the silence that spreads in the branches of the pecan tree

I have co-workers from all parts of the world -- from Argentina, China, Greece, Japan -- as well as from all parts of the United States. There are often fascinating differences among us, of course, though I am as often struck by how much alike we are.

Hitch up your reindeer

This 'getting ready for Christmas' thing, y'all -- I'm not sure I've got a handle on it this year. It's getting away from me.

Krummi svaf í kletta gjá

Happy Leifr Eiríksson Day!

what a child does when he’s given something to keep

Let's finish up the Christmas knitting:

Champagner hat's verschuldet, was wir heut erduldet

Happy New Year, everyone.

There is a fox in me

And now we can start talking about all the Christmas knitting.

First up is the hat I knit for Nephew the Younger. I warn you, it's almost lethally cute:

And with true love and brotherhood

A merry midwinter whatever, and the deity of your choice bless us all, every one.

sing in a mist heavy with myrtle and listeners

All the usual excuses and explanations for long silences apply again. You know them all, and know also that I am sorry to go so long without a proper post.

Friends and kinsfolk

Happy Leif Erikson Day.

Spilled coin purse and a flower

If you grew up in the southern part of the U.S., or have family there, or have in-laws or neighbours or co-workers from there, you will have encountered the dish of black-eyed peas and rice known, somewhat mysteriously, as Hoppin John.  Sometime in the week before Christmas and New Year's one of these Southern people will ask if you have your black-eyed peas ready.  If you should see any of them on New Year's Day, they will not only ask if you've had your Hoppin John yet, but will ceremoniously produce a plate of it for you if you have not.  This may be the twenty-first century, and we may all be educated people in a digital world, but this humble plate of beans and rice is not optional on New Year's Day, at least not if you're in the South or in range of Southerners.

Since she enjoys her long night's festival

(this post is partially recycled from one posted on the predecessor blog of The Belfry in 2003)

In Sweden, the Christmas season begins on 13 December, the feast of Saint Lucy. If one accepts the story from the Legenda Aurea, that she was a fourth-century Sicilian martyr, then how she became so integral to the Christmas celebrations of a Scandinavian country is anyone's guess. I think, though, that when we talk of Lucy, we are in the realm of myth, not history. Before the calendar reforms in the 16th century, the winter solstice fell on 13 December, and Lucy, of course, is lux, light.

the voice of a dove calls from far away

I do not have many superstitions about New Year's Eve, or New Year's Day, despite the fact that I possess numerous irrational beliefs about any number of other things.

a thing of cream and stars

Right, carrots. I promised I'd explain the carrots.

the way a fork mashes into view the inner light of a carrot

Game on.

The world begins at a kitchen table

There are some people in the vicinity of Belfry HQ who like traditional turkey dinners.

Cairioll Callaig

In Scotland, after the Reformation, the celebration of Christmas was outlawed -- it was considered 'too Romish' -- and Hogmanay, the new year's celebration, became the major winter festival. Not that the Kirk much approved of Hogmanay, either, of course. Christmas festivities have been revived in Scotland, but Hogmanay remains a major holiday.

Common enough yet has so many imitators

My sister asked me to bring bread to Christmas dinner: "Dinner rolls? And herbed butter if you're feeling exuberant?"

Mittens are drying on the radiator

I was ambitious with my Christmas knitting this year.  Somehow (miraculously?) I got it all done.

(Well, I'll admit to sewing the leather soles on the green slippers on Christmas morning).

And have been cold a long time

We are in full-on holiday-crazy mode here at Belfry headquarters, in addition to full-on work-crazy mode, and thus anything that is not directed to those ends is just not happening.

seeking transcendence but loving bread

Happy Thanksgiving!