An occasional reader is in town from all the way up San Jose, and we are to meet at the customary spot this afternoon at 1630. To ring in the holidays, like.
Y’all come.
Update: We were few, but mighty as occasional readers SJBill and his lovely bride, transitioning Tuna and FbL joined your host for adult beverages, as it were. With some comestibles to cushion ‘em, like. Meeting as though old friends. It’s a funny thing, this world.
And! The price of which entertainment was born by occasional readers Kent, Kris and Don, and for their generosity we thank them.
From “all the way up San Jose”?
Better have him shower.
Here is a poem about a Christmas just a few years ago:
CHRISTMAS NIGHT OF ‘62
by William Gordon McCabe
(1841-1920)
The wintry blast goes wailing by,
The snow is falling overhead;
I hear the lonely sentry’s tread,
And distant watch-fires light the sky.
Dim forms go flitting through the gloom;
The soldiers cluster round the blaze
To talk of other Christmas days,
And softly speak of home and home.
My sabre swinging overhead
Gleams in the watch-fire’s fitful glow,
While fiercely drives the blinding snow,
And memory leads me to the dead.
My thoughts go wandering to and fro,
Vibrating between the Now and Then;
I see the low-browed home again,
The old hall wreathed with mistletoe.
And sweetly from the far-off years
Comes borne the laughter faint and low,
The voices of the Long Ago!
My eyes are wet with tender tears.
I feel again the mother-kiss,
I see again the glad surprise
That lightened up the tranquil eyes
And brimmed them o’er with tears of bliss,
As, rushing from the old hall-door,
She fondly clasped her wayward boy–
Her face all radiant with the joy
She felt to see him home once more.
My sabre swinging on the bough
Gleams in the watch-fire’s fitful glow,
While fiercely drives the blinding snow
Aslant upon my saddened brow.
Those cherished faces all are gone!
Asleep within the quiet graves
Where lies the snow in drifting waves,–
And I am sitting here alone.
There’s not a comrade here to-night
But knows that loved ones far away
On bended knee this night will pray:
“God bring our darling from the fight.”
But there are none to wish me back,
For me no yearning prayers arise.
The lips are mute and closed the eyes–
My home is in the bivouac.
If I get on a plane now…think I can make it?
Ah well – sweet cheers and a tip in the jar for an extra Guinness for our humble scribe.
Jealous. Again.
Nope, make that still.
Michelle, you ever considered getting help for this recurring/chronic problem you seem to have…
Not nice, Fbl. Very not nice.
Looks like I’m just gonna have to bite the bullet and move south to sunnier climes. Woe is me, there’s no way around it.
*GRIN*
Won’t be there, will hit the tip jar for a round. CHEERS to all.
Dang, was hoping for an after action report!
Shakespeare’s? Do they have that “beer” stuff I’ve heard so much about?
I’m at McChord; be there in a jiff. Managed to beat the snow storm at home by hours. Global warming my foot
SJSal and I truly enjoyed the company of our humble host. We’re a ways from home, and our entertainment has been of the family and Black-Shoe type, thus far. (It was reassuring to see I could still unnerstand “hand-speak.)
Thanks to the crew of supporters. If’n you can make the trip, do so! Take our advice and prepare for cooler temps than normal. It only got up to a sunny 84 degs yesterday.
Stuck up in Revelstoke flying around in a Bell 212 (paying guest) searching for untracked snow. Sounds like a fun gathering. Blackshoes are tolerated??
Dangit, I seem to have missed this go-round. Being back in good ol’ Virginny as it were amongst my kith and kin. Be back soon – won’t miss the next one!