"Bible Series" on History: Part 2 Wow, Where Am I?

I was going to say, "I'm back on the roller coaster called the History Channel's 'The Bible'".  But it is more like being in a Funhouse. You are often in the dark, but tableaus keep lighting up in front of you. Some of these surprise you, some delight, some scare. You turn a corner and there is a Bat with a human head dripping blood, then into the dark followed by another scene, perhaps a giant spider web with a huge arachnid at its center. Maybe as in the photo illustrating this paragraph you are plunged into a strata of Dante's Inferno. The depictions depend on stereotypical familiarity with certain stories. In a Funhouse they are used to startle and entertain, but not to edify.

This is how I feel watching "The Bible". I am going along some maze and suddenly action breaks out before me. The scene is one of a long popular tale in both Sunday School and secular Hollywood or TV. It tends to be entertaining, but never quite explains why it happened and why it was important

In "The Bible, Part 2" we begin with some repeat of where Part One left off. There is Joshua saying once more that all that stands between taking Canaan is defeating Jericho.

You know when I was a boy this Battle of Jericho was quite a popular theme. (Of course, I was a boy much closer to the actual event than many who may have been watching its reenactment on TV.) There was an old Spiritual created by slaves in the mid-1800s called "Joshua Fit De Battle of Jericho." It seemed to be sung on radio and TV a lot when I was a child. Even Elvis did a version (see video).

(Elvis performing "Joshua Fit Do Battle of Jericho.)

Part Two rehashed Joshua sending the two spies to Jericho in its beginning sequence. It was exciting. These spies were like Navy Seals or something. They crept up to the city walls and threw a hook over the top then used the attached rope to scale the wall. Upon dropping down on the other side they are attacked by several men, who they fight off with swords while yelling, "For Israel". Running down a hallway they encounter Rahab (pictured right), who tells them where they can find escape. One spy gives her a rope from around his waist and tells her to tie it on her window and her household will be spared when the Israel army attacks. The spies escape the city and then, after Joshua speaks with an Angel, we see the city fall, amidst a clatter and shout, into a pile of dust.

Say what?

What is all this wall scaling and sword fighting? I don't recall reading this in Joshua Chapter 2, the book in the actual Bible. First of all, Joshua isn't standing looking at Jericho when he sends the spies. He and the Israelites haven't even crossed the Jordan River into Canaan yet when he sends the two spies over to "Search out the land". Actually they left out that whole march where the Jordan River opens up to allow them to cross on dry land and the priests pick up some rocks to make a monument. Yeah, God parted more than the Red Sea for Moses. I guess the producers felt another such crossing was too redundant.

And those two spies when they reached Jericho did not fling up some big old repelling device. Who were they supposed to be, Batman and Robin? They came to Jericho, went into the city and took up lodging in the house of a prostitute. You know that was pretty unsuspicious behavior, I bet, couple of guys going into the big city and heading for the local house of ill repute. It was certainly a lot less suspicious and risky as scaling the walls in the middle of the night. Oh, and guess who the prostitute was? Rahab.

Now the King of Jericho found out and sent men after them. But Rahab hid the spies and when these men demanded they come out,  she told them, "'True, the men came to me, but I did not know where they were from. And when the gate was about to be closed at dark, the men went out. I do not know where the men went. Pursue them quickly, for you will overtake them.'” (Joshua 2: 4)

The King's men did just that, pursued, but the spies were still hidden on Rahab's roof and they escaped three days later. The rope the spies gave Rahab wasn't just a convenient belt, it was a scarlet cord, a symbol of salvation, but who has time for such details when you need to show the walls crumbling and then getting on to Samson.

Yes, turn the corner, and a commercial, and here comes the Samson tableau. It is introduced with the Narrator telling us that Joshua took Canaan, then Joshua died and local magistrates ruled the people, but a new threat arose called the Philistines. Jericho tumbled and out of the dust rode the Philistines. Wow! 

You know the Book of Joshua has 24 Chapters. Jericho fell in Chapter 6. A few more things happened before we get to Judges, and still more before we reach Samson. None of the ensuing battles under Joshua were mentioned, not even the one with the longest day. I suppose the allotments of land and the Cities of Refuge being named wasn't very film-worthy, so we skipped right to Samson. Samson was going to save Israel from the Philistines.

We got nothing about the evil Israel engaged in after Joshua died, how they turned to worshipping Baal and other Gods. Nothing was said about this sinning being why God allowed them to be under the hand of the Philistines for forty years. 

We also skip through Samson's life pretty lickety-split as well, so a few niceties like facts needed to be dropped. After an Angel stands whispering in the ear of the wife of Manoah (the parents of Samson), we see Samson, a bulky man with long dreadlocks, striding toward the camera. Keep in mind that in the Book of Judges Samson doesn't get even a mention until Chapter 13. Such people as Deborah, Barak, Gideon, Jephthah and others who came before Samson must have been left on the cutting room floor.

Samson tosses a couple people around and before you know it he is marrying a Philistine woman, much to his mother's chagrin, but the Philistines don't appear real thrilled about it either. 

In this film there are two Philistine big shots who go and demand Samson's wife tell them where he is. When she can't they set her house on fire with her locked inside. Samson is furious they killed his wife and attacks them, then flees into the hills. (Now this isn't quite the way I read it. They don't have Samson and his wife breaking up over a riddle, don't have a bunch of foxes with flaming tails, don't have an interfering father-in-law -- yeah, go to the source and look it up.) The Philistine big shots (the same two) now threaten the Israelites if they don't bring them Samson, which they do. He breaks his bonds and reaps havoc with a donkey's jawbone (pictured left). Oh, by the way, somewhere in all this action he notices this woman named Delilah.

Now that his wife is dead, he takes up with this Delilah and once again those Philistine big shots come along (the same two) and bribe Delilah to find out his source of strength. The big lug finally tells her it is his hair and falls asleep in her lap. She pulls out a big pair of scissors and begins snipping off his dreadlocks. (Uh, wasn't there this guy she called to do the dirty work of shaving his hair?) Speaking of snipping, let's cut to the chase, the two big shots and a bunch of soldiers pop in and Samson awakes and has no strength to fight. They grab him and the main big shot walks over and thumbs out Samson's eyes. Next thing we know Samson is in some building surrounded by people. He calls on God for one more burst of strength and then begins ramming these huge supports. Everything collapses and everybody dies. Samson's mother (she didn't die) brushes the debris off her dead son and cradles his head.



And we are off to the story of Saul and David. Yeah, there should be a story about a woman named Ruth in-between, a tale of redemption, but who has time for that. 

To tell the truth, I'm getting exhaused from the pace and this post is growing long. I'm not going to compress the lives of Saul and David into a few paragraphs as the film does in a few minutes. I will just make a couple comments.

I liked the actor's portrayal of Saul (pictured right). I think it captured a man who started out on a high note, got too full of himself and then became somewhat paranoid. You can see the struggle on the man's face.

It is interesting to learn that the Young David (pictured left), at the time he slew Goliath, spoke with a kind of near-cockney British accent. He lost this as he grew older. 

We have a scene when David, striped to the waist comes dancing into town. His wife Michal awaits, which seems to be something of a depiction of 2 Samuel 6:16-17, except on the way David runs into his very good friend, Uriah the Hittite and his lovely wife Bathsheba.  I mean, really? Bathsheba doesn't make her debut in David's life until 2 Samuel 11, and I don't know much about a close friendship between David and Uriah. At any rate, David has sex with Bathsheba, gets her pregnant and has Uriah killed. 

The remorse of David did not come through for me in this film. I also was confused by the prophets in the film. We started with Samuel, but I didn't get a sense of Nathan being properly introduced. At any rate, we were shown Bathsheba holding the doomed offspring of David's sin, which took emphasis away from the punishment David was suffering. 

I just feel the filmmakers keep missing the point.

I assume we will pick up with the remainder of David's reign next time, when his house is at war with itself, but am not certain. When we left off in Part Two, David and Bathsheba were with their second child, Solomon, who played with a small model of the proposed Temple. We were told by the Narrator that David would not build the temple, but his son would, but then Solomon would also fall from grace. So, I really don't know where next week will pick up. Maybe we will jump right to Solomon and the Queen of Sheba and I dread how that might be portrayed. (Pictured left, the older King David.)

Again, I am glad this show is on air and doing well. I really hope it leaves people wondering why these things happened and they turn to their Bibles or to those who might answer such questions. And there are questions, the film leaves a lot more questions than answers. 

So a New Year's Begins - 2011

Well, another New Year's begins.

In a moment of inspired (ha! Incipit.) television, they dropped Snooki, Sloppi, Slutti, whatever her name is, inside a ball for the ten-second count down to midnight. Despite plunging from the fearful height of about six feet, she survived. As entertainment it didn't.

2011 doesn't seem much improved over 2010 today for the staging of that particular stunt and all the other forced hoopla of New Year's Eve. Perhaps it would have been a small splash in the right direction if they had dropped her in the ocean and watched her float out to sea. A new year without Snooki and the whole "South Jersey" cast would be cause for celebration.

In case you haven't sensed it, I am very over the whole New Year's thing. The photograph was taken at midnight in the early 1970s. The Little Woman and I would spend the period just after Christmas in the Poconos. We and a group of friends would chip in to rent a cabin (more a lodge, really, since it had ten bedrooms) and spend a week having fun sledding and skating and enjoying each other's company. It would culminate on New Year's Eve and after New Year's Day we would all return to our normal worlds. Most of those in the gang were Social Workers or spouses of Social Workers. Mostly these people were long time friends of The Little Woman or friends of these friends.

Those were good New Year's celebrations because they were really celebrations of friendships.

But New Year's for New Year's sake seems very empty and artificial to me. I'm not sure that lighting up the sky with fireworks while millions of people get lit up on alcohol is really a new beginning.

For me, the real New Year and the real sense of refreshing one's hopes and goals has always come in September.  No specific day in September, just the time around Labor Day. I would guess many people in this country get that same feeling. It isn't hard to understand why, although I imagine for some it is a month of melancholy instead, those who grieve the end to summer.

School started in September. At least it traditionally did until more recent years, when those we call educators and I call failures, dictated an earlier start, as if that would do anything less than extend the time they had to demonstrate their inability to teach. But that is a subject for more serious postings.

My parents sent me to Kindergarten at age four. Therefore and forward, my next thirteen years began in September. Actually this September as a new beginning really didn't end with high school graduation. Two years after that I was married in September and so for coming up 50 years we were always celebrating that in September.

Then when I was twenty-two I went to evening college. I went to three colleges over the next 20 years (all in evening class) and although I did an occasional summer session, the school year still began in September.

I was hired at The Bank, my longest continuing employer, in September 1980, and since you were evaluated and received any raise in salary on your yearly anniversary, September remained the marker of a new year for me. After a time the date was further marked by ceremony. After so many years you received a service pin, a handshake and usually a cake, another marker of an era ending and new one beginning. At least for 21 years, after that I was forced to retire, also in September, which at the moment it happened felt a bit as if time had ended.

Yet time goes on and although there is no more school years starting nor anymore hire-day anniversaries in September it still remains the real New Year for me. Even if my wedding anniversary didn't fall in that month, this would still be so just out of habit.        

When the Rain is Just Right

There is an old British saying, first uttered in 1894; "Right as rain". No one is exactly sure why, but the expression has come to mean everything is fine or in its proper order. It was very apt yesterday.

When I awoke Sunday morning it was anything but a sun day. There was a steady, cold rain falling, the only thing above a passing drizzle this month and the only wetness on the weather map this whole week.

It has been dry and we need the rain, but for me it seemed just one more thing gone wrong this year. Today was the last day of the Kennett Square Mushroom Festival and we had planned to go.

The we being the Little Woman and our two daughters. The Boy wasn't coming since he had an all-nighter ahead counting wine bottles at a sister store in another state. (He is often farmed out for inventories within the chain for which he works.)

The website said it was held rain or shine. We decided to chance it, just as I chanced it my Eldest Daughter could guide us there through the woods over winding back roads. She was the only veteran of this affair among us and said she knew the way and indeed she did.

You don't want to look for parking downtown even on a nothing special day. There are a number of charming little towns here in the Southeast end of Chester County where it is not so charming looking for a parking spot.

For a big ol' event like the Mushroom Festival you wouldn't have a chance.

We came into this town to the restaurant pictured left one night a couple years ago. A great place to eat, very unusual, called the Half Moon. We liked it a lot, but for a bit feared we would not make our reservation as we drove down one-way alleyways and parked-solid side streets looking to deposit our car somewhere.

More about the Half Moon later.

The town knows this and they provided. There were designated parking areas on the fringes of the festival and then shuttle buses to the action.

There was soon no doubt the festival was on as we arrived at our parking destination, the high school. There was a contingent of young people to collect our $5.00 fee to go up the drive to the lot.

I think a fair price considering they had to pay for buses all day long. (Maybe they didn't pay the driver taking us in enough, she was a bit uncommunicative, kind of snarly actually.)

But maybe weaving a school bus through narrow streets parked solid on both sides tends to sap your sparkly disposition.

I was glad I didn't have to maneuver my car along this route, so unfriendly or not, I am grateful for her chauffeuring.

As the Little Woman and my daughters amble up the rows of booths, I am reminded again it was right as rain.

It had continued raining during our drive to the high school, but the drops had stopped dropping upon our arrival. The sky remained darkly gray and the street was glistening under foot, but this proved beneficial. The temperature remained constant all day, just at the perfect spot for walking about in light jackets or sweatshirts without feeling too chill or too warm. It also kept the crowd down, at least in the early hours.

Oh, there's that TV news van!

But do you notice something a bit off?

Yeah, that's right, it's a balloon.

Frankly, it is the perfect symbolism of the TV news media these days.

Nothing but a big bag of hot air.

Anyway, moving on...

"Down at the end of Lonely Street..."




Not really. First of all, despite the dampness there was a crowd so it wasn't lonely and the avenue is State Street, not Lonely Street.

There are some interesting buildings along the way, however.

These sat down on the East end.

Right now they are just houses, but as the day wore on the occupants of them came out on to the porches to watch the parade of people invading their turf.

The people living in these homes are most likely workers in the many mushroom farms that dot this area. After all, this is the Mushroom Capital of the World, producing over a million pounds annually.

My mother was once a worker in a mushroom plant.

I like mushroom soup.

That's why this picture is here.

I passed this tent several times and each time I looked at and saw soup. I kept thinking, I should stop and get a cup of mushroom soup, I bet it will be delicious.

Yeah, as delicious as the treat my mom gave me once when I was a child and uttered a forbidden word.

Look at that sign closely. It doesn't say soup, it says soap. The Wildwood Soapworks,  handcrafted all natural bath & body products.


Maybe I better stick with the architecture. My Number Two Daughter liked this building, that's her and her older sister admiring it. (My younger daughter is the taller of the two.)

This may raise the question of what my Number One Daughter has upon her head.

There are many, many things to buy at the festival, especially crafts and objects of art.

My Eldest Daughter chose to purchase a knit monster hat.

Hey, she likes it. It's kinda cute. It'll keep your ears warm.

Besides if you really want to see What Not to Wear...

I told the Little Woman, "I want an outfit like that."

You are probably saying, "What was he thinking?"

(I was thinking, "I hope he doesn't turn around and punch me in the nose for taking his photo.")

I'm also thinking he knew exactly he was dressing to be noticed. You don't have those tattoos up and down your arms and legs if you don't want to be noticed.

He got noticed. The two girls behind him are giggling. The guy standing in the booth is going, "Wilco tango foxtrot was that?"

So you might ask, "What can one do at a mushroom festival?"

One thing you can do is eat. You gotta little something for everybody here. You got your ribeye steak, you got your Gyros, you got your corn dog, you got your Polish sausage, you even got your falafels.

A number of years ago my Number Two Daughter answered the phone with, "Muhammad's Falafel House."
The caller was a telemarketer. He wanted her to buy something. "No, no," she says in her best middle eastern accent, "you don't understand. Me sell, you buy. What kind falafel you buy?"

And this brings us back to the Half Moon. The Half Moon has a very interesting menu.

Now the Half Moon had a booth along the street selling goodies, too.

You weren't going to find cheese fries and funnel cake at this stand, however.

The Half Moon, where you can see some people entering in the background, has no truck with these typical American staples.

They go for a more exotic blend.

It case you can't quite read the sampling on the booth's menu, I will read it for you:

Crab Stuffed Portabella Melt

Wild Boar Exotic Mushroom Chili

Smoky Mushroom Bisque

Bison Hot Bog (extra with the Wild Boar Mushroom Chili)

If you are saying a bit heavy on the mushrooms, well duh! It is the Mushroom Festival.

Not everything in the restaurant has mushrooms with it. When we ate there that time, my wife had an Ostrich Filet, no mushrooms. You can have some good Buffalo Sliders or Gator Gumbo, too. They have roof top dining, by the way.

There are things besides eating.  There is a carnival with rides back near where we parked the car and there is free entertainment along the route all day long.

Speaking of down at the end of Lonely Street, there is a singer performing down on that stage. I wandered down and thought he was quite good actually, but there were only a half-dozen in the audience. (A damp, soggy day does not encourage sitting on folding chairs for an outdoor concert.)

My daughters and I came by a bit later and there was nobody in the seats. There was a woman at the top of the street with a camera to her eye.

Now my Eldest daughter is a soft talker.

I mentioned how few had been in the seats when I stopped by to listen.

She said, quietly, "I don't see anyone in the seats now. There is a woman video taping it. She must be his mother."

"That's true," said the woman video taping.

We moved along.

The Little Woman has a bad knee. She thinks she injured it out hiking with Daughter Number Two. Daughter Number Two is an ex-sergeant who served a couple deployments in the War on Terror, including Iraq and she goes on hikes at double-time. The Little Woman is reaching a point in age where the hills aren't kind.

At one point we had to leave her behind on a bench, poor pathetic looking thing.

Actually, she enjoyed sitting there while we rambled. She likes to watch people with all their differences and foibles.

Where she chose to sit turned out to be a restaurant I have long wondered where it was. It is called the Kennett Inn and I have seen it on Open Table many times and looked at its website. I had no idea just where in Kennett Square it was located, but given the parking here, had hoped it was on the fringes with its own spacious parking lot.

Not the case, for here it sits center town on State Street.

The staff was taking a break and were very friendly to my wife squatting on their doorstep. We really must try this place.

Up this side street was Wild Bill's Saloon.

My father was know as Wild Bill and he probably visited a number of saloons in his youth, but this had nothing to do with my dad, or real saloons for that matter, but I thought I'd throw it in. After all, I mentioned my mother earlier, so let's give my father some billing too.

My Eldest Daughter said it sold root beer and you got a silver cup to keep.

I asked if the root beer was any good.

She said her boyfriend had it and said it was. With that boyfriend we had a regular United Nations going. My daughter is 1/8 Welsh, Irish, German and Native American. Her boyfriend was African and Japanese (no, he wasn't Tiger Woods, my daughter wasn't one of the notches on that creep's putter).

Okay, so we strolled down this side street to Wild Bill's Old Fashioned Soda Pop Saloon.

I asked my daughter's if they wanted a drink. The Younger didn't, the Eldest did, so I ordered two.

Okay, friends, Wild bill doesn't GIVE you the silver cup with your root beer.

Those sodas cost $10 each.

He tried to talk me into two $15 cups.

No, thanks, $20 bucks for two is enough.

And the cup isn't silver, it's stainless steel.

It is a nice looking cup though. The root beer really was very good. You were handed the cup with ice in it and poured your own drink selection from a tap on a barrel. Old fashioned soda at a new fashioned price.

The crowd was getting more crowder as the day wore on. (The Little Woman was back on her feet, you can see her on the very extreme left examining something in a booth.)

I was wondering what to do with my ten dollar cup, now devoid of root beer. I hate walking around carrying something. I decided to put it on my belt. I unbuckled with the same trepidation as when the security told me to remove my belt at the courthouse last week. I hoped my pants didn't fall down. That would have been very embarrassing right there in front of my daughters.

I succeeded. My pants stayed put and the cup was secured to my side. It stuck out though. I feared some kid would run by, bang her head upon it and be knocked unconscious.

"Perhaps people will drop money in it," I said. "Alms, alms for the hip."

Alas, I collected nothing but a penny my wise-guy Younger Daughter dropped in it.

I did keep banging it on railings.

The Little Woman said, "I can't take you anywhere."

We had been there a while. It was time to catch the shuttle bus back to the car. This driver was a happy type, she did friendly patter all the way back, not like the morning sulker. When I sat on the bus, my legs shot lightening up my body, a reminder of my age, but still, I came to the Mushroom Festival and I was a fungi (fun guy).

On my wristband in says, "Celebrating 25 years '10".

You know a sign you have gotten old?

When you look at something saying they are in their 25th year and you think, "Oh, is that all they've been around?"

So the day had ended and instead of it being rain on our parade, it was all as right as rain and we had a great time among a lot of great people.

I came home with my souvenir cup, my wristband, and this funny little ink tattoo Wild Bill scribbled on my hand.

I'm still not clear on why.

Peanut Brittle: Bits, Pieces and Loose Ends 2010

  

I barely slept at all last night. The pain was too great. That assassin Arthritis hasn't attacked me for weeks, but he's back. I guess he was renewing his strength because he plunged his dagger hard yesterday. By bedtime the agony within my toe bones just above the instep was in full war dance. It is a pain you can't escape. No where I tossed my foot, no way I turned my body brought ease.

The only product that has ever given me any relief is Tylenol Arthritis, but I had none in the house. I popped some of the pain relief tablets my wife keeps for headaches a couple time during the day, but it had no effect.

First step I took this morning on my walk was into a supermarket to buy some Tylenol and a bottle of water. Intriguing packaging for arthritis medicine. First you must tear through the glued tabs of a box to reach a bottle, then you must struggle to peel away a thick cellophane seal. If you successfully break this barrier you are confronted with a lid you must press down with great strength and twist. What do they have in this thing, gold nuggets? And just when you are about to yell in triumph as you lift the lid, you see a silver round disc is welded across the opening that must be penetrated. The only good news is there wasn't a three inch wad of cotton between this barrier and the pills. This is what they give arthritic people to open. It almost made me grateful my foot was ablaze and not my thumb joints.

Now you may think me crazy, going walking when every step felt as if I placed my foot upon a knife blade. Well, yes, I am crazy. I realized I was when it dawned on me I had chosen the park with the stone gravel trail today. Well, it has been said an artist must suffer for his art, thus a walker must suffer for his walk.

Speaking of walks, remember the cat I encountered twice in Bellevue State Park?  [ "On the Down Low: The Last Plateau" and "Cauffiel"] My concern was at first whether the cat would follow me. After the day I ran into this feline a second time my concern became whether it had a home.  As a result of my posting about this, I am happy to have heard from someone named Andy who says the cat is just fine. It will be a regular resident in the park because it has been adopted by the park supervisor. Its name is Hemingway, one of my favorite authors.

It is amazing who all reads your Blogs and what information they can impart to you on occasion.

Speaking of posts about parks, I mentioned a few times how different the paths became from summer to winter. In the summer they seem so far from civilization, so private and primitive, but with the striping of the trees by Jack Frost you discover how close are homes and highways. One object I talked of being well hidden to the point of invisibility as you walked by on the main trails surrounding it was the high-point gazebo at Rockwood. ["Where Civilization Crumbles"]

The other week I went about the turn in the parking lot drive and realized the gazebo was now even visible from the lot.

The steepness of the steeper path also comes clearer. Remember I usually walk up what I call the gradual hill trail, which starts to the far side of the mansion and circles the back of the property along side a community of homes.

If you look closely at the photo to the right you can see the white lampposts that line the upward slope of what I call the steep path. You have to look closely because they can be easily mistaken for trees.

I have gone up this path in the heat of summer and arrived sweaty and panting at the top.

It is easier to see just how much this path turns steep in this photo of the drive lane between the lower lot and the Carriage House lot.  The drive is an uphill walk, but if you look to the left you will see two orange cones blocking cars from turning.

These mark the beginning of the steep trail up the hill. I think you can see how sharp the slope becomes here.

It stays pretty much at this angle of accent until  parallel to the gazebo and there it levels before joining the main path at the hill top.

I had also mentioned that the hill drops off like a cliff behind the gazebo and along the path that leads down to the Bringhurst Woods. ["Conversations With Dogs"]

This picture with the trees bare and shrubs gone lets you see it.

You can see the gazebo in the very center of the scene and then all along the front it is cliff.

As long as we are again in Rockwood, there was a Holiday Open House there in early December. The Little Woman and I attended. I had told her I was going and she decided to join me. I was a little worried after we went up the walkway to the mansion. She was having some difficulty breathing from the hill climb and the extreme cold, but fortunately this cleared once we sat briefly, although I though the folding chair would freeze to my bottom. Folding chairs froze to buttocks are often an impediment to having a good time.

They decorate the mansion quite well for this event. Here is a sleight on the ground before the Conservatory.

The event was held for four hours at evening on Thursday and Friday, then on Saturday afternoon. We went the first day for the 6:00 opening and the lighting of the "Big Tree".

It was strange to be guided to a spot on the parking lot and see the lots filling. Usually when I am here I am among a handful of cars if any at all, but then I do go for my walks at sunrise.

All the walkways were edged in bands of white light.

The hills are alive with the music of color.

I apologize for the poor quality of these pictures. I shot them in the dark without a flash so as not to disturb the many people around me. I use to shoot all the time with my old 35 SRL using fast film and no flash and most my night photos were fairly clear. When you snap in dim or dark, the aperture lingers longer to catch what light it may, allowing time for movement to disturb the steadiness needed for fine lines. My hands shake anyway and the cold didn't help. At least the lights look pretty.

We arrived nearly a half hour early. I had no idea how many people might come and knew how limited parking was. We actually beat most and were sent to the upper tier front of the lower lot, almost where I pull in when I walk there. This gave us a bit of time to kill along with a great deal of confusion of where to go and what was going to happen.

There was some sort of podium-like thing facing some rows of folding chairs, where we had first sat for my wife to catch her breath. I guessed this was where the tree lighting would be. There was a very large evergreen behind the podium-like stand.

So after wandering down to the Carriage House and back, we sat down on these chairs to wait. It did not seem like many chairs for what would be a large crowd. There were perhaps three dozen. We sat there shivering in a breeze on the chill metal seats as a bustle of activity went on off to our left. People kept drifting over to that side and standing, so we got up and joined that crowd.

There was a children's choir forming up, which performed some Christmas songs once the music director and assistants stopped fiddling about with things. They had lovely voices.

They sang perhaps three songs and someone announced the tree lighting would be held directly behind in the area where we had once been seated. As the crowd stirred and turned, the announcer continued. "Please leave the chairs for the use of the elderly among us."

Ah, this is why there were so few chairs. As the wife and I took a place standing behind the rows of chairs an old guy standing next to me said, "I'm not elderly."

"Yeah," I laughed, "none of us will admit to it."

Thus the chairs remained unoccupied, except for a few younger folk who either missed the announcement, didn't care or simply took advantage of we Senior's stubbornness and vanity.

The honor of throwing the switch went to the fill-in County Executive. Our duly elected County Executive is now a duly elected U. S. Senator and already seated. It was a special election to fill the seat of somebody named Biden. I don't know, this Biden got some other job or something and had to leave the Senate a couple years back.

Of course being a politician, he had to make a speech. After thanking all the committees and volunteers who made the event possible, as they certainly deserved to be thanked, and bragging about how much cost it is to the County to maintain this fine place, he threw the switch and the large tree behind him lit.

Everyone let out the expected communal gasp.

The Little Woman and I moved on from there to the mansion itself. They had an open house and we went in. I have never before been inside the house and was surprised to find it rather cozy and homey, given the size and Gothic style of the place. There were pleasant guides in each room to explain what we were looking at and answer questions. I always have questions because I am interested in such things.

The photo is the entrance to the Butler's Pantry, not the main hall of the house. Santa was holding forth on Christmas wishes from the tots in here.

Inside the front hall of the mansion I handed over the clothing donation I brought and we toured the rooms.

Since we are celebrating holidays, I will touch on the past Thanksgiving briefly. The kids came for the day and for the dinner.

I had awoken early as usual and while the rest slept, I put up our old tree and strung the lights. I leave the rest of the decorating to The Little Woman who does a better job of ornament hanging than I. I did stick the angel on top.

The tree had its annual falling over late that evening, but the kids did a good job of propping it back up and securing it hopefully through New Years. For once it wasn't the cats fault it fell. It just lost it balance. It is a senior citizen, too.

That is Mark sitting on the table next to it.

This is Hobo Joe's and Kerouac's first Christmas Tree with us. Hobo seemed unimpressed, but The Little Woman has had to fish Kerouac out of the branches a few times.

No one in my family likes their picture taken, so I am always sneaking up and rushing shots when I think they won't notice. This results in very poor and shaky images. I am surprised I managed to get both a halfway clear and a face forward photo of my middle child without her making a face or bolting from the room.

The cat next to her is Moochie.

My son, my youngest, was sacked out playing with some Rubik game he bought while watching a football game on TV.

Meanwhile in the kitchen my oldest daughter was baking cookies.

There is one more follow-up having nothing to do with anything else here. It is those dreaded basketball nets in the grass patches defying the Free Zone law. I wrote about them back in September in Invasion of the Basketball Snatchers and how someone had complained about seven homes with seven nets for seven kids or more.  The State had ordered the nets be removed within two weeks or the State Basketball Destruction Squad would come and remove the offenders.  One home actually moved their net from the grass patch to the safety of the area at the end of their drive, but all the rest stood defiant and the nets were left standing.

This is now mid-December and those nets remain as they were well past the dreaded deadline of destruction. In other words, despite the orders and threats nothing has changed. Oh wait, something did change. One more net went up on those streets. Calcare non sagena mea. Free libertatem sortem!