Roland Yeomans's Blog, page 128

MARK TWAIN'S CHRISTMAS

Photo courtesy of Frank C. Grace -- any of his prints may be purchased atwww.trigphotography.com

"It is my heart-warming and world-embracing Christmas hope and aspiration

that all of us,


the high, the low, the rich, the poor, the despised, the admired, the loved, the hated, the civilized, the savage


(every man and brother of us all throughout the whole earth),


may eventually be gathered in a heaven of everlasting rest and peace and bliss --


except the inventor of the telephone."

- Mark Twain, Boston Daily Globe.


 

Journal of Captain Samuel McCord
(December 24, 1874)

Sammy Clemens looked at me and sighed,

"Captain Sam, if you live long enough,

the approach of the holiday season can stir up sad memories as well as happy ones."

His blue/grey eyes sparkled, "So I aim to make the happy ones sizzling!"

He was dressed as the most fur-layered Santa Claus I had ever seen.

He held up the telephone in his right fur-gloved hand and glared at Nikola Tesla at my side.

"I might as well make use of this danged instrument you forced me to invest in, Nikola.

Why I declare I would have made twice as much money if you had let me invest in that Paige typesetter."

Nikola huffed, "Oh, go suck on your false beard! What do you know of science? I, the far-seeing genius that I am ---"

Sammy snorted, "And humble, too!"

Nikola happily ignored him and continued,

"I saw the design flaws in that machine and saw the potential in Mr. Bell's invention -- since he stole it from me!

Besides, it was Captain McCord who forced you to invest in the telephone. Why berate me?"

"Because you can't turn me into a turnip, you jack nape, that's why."

He turned to me. "Can you do your Apache hoodoo and set me at the foot of Susy's and Clara's bed?"

"Yes, Sammy, but it's the middle of Christmas Eve night."

"That's the whole dang point! I put this fancy telephone gadget on their night stand to wake 'em up on this very night."

I smiled sadly. 


On the outside, Sammy was all humbug. 

But there was nothing he would not do to hear the happy squeals of delight from his daughters.


He dialed the telephone number of his daughters' phone.  

It was 7. 

 Sammy had one of the first telephones to be installed in a home.

He literally danced in place, waiting for one of his daughters to pick up and answer. 

 "Dang, little heathens sleep as heavy as damp logs!"

His eyes lit up, "Hello, Susy! This is the Man in the Moon. "



(That was Sammy's nickname for Santa.) 


I heard the girl's sleepy voice, "Oh, Papa, I know your voice!"

"You accuse Santa of swearing false?"

He pulled out a piece of coal from his pocket and winked at me. 

 "For that, I will hand-deliver a lump of coal!"

I sucked in a breath I didn't need and folded the fabric of distance as I wanted. 

Sammy disappeared with a yelp and a rush of air going with him to his daughters' room.

Nikola shook his head as we heard distant screams of shock and delight from the girls' room. I counted to three. I re-folded distance again.

Sammy reeled to the wall, laughing so hard he held his pillow-fattened stomach with both gloved hands.

"Oh, Captain Sam! You should have seen their faces! No Santa-naying for them gals from this day on!"

Nikola turned to me with one raised eyebrow. "Thankfully for his daughters, I hear good things of a Dr. Freud in Vienna."

{And that's the way it was at Christmas in Hartford, 1876 -- give or take a lie or two.}
* For more of Mark Twain, Nikola Tesla, and Sam McCord
- This time in 1895 Egypt -
Read or Listen to 

DEATH IN THE HOUSE OF LIFE
and

THE STARS BLEED AT MIDNIGHT

 
Here is a photo of feisty Mark in Nikola's lab:
{Notice Nikola in the background} 

HOLI-DAZE!

Even sugar-charged Ratatoskr has fallen victim to the dreaded HOLI-DAZE!  

(He is currently riding with me on one of my blood runs, having just collapsed after telling his last Christmas joke:

"Did you hear about the dyslexic Devil worshiper who sold his soul to Santa?")


SO: 
HOW CAN YOU AVOID THE HOLI-DAZE?




1.) REMEMBER THE REASON FOR THE SEASON:



The Great Mystery's Light visited our world in the human form of a tiny infant.

Take a moment to reflect that that very Light might reside in the hurrying body of the person next to you, 

that very Light formed the stars and the seas and the birds of the air.

Breathe in deeply and pause to soak in the wonder of His caring for the sparrows of the field ... 

and you  ... and what it cost Him.




https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00MT8DNLY

 2.) SLOW DOWN AND SMELL THE MISTLETOE



And the cinnamon and the chestnuts and the turkey 

and all of the other delicious smells, beautiful sights, and familiar sounds 

that have become symbols of the joy of the holiday season.

Enjoy it in the way it was meant to be enjoyed, 

by relaxing and sharing quality time with family and friends. The rest is just window dressing.





3.) SLEEP



Don't allow the hustle and bustle of the season to cause you to sacrifice sleep. 

It's normal during the holidays to have more on your to-do list than usual, 

but that shouldn't result in cutting SLEEP from that list!

Sleep is restorative. 

It's the time when your body replenishes itself at a cellular level 

and repairs itself from the damage of mental stress, physical strain, infection, sun exposure, and pollutants. 

Without enough sleep, 

our minds and bodies don't function as well as they could, which makes us less productive.

And sleep even aids in LOSING WEIGHT!
http://www.webmd.com/diet/sleep-and-weight-loss

SO SLEEP MORE & WEIGH LESS!!



4.) AIM FOR PROGRESS NOT PERFECTION!



When you expect perfection in your holiday preparations, 

expect a lot of added and unnecessary stress and fatigue as well. 

No battle ever went as planned -- ask Napoleon.  
And Christmas can be a BATTLE!

If you're planning to host a party, why do you need to prepare a major feast? 

Why not try an assortment of easy-to-make side dishes or appetizers? 

Or why not consider sharing the load by making the event a pot luck? 

Most holiday guests feel compelled to bring something anyway, so why not let them bring a dish?




5.) PLAN A SILENT NIGHT

Block it in your calendar as if it were a visit from the Pope.

Plan a night for just you.  

Listen to your favorite music no matter if it is POLKA!  

Dance by yourself if the whim takes you.

Whatever would heal you in your down time, do it.


Even when you are alone, you are not alone if you love:




 6.) ELF YOURSELF




Or your boss.  Or your friends.  

Laughter has been around for awhile now.  There's a reason for that.  
Laughter heals!
Mark Twain has young Satan ask:

"Will a day come when your race will detect the funniness of these juvenilities and laugh at them--and by laughing at them destroy them?

 For your race, in its poverty, has unquestionably only one really effective weapon--laughter. 

Power, Money, Persuasion, Supplication, Persecution--these can lift at a colossal humbug,--

push it a little-- crowd it a little--weaken it a little, century by century: 

but only Laughter can blow it to rags and atoms at a blast. Against the assault of Laughter nothing can stand.
 
- "The Chronicle of Young Satan," Mysterious Stranger Manuscripts



7.) START AND END WITH GRATITUDE





In a sense THANKSGIVING starts the HOLIDAY season and there is WISDOM in that.


If you are not grateful for what you have, you will soon find yourself with even less.
Remember:
Somewhere in this world someone is happy with less than what you have.

The way to start and end the day is 

to pause and list the things and people that have made and make your day better just by being in your life.

You may have lost some things, beloved persons in your life -- give yourself permission to grieve.

Take ten minutes to feel shitty.

Then 

THINK OF HOW LUCKY YOU WERE TO HAVE THEM AT ALL --

HOW DIFFERENT A PERSON YOU WOULD HAVE BEEN WITHOUT THEM.

Decide then and there that at least for Christmas, 

you will be a healing presence in at least one person's life -- 

even if it is only to let some harried driver in the crowded lane ahead of you.


MY PRAYER FOR ALL YOU, MY FRIENDS, THIS HOLIDAY SEASON
HAVE A HEALING, PEACEFUL CHRISTMAS!

Ratatoskr just rolled over and told me to ask you guys:

"What do you call Batman when he skips church?

Christian Bail!"


Great!  
You groan at me, and Ratatoskr is fast asleep!!

My Christmas gift to you:

CHRISTMAS LIGHTS

Mother always loved to have me drive up and down the streets at night during the Christmas Season. 

Even when she was ill and weak that last time, 

she became a little child again as we drove oohing and ahhing at the lights.



Thanksgiving has past once more, 
 and the Christmas lights are up in my city.


“Heap on more wood! the wind is chill; 
But let it whistle as it will, We'll keep our Christmas merry still.” - Sir Walter Scott

Driving home tonight after a long day and night of transporting rare blood over lonely rural roads, 

I saw the Christmas Lights on homes had gone up all over town.

You might think this tradition has been around for a looong time.  

You would be wrong.  

It has only been around for the past 60 years or so.

Yet, the custom goes back to putting candles on the Christmas tree in upper class homes in 18th century German homes.

In 1895, President Grover Cleveland put up the first electric lights on a tree in the White House.

"He who has not Christmas in his heart will never find it under a tree." 
- Samuel McCord

I thought as I drove that you and I are the true Christmas Lights.  

The Christmas Season is dark for many.  

For others it is a financially demanding gauntlet through endless store aisles, 

crammed with ill-tempered shoppers and frayed-nerved clerks.

By the light of our compassion, our concern, and our companionship, we can be small lights in a black season for many.

A candle's light is feeble, but it casts back the darkness enough for you to see far enough to take the next step.

“When we recall Christmas past, we usually find that the simplest things - not the great occasions - give off the greatest glow of happiness.” - Bob Hope The American tradition of decorating evergreen trees, homes, and landscapes with brightly lit Christmas lights is not as old as many people think. Most of us probably assume that Americans have always used Christmas lights in one form or another but this isn't exactly true. As it turns out, this American tradition has only been around for about 60 years - See more at: http://www.holidayleds.com/articles/h... American tradition of decorating evergreen trees, homes, and landscapes with brightly lit Christmas lights is not as old as many people think. Most of us probably assume that Americans have always used Christmas lights in one form or another but this isn't exactly true. As it turns out, this American tradition has only been around for about 60 years - See more at: http://www.holidayleds.com/articles/h...

LIFE THOUGHTS

“The object of life is not to be on the side of the majority, but to escape finding oneself in the ranks of the insane.”  - Mark Twain



“It is not death that a man should fear, but he should fear never having lived.”  - Samuel McCord





“Everything we hear is an opinion, not a fact. Everything we see is a perspective, not the truth.”   - Nicola Tesla



“Dwell on the beauty of life. Watch the stars, and see yourself running with them.”   - Wolf Howl



"The soul becomes dyed with the color of its thoughts."   - The Turquoise Woman




Here is a rule to remember in the future, when anything tempts you to feel bitter: 
not "This is misfortune," but "To bear this worthily is good fortune.”   - Marcus Aurelius


“Father, Teach us:        To give, and not to count the cost
        To fight, and not to heed the wounds,
        To toil, and not to seek for rest,
        To labor, and not to ask for reward,
         Save that of knowing that we do thy will”
― St. Ignatius of Loyola


“Father, may those who love us love us,
           and those who do not love us,
           may You turn their hearts,
           and if You cannot turn their hearts
           may You turn their ankles
          that we may know them by their limping.”
         ~ Prayer of Victor Standish.

THANKS-TAKING

A Tale of the Last Lakota Shaman, Wolf Howl
I studied Dyami ...  the Whites here in New Orleans called him Captain McCord ... among less cordial names.  I flicked my eyes to Mesmer, the fabled cat who owned this French Quarter restaurant.  

I wondered what Dyami saw when he looked at her.  Being the last Lakota shaman, I saw something ... someonequite different.

Dyami cleared his throat, "Wolf Howl, I know you don't celebrate Thanksgiving ...."
"Thanks-Taking," I corrected.  "The Indians gave those Pilgrims food to keep from starving, and afterwards, the Whites thanked every tribe they met by takingeverything from them they wanted: land, children, a future."


Dyami sighed, "Long before the White Man arrived, the Delaware warred with the Iriquois; the Crow with the Cree, the Navajo with the Hopi ...." 

"Oh, yes," I said, "let us talk of the Hopi, who graciously welcomed the Spanish explorer, Garcia Lopez de Cardenas, and aided him on his way.”  
 Mesmer growled low in her throat, matching my mood, 
"And in gratitude, the Spanish occupiers enslaved the Hopi populace, compelling them to endure forced labor and hand over goods and crops."
Dyami shook his head.  "I wanted to bring you here to thank you for all you did for me and New Orleans, not ...."
I shook my own head.  "I did not do it for the Great White Father, but for those young girls you placed under my protection."

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Dyami said, "I will get Bush to call off his dogs for all you did."
I laughed without humor.  "He hunts you now."
"I'll think of a way."
I nodded, "I know you will try, but ...."

A hollow-eyed white man burst into the restaurant, waving a poorly maintained automatic.  "I want all your money!"
It hit him then that despite the smell of food from the kitchen, there was only me, Dyami, and a cat to rob.
"Well, shit!" he eloquently said.
I looked to Dyami, "Like all white men, he thinks a gun in the hand means the world by the tail."
"That gun's pointed right at you, Injun!"

I studied this white man, trying to decide just how painful to make his dying.
Dyami was looking out the swinging door and sighed, "Wolf Howl, he has a frightened wife and hungry children out there."


I sighed, "Life conspires to take away all my joy."
I met the man's uncertain eyes.  "I tell you what: I will buy that poorly kept gun of yours for a thousand dollars."
"W-What?"
I gestured with my fingers, turning the silverware in front of me to gold-ware.  "It is yours ... on one condition."
"Wh-What condition?"
"That you bring your family in here to share our food."
My words seemed to hit him like a fist, and his face fell in on itself like the crust of a badly baked pie. 
"I ain't never done anything like this before but Katrina's put us out on the streets. I was at my wit's end."
I thought that had not been a long trail but kept that to myself.
He softly, hesitantly placed the gun on the table, and I slid the gold utensils to him.
The White Man tucked them quickly into his pockets.  "W-Why are you feeding my family after what I tried to do?"
I flicked my eyes to Dyami.  "Tradition."
As the man rushed out to gather his wife and children, Dyami smiled sadly at me and said what I could not bring myself to, "Happy Thanksgiving."

EARLY BLACK FRIDAY

Thanksgiving Night.


Meilori’s is a magnet for lost souls, predators, and victims waiting for the cobra’s strike.  
 It is a place where anything might happen and almost everything has.
I sat alone at my rune-carved table, supposedly where 12 knights and a very naïve King 
ruled a fantasy kingdom, doomed to end in betrayal and regret.
The Moonlight Sonata was playing softly overhead, but still I heard snatches of conversation at the tables around me.  
 I flicked both eyes and ears to the nearest.

“A conquistador,” the woman with the trapped look to her eyes said.
“Very good, Sue,” said the man.   
“They arrived in the 16th Century and took over.  That’s what I’m doing.”
Sue flinched, and he said, “Why do I frighten you, kitten?”

She took long moments to answer, 
“When I was a little girl, I used to go with Dad to his plant.  There was this giant room with a huge machine that towered to the ceiling. I squeezed his hand tight whenever we walked into it.”
Sue shivered.   
“It had this enormous hammer thing in it at the top and when it rammed down to the ground, you could feel the thud in your feet go up your spine.  It seemed relentless, unstoppable … unfeeling.”
She cleared her throat, “I just knew that one day, it would smash me into nothing.”

The man nodded, “Not too flattering, kitten.”
Sue whispered, 
“You don’t care about me as a person.  I’m pretty.  I clean up well.  But it’s my father’s company you want.”
His eyes became dead. 
“That’s exactly it.  And there isn’t a thing you can do about it.  Katrina took your father so there is no hand to hold.  Only me.”
Sue said very softly, “I hate you.”
“That’s a strong enough emotion, kitten.  It will do.”

I got up and slowly made my way to the table.  The man looked up, irritation in his flat eyes.  
 “This is my table, Cowboy.”
I sat down, shaking my Stetsoned head.   
“No, it’s mine.  All the tables in Meilori’s are mine.  I’m just letting you use this one.”
At the three closest tables, wide-shouldered men started to rise but froze when three of my Grimms, what some call Hell-hounds, sat in front of them.


Usually they cleaned up the messes in my jazz club.  But sometimes they made them first.
The man looked scorn at Sue.   
“You really believe that garbage about this place?  That’s why you suggested me taking you here?”
He sneered at me and withdrew five hundred dollar bills from his wallet.  
 “Look whoever you really are, here’s 500 bucks.  Now, strut back to your table like the hero you pretend to be.”
I nodded.  “Let’s shake on that, shall we?”
I ripped the glove from my right cursed hand and took his own.  He sucked in a wet gasp.   
I stiffened as his life force, along with his memories surged into me.
Faces of his victims.   
His own in the mirror as a child, crying at another of his father’s beatings.   
The burn of his first taste of whiskey.  
 The thrill of victory as he forced his will, his body upon another woman.

Thud.
The now-withered man lay sprawled across the table.
Sue choked out.  “Y-You are a monster like they say!”
I got up.  
 “Reckon so.  But now at least one of us has something to be thankful for today.”

As my Grimms approached to make their own Thanksgiving meal of a human turkey, 
I thought that for them Black Friday had come a day early.

QUIT SOCIAL MEDIA?

There are many issues with social media, from its corrosion of civic life to its cultural shallowness.

I won't go into the dangers of sharing your political opinions on social media 

since all of us have been bruised by waves of bitter attacks on both candidates on FB and Twitter. 

As polarizing as politics are currently, I can see employers passing over those job seekers with opposing political views, 

 or current employees being passed over for increases in salary.

 We’ve been told that it’s important to tend to your so-called social media brand, 

as this provides you access to opportunities you might otherwise miss.


 In this culture, the market rewards things that are rare and valuable. 

Social media use is decidedly not rare or valuable. 

Any 16-year-old with a smartphone can invent a hashtag or repost a viral article. 

The idea that if you engage in enough of this low-value activity,

 it will somehow add up to something meaningful in your success seems to be highly dubious. 

 Steve Martin used to give this advice to aspiring entertainers: 

“Be so good they can’t ignore you.”

The ability to concentrate without distraction on hard tasks 

is becoming increasingly valuable in an increasingly complicated society. 

Social media weakens this skill because it’s engineered to be addictive. 

The more you use social media in the way it’s designed to be used:

persistently throughout your waking hours,

the more your brain learns to crave a quick hit of stimulus at the slightest hint of boredom.


Once this mind-set is solidified, it becomes hard to give difficult tasks the unbroken concentration they require, 

and your brain simply won’t tolerate such a long period without a fix.

 There is this fear that these services will diminish our ability to concentrate:

the skill on which we make our living.

NaNoWriMo illustrates this:

We are unable to motivate and concentrate on writing a novel 

unless we make it a group social media event.

If authors or other creative people cannot make writing or creating a daily habit, 

their focus and creativity will wither within them.

Writing, or any other creative endeavor, is a solitary affair.  

Leonardo, Mozart, nor Hemingway created their masterpieces by committee or in a rush.


WHAT DO YOU THINK?
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IF TODAY WERE YOUR LAST DAY ...

... WHO WOULD YOU CALL AND WHAT WOULD YOU SAY?


The last day
It comes to everyone though we deny that fact.  But comes it does in spite of our denial.

Think of the important people in your life.  

Can you recall your last words to them, 

or were they so trivial as to make no impression on them any more than they did with you?

Would those last words be what you would want those people to remember you by, 

what you would want to be your legacy to them?

WHAT DO YOU THINK?
 

IF YOUR BOOKS ARE NEVER READ ...

... ARE YOU STILL A GREAT WRITER?


Raise your hand if you ever heard of James Welch.  No cheating now.  

Hey, I see you fibbing with that hand, Trump!  That's better.  

Like I thought: an ocean of unraised hands.  Sigh.


Yet, he was a great author.  In 2000, France even knighted him and awarded him an honorary medal.

Did someone mutter France did that to Jerry Lewis, too?  

Oh, it was you, Trump.  How unsurprising.


James Welch grew up within the Blackfeet and A'aninin cultures of his parents.  

He was a Native American novelist and poet, 

considered a founding author of the Native American Renaissance

In his writing, the landscape was featured as a character. 

Welch had a unique style of writing from 

"'an outside observer with an insider's understanding'  

of Native American experience." 

Although he was raised on the reservation as a young boy, he lived most of his life off of it. 

He said that he felt a lack of close connection with the tribal community.


It occurs to me that all authors feel outsiders in some way or another.

I believe there is a strange magnetism bonding those of us who seem always to search but never find.

What do you think?

WHERE YOUR THOUGHTS GO ...

YOUR LIFE WILL FOLLOW