebraska, and he was wonderful.

I encourage you to watch this good, decent man. He knows that what matters most in our leaders is their character and their values. He has them.

The above link is for Tim Walz’s speech.

If you want to watch the whole event, including his introduction by his wife Gwen, open this link. If you are a teacher, you will love her call-out to teachers, and the crowd roaring “TEACHERS! TEACHERS! TEACHERS!”

Ok, this clip is neither about education nor politics, but I watched it four times and loved it. Think of it as a testament to discipline, determination, and training. The guy who was heavily favored to win came in second.

I recently visited the Metropolitan Museum of Art, one of the world’s finest museums, to see a memorable exhibition. It’s called “The Harlem Renaissance and Transatlantic Modernism.”

It is a spectacular collection of works by and about African-American artists. The art is drawn from museums around the country. You may never see these artworks in one space again.

The quality of the art is breath-taking. I know that many of you don’t live in or near New York City, but this is a good reason to plan a trip. The show runs through the end of July.

Here are a few of the photos I took with my cell phone. I wish I had taken more. Some of the pictures are off-center because the crowds were large, and I didn’t have a clear path.

Painted by William H. Johnson (1901-1970), “Mom and Dad, 1944.” This folk-art painting of the artist’s mother and a portrait of his late father was borrowed from the Smithsonian American Art Museum.

Painted by Allan Rohan Crite (1910-2007). It is titled “School’s Out” and was painted in 1936. It depicts children emerging from Everett Elementary School in Boston. It was lent to the exhibition by the Smithsonian American Art Museum.

Painted by Aaron Douglas (1879-1979). Titled “Building More Stately Mansions, 1944.” It is owned by the Fisk University Galleries in Nashville. According to the artist, “his objective was to spotlight the contributions of exploited Black labor to great civilizations worldwide. He thus resituated African American history in a global context, in which the sphinx of Egypt appears together with the spire of a Western cathedral, the tiers of an Asian Buddhist pagoda, and a building crane extending over American skyscrapers, emblems of modernity meant to connote growth.”

Painted by Winold Reiss (1886-1953), who emigrated from Germany to America. It is a painting of Fred Fripp, a graduate of the Penn School and a teacher, with his daughters Carol and Evelyn. The painting is owned by the Fisk University Galleries in Nashville.

The caption of the portrait says:

“The sitter looks away in introspection while his young daughters gaze outward, settled into the security of their father’s steadying embrace.

“Reiss met Fred Fripp when he traveled to South Carolina to portray the Gullah-speaking Black residents of St. Helena Island, whose ancestors were among the last enslaved West African people forcibly brought to the United States. The luminous triple portrait, its triangular composition and gold leaf background reminiscent of Renaissance madonnas, celebrates Fripp as a teacher, scholar, and parent.”

As I viewed this magnificent exhibit, I kept wondering about the African-American artists. In their wildest dreams, did they ever imagine that their paintings and sculptures would one day be shown in the nation’s premiere museum?

The exhibition is a large and rich portrayal of the artists and intellectuals of the Harlem Renaissance. If you can’t get to New York by July 28, the last day, you might consider buying the catalogue from the Met.

Jack Burgess, retired teacher, military veteran, added his own poem in the comments section. Thank you, Jack!

How War Ends

by Jack Burgess, Sp3, US Army, 894th Tank Battalion 

…and they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks: nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more. 

                             Isaiah

This is how war ends:

The guns stop everywhere.

Fifty-ton tanks roll to a stop,

war ships dock,

fighters and bombers come down from the sky,

and two moments of silence follow.

The war dead honored by the first,

the 2nd silence is for reflection,

for hearing frogs, and your own breath.

This is followed by a single voice,

then a murmur. Screwdrivers and crow bars

come out, and the green tanks are

dismantled, gas siphoned for school buses.

Troop ships sail home from a hundred shores,

so that husbands and wives can kiss unvirtually,

and children see the strong eyes of their fathers,

feel their love and their arms about them.

Uniforms become keepsakes and relics.

All flags are fine and flying.

Those in congresses clear their throats

apologetically and say, “What shall we do with

the leftover money?”  Children with swollen bellies,

working as lobbyists, shout, “Food!” Others say,

“Let’s build a thousand new schools and parks.” 

Lots of people hug and dance

and make love.  Some cry.

The news is good at 6:00 o’clock.

More at 11:00.

John Merrow was the PBS correspondent on education for many years. Since he stepped down from this important role, I have discovered that he is quite a wonderful person. I didn’t think so when he burnished Michelle Rhee’s reputation, but he redeemed himself when his last hour-long segment on her delved into the cheating scandal that consumed her final year as chancellor of the DC schools.

But now I know John as a generous friend. When I was suffering in the aftermath of knee surgery, he printed out “Dr. Merrow’s Advice.” Every year, he is committed to riding the same number of miles as his age and thus far he has kept his pledge. He very kindly recommends organizations to receive donations in support of his bike ride, and NPE has been among them. We were very gratified by his recognition and support.

And now he has created an award he calls “TAMPU”—Towards a More Perfect Union. I love the award because its first recipient is Peter Greene, who is one of the best educational thinkers and writers of our time.

He writes at his blog, The Merrow Report:

I’ve always loved the elegant, aspirational phrase, “Toward a More Perfect Union,” found in the opening sentence of our Constitution.  It was our Founding Fathers’ first priority, ahead of establishing justice, ensuring domestic tranquility, providing for the common defense, promoting the general welfare, and securing the blessings of liberty to ourselves and our posterity.

I think it’s time to do more to honor those who in their daily lives attempt to move us “Toward a More Perfect Union.” To that end, and only slightly with tongue in cheek, I suggest we create an award–call it the TAMPU Prize–acknowledging those who are attempting to push the envelope forward.  

While someone else works out the rules and timing, I am jumping the gun and awarding the TAMPU Prize to three remarkable people who are on my mind this week.  Please read on, and please add your own names.

The first TAMPU recipient is from the world of education, Peter Greene. Mr. Greene, whom I do not know, spent 39 years teaching English and now devotes his time to turning over rocks to expose wrong-doing in public education, to celebrate accomplishments, and to make us think.  You can find a lot of his well-researched columns here on Forbes Magazine, but he also blogs regularly at ‘Curmudgucation,’ a word I assume he made up.  

Here’s how Mr. Greene describes himself:  I started out life in New Hampshire and finished growing up in Northwest Pennsylvania. I attended a non-traditional education program that no longer exists at Allegheny College, a small liberal arts college, student taught in Cleveland Heights, and landed my first job in Lorain, Ohio. The year started with a strike and ended with a large workforce layoff, so I came back home, bought a mobile home, and lived in a trailer court while I subbed in three districts.

After a year, I started landing year-long sub jobs with the same school district I had graduated from in the mid-seventies. It was not the plan, but there was a woman… After thirty-some years in that district, I’ve taught pretty much every brand of English we have here, 7-12. But high school is my home; middle schoolers are, as I said back when I taught them, the emotional equivalent of having someone scream in your ears all day. God bless, MS teachers. And now, after thirty-nine total years in the classroom, I’ve retired.

My second recipient is Jessica Craven, a veritable ‘Energizer Bunny’ who’s working to help our democracy survive extremism of all sorts, but particularly MAGA.  She blogs almost every day, with a newsletter she calls “Chop Wood, Carry Water,” a title that carries a message: This is what you do when the chips are down–Get to work!

Click here to begin the “Chop Wood, Carry Water” experience.  Here’s how she introduces herself and her newsletter: 

What goes on here? Well, this newsletter is dedicated to saving democracy, addressing the climate crisis, preserving our freedoms, electing better lawmakers, and, in general, creating a better country—one simple action at a time. As the author, I’m essentially a bundler. Not of donations, but of easy things each of us can do to make a difference. I do these things, too—because I want my kid to grow up in a democracy AND because doing them makes me feel less anxious. My motto? Hope is an action.

I have no idea where Ms Craven lives with her husband, child, cat, and dog. Ms Craven publishes at least six times a week and always tells readers how to get involved.  She makes activism easy, no small feat.   “Chop Wood, Carry Water” is free, but I hope you will do as I do and subscribe ($60 per year). 

My final TAMPU recipient (this time around) is National Book Award recipient Jonathan Kozol, whose new book, “An End to Inequality,” is the 12th in his illustrious career. Now 87, Jonathan burst on the scene in 1967 with “Death at an Early Age,” which I can remember devouring.  His new book–which he says will be his last–is a passionate call for racial justice in education and the larger society.  Never one to call for compromise, he rejects all forms of tokenism.  “There is no such thing as perfectible apartheid. It’s all a grand delusion,” he writes. “Apartheid education isn’t something you can ‘fix.’ It needs to be dismantled.”  For more, see Dana Goldstein’s recent profile of Jonathan in the New York Times.

(Digression: I’ve known Jonathan for a long time, and he kindly wrote a glowing preface to a book of mine, “Choosing Excellence,” back in 2001. Unfortunately, my (inept) publisher misspelled his first name. Jonathon!  When they sent me an advance copy, I saw the error and immediately called the publisher.  “Sorry,” they said, “But the initial printing is only 5,000 copies. We will correct it on the next printing.” 

I explained very calmly that I would sue their asses if they released that printing, and I suggested that they shred those 5,000 copies and reprint it.  Instead, they hired people to paste over the error with a small sticker that spelled his name correctly. Somewhere I have the uncorrected version and a pasted-over version, as well as a clean copy from the second printing.)

So those three, Jessica Craven, Peter Greene, and Jonathan Kozol, are pushing and pulling us toward A More Perfect Union.  Who else deserves our attention?  Make your suggestions here.  

Thanks, 

John

I am not a huge fan of professional ice skating but I am a huge fan of excellence. I just watched a 10–minute clip of Ilia Malinin’s World Championship performance yesterday in Montreal. It was mesmerizing!

Ilia was born in Virginia. His parents were professional skaters in Uzbekistan, as was his grandfather. His parents are his coaches.

Watching this brilliantly accomplished young man reminded me of the book written by Senator John F. Kennedy in 1958 titled A Nation of Immigrants.

The subject was on my mind because yesterday I saw a moving and beautiful film called Cabrini. That too made me reflect on today’s hateful rhetoric about immigrants.

Ilia’s magnificent performance in Montreal was hailed by the sportscasters as one of the most remarkable events in the history of ice skating. Watch it!