Now to Uganda.....

Amazing!!

'Tis Wren's Day!

This is an Irish thing.  First the video....thanks to Mike Peterson



 Then from http://www.dingle-peninsula.ie/wren.html

The following article and photographs are reproduced with permission from the November/December 1997 issue of "Cara", the Aer Lingus on-board magazine. The article is written by Peter Wood, who is originally from Co. Monaghan, with photography of the Dingle Wren by Christy McNamara, who is originally from Co. Clare. Peter and Christy have collaborated on a book entitled "The Living Note: The Heartbeat of Irish Music", published by O'Brien Press and Robert Rinehart. On St. Stephen's Day, December 26th, crowds of people take to the roads in various parts of Ireland, dressed in motley clothing, wearing masks or straw suits and accompanied by musicians – remembering a festival with antecedents that long predate Christmas. The Wren – sometimes pronounced and written, wran – was once common all over Ireland. In some areas, the Wrenboys are called Mummers and the festival has a strong English influence, incorporating characters like St. George. Birds have great prominence in Irish mythology. They were seen as intermediaries, in pre-Christian times, between this world and the next. The flight patterns of birds, like the wren, were used as auguries by the Druids. Indeed, some believe, the Gaelic word for wren – dreoilín – derives from two words, draoi ean, or Druid bird. When, according to legend, the birds held a parliament, it was decided that whichever of them flew the highest would rule over all the others. The eagle soared higher than any, until it tired and the tiny wren emerged from its tail feathers and climbed far above it. Mysteriously, the wren has a reputation for treachery. A wren is said to have betrayed Irish soldiers fighting the Norsemen by beating its wings on their shields. The wren, too, is blamed for betraying St. Stephen, the first Christian martyr. This is the usual explanation why the wren is the hunted bird on St. Stephen's day. It has also been argued that the antipathy shown towards the bird dates from early Christian opposition to the Druidic rites that surrounded it. Today, the wren – as a feature of the event – survives only in the rhyme and in the name of the day, although, in former times, it was hunted and nailed to a pole at the head of the procession.In West Kerry, the focal point of the Wrenboys parade is a hobby horse. A pantomime-type horse with a wooden head, snapping jaws and a body made from cloth stretched across a timber frame, it is worn on the shoulders of one of the members of the Wren – who whirls and capers at the head of the parade. The horse, for social and military reasons, was of great importance in ancient Ireland. Horses could be both lucky and unlucky, and they had strong associations with the rights to kingship and with fertility. The horse was so important that its introduction to Ireland was credited to the god Lugh. The greatest of the Celtic gods, his name occurs across the continent in placenames like Lyon and Leiden. The cult of the horse was also opposed by the early Christians.The straw suits worn by the Wrenboys also have historical resonances, though more recent ones. In the 18th and 19th centuries, they were worn as disguises by the Whiteboys during Ireland's prolonged agrarian wars. The suit is woven in three parts: head, chest, and skirt. The straw of choice for the suits is that which comes from oats and, since there is little demand for oats, good straw is becoming increasingly difficult to find. In many cases, oats are grown specifically for the Wren. The Wren, in common with many customs in rural Ireland, came close to extinction. From the twenties and thirties onward emigration took a great toll among those who would have taken part. There was strong clerical opposition – the money raised in the collections the Wrenboys took up went towards holding a ball in a local hotel or public house and naturally there was alcohol involved. The Church saw the Wren, as it saw the house dances that kept traditional music alive in those times, as an "occasion of sin."That the Wren survived at all was due to the efforts of a few individuals and small groups of people working in isolation. Nowadays, the Wren is enjoying a revival. Listowel, County Kerry, holds an annual competition. The legendary Wrens of the Dingle Peninsula are the focus of intense local competition. Dublin, too, has a festival, held on Sandymount Green. Whatever its provenance (there is a similar festival in Lerwick on Shetland, and its form finds echoes across Europe in the hobby horse, and the hunting of a small bird on one day of the year) the Wren in Ireland is not fixed in time. Like much else in Irish culture, the Wrenboys have adapted and changed. Their masks and costumes reflect change, and reflect too, perhaps, the current demonology of Irish society – long after her fall from power, former British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher still figures prominently in the masks worn in many a Wren. Fundamentally though, the Wren is a local event, reflecting the communities it springs from – whether in the North of the country, or Wexford, Woodford in Galway or the west of Kerry. Th Kerry writer and dramatist, Sigerson Clifford, was all his life a kind of exile in his own country from the town he loved, Cahirciveen. He's best remembered for his great ballad,The Boys of Barr na Straide, two lines of which formed his epitaph. I'll take my sleep in those green fields,the place my life began,Where the boys of Barr na Straidewent hunting for the wren.For many people in more distant exile, the 26th of December holds a special resonance – the day the whistles, fifes and drums thunder like waves, rising in crescendos to drive the dark of winter away. Pagans and Christians forgotten, all the one now. "Up Sraid Eoin! We never died a winter yet," as they say on at least one street in Dingle town. TEXT COPYRIGHT 1997 BY PETER WOODS PHOTOGRAPHY COPYRIGHT 1997 BY CHRISTY McNAMARA

We Write E-mails.....

Today's self-explanatory response to one of the (endless) email solicitations from XE's beloved progressive resources:

Why not run a lottery fund-raiser kind of thing for (NAME)?  I kept wishing when I opened my email and saw "$70,000" in the subject line that it would be a chance to win that much from (NAME).  If I did win, I'd gladly share half with you guys....

Kind regards, and Happy Monday (and NO, I am not going shopping),

(MY name), one of the 99.99%

May the Joy of the Season Touch Your Heart!!

Getting Through the Holidays.....

I got this today from the Feeney kid in West Palm.  If you are offended by the suggestion that any of the disorders named are...disorders...well, you've been a good sport about this so far--especially since you're willing to claim me as a friend.

Happy Hollandaise!!

It feels like Sunday, somehow...and I'm feeling like celebrating.

So here's a video on Ingmar Bergman, as seen through the eyes of Woody Allen.  Ok, Ok...I LIKE Woody Allen, and I love his movies. And I adore Ingmar Bergman. And HIS movies.

Now, come on, don'tcha wonder???

Personally, I am finding this HILARIOUS, considering who's running for president these days....

Happy Monday!  My faucet's fixed!!  Have a nice laugh.....(and thanks to Democracyforbell.com, who found this first)

South Dakota Legislature To The Rescue

South Dakota Legislature To The Rescue

I couldn't resist this post from last year on MurrMurrs. My goodness, but that woman can write, and hoo boy, is she funny!  "Foremorons"--yup. We've all got some of those....

New-s

Sunday a.m. is a good time to share wonderful new things.  Yesterday I came upon a most excellent post in which the blogger celebrates her dear, departed sister. I laughed and cried at the same time, which hardly EVER happens.  I laugh a lot, but I don't cry much at all.  XE welcomes MurrMurrs to her "Blogs I Love" list....

And this morning good ole Sherwood shared some music he loves.  I love it, too, and  I'd never heard or even heard of them before.  Quite wonderful.  Red Molly Band!  And here they are:

Had enough of politics and that??

shabbat shalom

DemocracyforBell.com has the best stuff!

DemocracyforCalifornia.com has spawned the lively DemocracyforBell.com.  They seem to enjoy life along with all their hard work.  This little whale seems to like the music!!

It's That Time Again!

Time for the Snow Post: Diary of A Snow Shoveler...It's December 8, after all.

Diary Of A Snow Shoveler

December 8: 6:00 PM. It started to snow. The first snow of the season and the wife and I took our cocktails and sat for hours by the window watching the huge soft flakes drift down from heaven. It looked like a Grandma Moses print. So romantic we felt like newlyweds again. I love snow!

December 9: We woke to a beautiful blanket of crystal white snow covering every inch of the landscape. What a fantastic sight! Can there be a more lovely place in the Whole World? Moving here was the best idea I've ever had. Shoveled snow for the first time in years and felt like a boy again. I did both our driveway and the sidewalks. This afternoon the snowplow came along and covered up the sidewalks and closed in the driveway, so I got to shovel again. What a perfect life.

December 12: The sun has melted all our lovely snow. Such a disappointment. My neighbor tells me not to worry, we'll definitely have a white Christmas. No snow on Christmas would be awful! Bob says we'll have so much snow by the end of winter, that I'll never want to see snow again. l don't think that's possible. Bob is such a nice man I'm glad he's our neighbor.

December 14: Snow lovely snow! 8" last night. The temperature dropped to -20. The cold makes everything sparkle so. The wind took my breath away, but I warmed up by shoveling the driveway and sidewalks. This is the life! The snowplow came back this afternoon and buried everything again. l didn't realize I would have to do quite this much shoveling, but I'll certainly get back in shape this way. I wish l wouldn't huff and puff so.

December 15: 20 inches forecast. Sold my van and bought a 4x4 Blazer. Bought snow tires for the wife's car and 2 extra shovels. Stocked the freezer. The wife wants a wood stove in case the electricity goes out. I think that's silly. We aren't in Alaska, after all.

December 16: Ice storm this morning. Fell on my ass on the ice in the driveway putting down salt. Hurt like hell. The wife laughed for an hour, which I think was very cruel.

December 17: Still way below freezing. Roads are too icy to go anywhere. Electricity was off for 5 hours. I had to pile the blankets on to stay warm. Nothing to do but stare at the wife and try not to irritate her. Guess I should've bought a wood stove, but won't admit it to her. God I hate it when she's right. I can't believe I'm freezing to death in my own living room.

December 20: Electricity's back on, but had another 14" of damn snow last night. More shoveling. Took all day. Goddamn snowplow came by twice. Tried to find a neighbor kid to shovel, but they said they're too busy playing hockey. I think they're lying. Called the only hardware store around to see about buying a snow blower and they're out. Might have another shipment in March. I think they're lying. Bob says I have to shovel or the city will have it done and bill me. I think he's lying.

December 22: Bob was right about a white Christmas because 13 more inches of the white sh*t fell today, and it's so cold it probably won't melt till August. Took me 45 minutes to get all dressed up to go out to shovel and then I had to piss. By the time I got undressed, pissed and dressed again. I was too tired to shovel. Tried to hire Bob who has a plow on his truck for the rest of the winter; but he says he's too busy. I think the asshole is lying.

December 23: Only 2" of snow today. And it warmed up to 0. The wife wanted me to decorate the front of the house this morning. What is she nuts!!! Why didn't she tell me to do that a month ago? She says she did but I think she's lying.

December 24: 6". Snow packed so hard by snowplow, l broke the shovel. Thought I was having a heart attack. I know the son of a bitch who drives that snowplow hides around the corner and waits for me to finish shoveling and then he comes down the street at a 100 miles an hour and throws snow all over where I've just been! Tonight the wife wanted me to sing Christmas carols with her and open our presents, but I was busy watching for that goddamn snowplow.

December 25: Merry Christmas. 20 more inches of the !=3D@x@!x!x1 slop tonight. Snowed in. The idea of shoveling makes my blood boil. God I hate the snow! Then the snowplow driver came by asking for a donation and I hit him over the head with my shovel. The wife says I have a bad attitude. I think she's an idiot. If I have to watch "It's a Wonderful Life" one more time, I'm going to smack her big ass with the shovel.

December 26: Still snowed in. Why the hell did I ever move here? It was all HER idea. She's really getting on my nerves.

December 27: Temperature dropped to -30 and the pipes froze.

December 28: Warmed up to above -20. Still snowed in. THE B***H is driving me crazy!!!!!

December 29: 10 more inches. Bob says I have to shovel the roof or it could cave in. That's the silliest thing I ever heard. How dumb does he think I am?

December 30: Roof caved in. The snow plow driver is suing me for a million dollars. The wife went home to her mother. 9" predicted.

December 31: Set fire to what's left of the house. No more shoveling.

January 8: I feel so good. I just love those little white pills they keep giving me. Why am I tied to the bed?

-Author Unknown

Newt for Pope?? (repost from March 2011)

News of the US is slow to arrive in Chez XE these days. Only this past week did I read that Newt Gingrich converted to Roman Catholicism two YEARS ago! How could Faux News--or the Huffington Post--miss that?? Newtie and wife #3, Callista, have been visiting various ecclesiastical venues to flog the film they produced about Pope John Paul's role in the collapse of communism in Poland. Surely they're also pushing the DVD for Newt's book Rediscovering God in America II: Our Heritage. (Bummer! Something else I've missed while blogging fearlessly for librulism. What was the first one in this series? Rediscovering God in America I: What a Surprise?) Since receiving this gem of news-gathering, however, I have been amusing myself with What This All Means for Newt's On-and-on-and-ongoing Career Ambitions. He's almost 70 and thrice married, hardly a prime background for a presidential candidate--"I knew Ron Reagan, and you, sir, are no Ron Reagan!"

There can be only one worthy deneuement here: Newt as Pope. Oh, I know. Newt is only a pew-crawling Catholic; he's not a priest, bishop, or more important, a cardinal. In the old days, however, nonpriests could be made cardinals (several), and if the nonpriest cardinal were then elected pope (there was one: Pope John XIX ), they ordained and consecrated him at the same time they made him Pope, ipso fatso. Also, there has never been a Pope John XX! Plus, Pope John XIX's brother and nephew were both popes, and, get this, both named BENEDICT--there ya go, Newtie! Doesn't this sound tailor made for you?

I keep thinking how natural Newt would look in the Pope's garb. The pointy hat (so well suited to his beady eyes), the pudge-flattering cassock with cape, the RED SHOES with matching socks. OMG...Ian Paisley will have a field day: "Auld Red Socks," indeed! I do tend to think of Newt as the AntiChrist. That's tailor made for him, too.

He'll have to do something about Callista (AND wife #2), though. He can't be having her (them) stand beside him when he blesses the faithful from the balcony of St. Peter's. They can stay inside and cook and clean with the nuns. They'll love that.

New Blogs....and Crossword Scoring

Saturday seems like a good day to share goodies. Here are two blogs that I recently discovered (this morning, so they are new for me) and immediately slapped on the adjoining list of Blogs I Love:

The Absense of Alternatives

The Bloggess


Funny, smart, profane, just what I like. Welcome to my resources, ladies!

Also, I don't know if you've had a chance to try the crossword, also adjoining, but it's fun to see how much you can improve your score by doing it over. Most of the time I score in the 1000-3000 range on the first time through. But I have gotten it up to about 7,000 on a subsequent pass. Why do I do this? Because it's a great exercise in TYPING SKILLS. I'm always hitting the wrong key or erasing something that was right the first time. It's fun for me...just sayin.

Home on the Metro. Looking out the window at the sunset.

R.I.P., Gene....

My brother Gene died this morning.  May he rest in peace.  He was born on May 11, 1929, and died on my birthday, Dec 1, 2011.  He was the youngest of my four brothers and the one I knew best. All my other brothers were gone to the Air Force in WWII by the time I was old enough to remember who they were.

Gene and I had polio at the same time in the summer of 1943.  We caught it at Lake Cormorant, where we were visiting my parents' friends' cottage, and we got our milk straight from the cows.  I might have been spared a worse case because I refused to drink the unpasteurized milk, which had a very strong taste.  Gene was being the brave older brother and slugging his milk down with relish.  As a consequence, he had a much worse case of polio than I did, and afterwards, he had to have surgery so he could stand up straight.  He would have been my tallest brother, but after the polio, he was the shortest.

He was in the hospital much longer than I was, and he missed a lot of school.  Finally, the telephone company rigged up a microphone in his classroom at school.  He listened in on a radio at home and kept up with the others in his grade.  He was very smart--as were/are all of my brothers--and he went on to get a degree in administrative engineering at NDAC (now NDSU), which was one of their most difficult offerings. It was like 3 or 4 engineering degrees in one--architectural, mechanical, electrical, et al.

We had our  sibling rivalries as children--he was the youngest boy, very cute, and the pet pig before I came along and ruined his gig.  I was a supreme example of the pesty younger sibling:  I found all his love letters hidden in various places in his closet when he was in college and still at home.  And one night, when I thought he wasn't home and was removing the radio from his bookcase so I could take it to my room, he burst out of the closet and scared me senseless.  (He said afterward he felt bad because I got white as a sheet.) But he also taught me how to drive after my grandfather Dwyer died and we got a car, and he let me use his golf clubs.

Gene and his late wife, Helen, produced three beautiful children:  Tom, a lawyer in California; Anne Dwyer Tranvik, a housewife in Minnesota; and Jim, a pilot for one of the major airlines.

He loved the woods, and when he retired, he moved near the coast of Oregon.  He loved to bake his own bread--shades of our grandfather Redder, who was a baker in Germany before emigrating to Iowa. Rest in peace, Gene.

In paradisum deducant te angeli.
In tuo adventu, suscipiant te Martyres
et perducant te in Civitatem Sanctam Jerusalem
Chorus Angelorum te suscipiat,
et cum Lazaro, quondam paupere,
aeternam habeas requiem.

"