So This Is What They Mean

When I was really young (less than five), my family lived in Fredonia, New York, right on the coast of Lake Erie. According to a family story, my Uncle John (using his real name because, seriously, Uncle John? It's so common, it's practically a moniker) who has never lived outside of Texas was watching a weather report one winter and hearing about the massive snowfall that had hit upstate New York and said to my aunt that we had adapted to and learned to live in a way that my uncles and aunts could never even imagine.


Now that I'm living in Alaska, I've been feeling a little like that. First, we had to learn to sleep with the sun up, because it never went down. Then, we were scraping the car by mid-September. The first snow came before Halloween. The other night, we had 60 mile an hour winds. Those weren't the gusts. Those were the winds. The gusts were higher than that. The core temperature was 2F. The wind chill took it deep into negative numbers. And it is only December.


Lithus heads to Prudhoe Bay/Deadhorse today. Where the core temperature (e.g. not the wind chill) is -20F. Where the winds at the oil platforms are 112 mph. Again, not the gusts. Gusts will be higher, gusty-er. And suddenly, I'll take Anchorage and it's 2 degrees with 60 mph winds. Heat wave...We're having a heat wave...


So, brace yourself for a groaner, but it had to be done. Plus, it's a beautiful, beautiful carol.


Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Gift from the Goddess

Is this kind of talent a gift from the Goddess? Or is this a gift from this goddess to us? I'll let you decide. And that's all because she stands alone. Jessye Norman. Yeah, that Jessye Norman. You're welcome.


Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Christmas Explosion

Today is one of those days I truly love. Lithus took yesterday off (kinda - he managed to only go in for an hour) from work and we went shopping, planning, snuggling, wandering, kissing, laughing through the rest of the day. We even bought a microwave.


By the time we got home, we were happy, tired, and ready to dig into our rotisserie chicken bought from the deli. The living room is blanketed in bags and bows and wrapping paper and presents and cards and glitter (neither of us are 100% sure where it came from). He is feeling Christmas-y for the first time all season. I am feeling even moreso than I had been.
And today I get to wrap and donate and decorate and stamp and mail. Because yes, that kind of thing makes me very happy. I love being busy. I love being holiday busy even better.


At one point yesterday, we called my mother and asked "red or eggplant?" When she asked why, we wouldn't tell her. Being singularly unhelpful (humph and look, Mother), she eventually said "Either." So we made our own decision. But before we got off the phone, my mom laughed and said "I love this time of year." And you know what? So do I.


Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Video Killed The Radio Star

Here's the truth: I almost didn't post this video. It's that bad. In fact, it's so bad that some people attribute Boney M's musical demise to this very video. And there are other options, even of this version.


But here's the other truth: It's so bad, it's good. Would you like some wine with that cheese?


Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

A Yule Carol

In the past, I have written about my love of A Christmas Carol. Talked about how it is the epitome of the season, if you are celebrating Christmas or Yule. About how what Scrooge really learns, not just the surface stuff, but what he really learns is so vitally important to me. My three favorite movie versions are George C. Scott, Patrick Stewart, and ... the Muppets.

Now comes a seque that totally and completely makes sense to me on an intuitive level. I hope you can follow me. If not...oh well. Feel free to pretend the top and the rest aren't connected (even though they totally are).

An email from Lady Blackbelt showed up in my inbox this morning...


are you gonna be in town?  was that you that said maybe to Cam and Mrs. Pike's evite?
*sigh*


Nope. It wasn't me. I wrote her back assuring her that, if I was going to be in the Boston area, she would already know by now. Because oh hell yes, they would know. See, the Blackbelts and the Pikes (okay, first Cam because Mrs. Pike hasn't been around as long, but she slipped right in as if she'd always fit, so she gets the credit, too) were instrumental in giving me back Christmas.


My dad was dead; I was getting divorced; my biofamily had chosen my ex. The Lovely Cats and the Divine M did their best, but they were a long way away. It was...not a good time. I'd muddled through, making the best of whatever I had left and trying to pretend my life hadn't changed so very completely.  But it wasn't good.


Then these people showed up in my world and everything started to change again, only this time, for the better. My fuck ups were supported (and even occasionally fixed) in spite of myself. My acheivements were celebrated. My tears were embraced. My laughter was shared ~ and became honest, again. They were even some of the first people I came out of the broom closet to, and they didn't care in that wonderfully appropriate way. From there, it snowballed. I made other friends who loved and supported me. I changed careers. I got my life back.


So, yes, Lady Blackbelt, if I was going to be in the area, you would know. You will know.


Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you hard cider.



Yep, it's another two-fer, because how do you choose????

Tuba Family Players

Last weekend, Lithus and I stumbled onto a free carols concert in downtown Anchorage. It was all tubas, all the time. In fact, it billed itself as Tuba Christmas. Tuba players from all over the state come together in various towns and cities, dress themselves, dress their horns, and play Christmas music. As the Divine M put it, Tubas huh. That must have been something. When I think of Christmas music (or I guess really music in general) tuba is not the first instrument I think of. Interesting.

Now, in fairness, while I do think of brass ensembles, I don't necessarily think of tubas. Or I didn't realize I thought of tubas. I had no freaking idea all of these instruments were in the tuba family. No clue. But they are. And it was a delightful, unexpected find. If you want to see pictures, they are posted over here, at my travel blog.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

We Interrupt This Program...

According to the AP:

WASHINGTON – Richard Holbrooke, a brilliant and feisty U.S. diplomat who wrote part of the Pentagon Papers, was the architect of the 1995 Bosnia peace plan and served as President Barack Obama's special envoy to Pakistan and Afghanistan, died Monday, an administration official said. He was 69.

The official spoke on condition of anonymity because the family had yet to make a formal announcement of Holbrooke's death.

Now, first, I pray this is a case of misinformation and I have to come back and apologize for not fact checking better.

Second, my heart breaks for the Holbrooke family and others who loved him. Losing a someone during the holidays really, really sucks. Really sucks. Especially how quickly this happened.

But third...as I said to Lithus Saturday (I think) when I first heard he had been hospitalized and for what, we are so totally fucked. The country, hell, the world, needed this man. Not as much as his family did. I no longer believe in the greater good crap. But we needed him. Badly. And we've lost him, just as much as his family and friends have. And don't fool yourself, whatever you might have thought about his politics or his style, he was the best chance we had in Afghanistan and Iraq.

So I ask the Goddess to give comfort to those who love him, at least as much comfort as can be found right now. But I also say, dear God help the rest of us, too, 'cause we could be good and fucked.

Those are sad Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Sale! Sale! Sale!

It's the time of year for good will, peace on earth, and BOGO sales. Who am I to argue? So here it is, your official Pobble Thoughts Buy One Get One sale. Enjoy.



If you have the time and the desire, go here for the official video. Sure, it's the same song but wow...Somebody let me know if that is indeed Ossie Davis in the audience.



And trust me; go here. In fact, go there even if you don't click on the one I've posted. It's that much better and worth it that much more.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you two coffees.

Unintentional Paganism

A couple posts ago, I wrote about Sea-Tac's over-reaction to a request to include some Hanukkah symbolism in their decorations. I've noticed many other places have removed traditional Christmas decorations, rather than include Hanukkah symbols, all in the cause of "not being offensive." Of course, it's not inclusive either, but now you're just getting picky and demanding (sarcasm). You know what is so exciting for me about this turn of events, though? The more general the "Christmas" decorations get, the more Pagan they become. I am now presented with gorgeous winter landscapes, woodland creatures in their habitat, sunrises and sunsets over water. This so works for me. 

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

I Got Nothing

Today would be a day I didn't blog because I have nothing witty, thoughtful, or even particularly boring to say. Except that I am posting music everyday for a little while ~ meaning don't expect it to end on December 26th. Christmastide doesn't arrive until the 25th, afterall. Digressing, Pobble...

Lithus is enjoying my enjoyment of cooking during the holidays. He's had homemade French onion soup and eggplant parm so far. Keeps looking at me, wondering what happened to his wife. I assure him it'll go away once the holidays do and my desire to cook will return to a desire to open a can.

Today we're going to a Christmas market. One of the joys of living downtown is it means everything is in walking distance.

We went for a drive last weekend with friends and ended up driving on an ice road. They actually plow them to clear the snow off the ice. While my Canadian readers (Hi GOML! Hi Wolfgrrrl) probably won't be terribly impressed ~ Lithus wasn't ~ it was big shit to me.

And yeah...that's about it. So let's get to the music, shall we?

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Thanks, Brian

See this man here?

His name is Brian Jolley. His mom and I are friends. While it is possible he doesn't even know I exist, I think it is more probable that, if his mom pushed, he would think hard about it and finally come up with "Oh, yeah...Pobble...I remember hearing about her. I think..." I, on the other hand, know he exists. I know a lot about him. Although his story isn't mine to tell (it would make you cheer, make you weep, make you proud, make you angry, make you smile...you get the idea), there are some things I can say:


He's young; he's handsome. He can be goofy. He's loyal and kind. He's a good man. A son, a friend, a nephew, a soldier. And, unlike when these pictures were taken, he's home, in the US ~ after two full tours in Iraq, almost back to back.


Did you catch that last one? He's home. He's here. Stateside. His holidays won't include IEDs, care packages, or body armor. Thank the Goddess.

It's easy to forget, though, that just because Brian is home doesn't mean they all are. Too many soldiers are celebrating the holidays in conditions we don't want to imagine. For many others, even though they are home, they still aren't, not really. Not in their heads or their hearts. So, as you give thanks, attend parties, drink egg nog, decorate trees, do all the wonderful holiday things we do during this time of year, remember. And stop to say thanks.


Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.



Editor's note (that's me) ~ The video was originally Bing Crosby and David Bowie singing their truly magnificent version of Little Drummer Boy, but it's been removed for copyright reasons. Boo on them. So, instead we've gone with the, admittedly more cliched, song here. It's cliched because it fits, after all.

Finding Christmas

The holiday decorating is a little different this year. I'm okay with this. In fact, I'm quite happy. Plus, if you have to have an artifical tree, it might as well be Gothic black. :)

 Those are Christmas-y Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Critical Mass

You know what December means, don’t you? Of course you do. It’s time for my annual column on giving. Honestly, I can’t believe it’s already time to be writing this again. Last year so many people were in hard times that I wrote this. Guess what? For as much as things have changed over the last twelve months, not much has changed over the last twelve months. At least, not as much as most of us would like. So maybe we should talk about critical mass. As usual, if you aren’t giving this year, or can’t give this year, that’s okay. But if you are or want to but don’t know how, here are a few thoughts…

1.      Pick an organization or cause you care about and pledge to give them…however much you can every single month of the year. Choose one of the suicide prevention organizations I wrote about last month. Or a shelter you know about. Or the ASPCA. Whatever cause touches your heart. It can be five dollars. Seriously. It can be ten dollars. The individual amounts don’t matter as much as the twelve payments. Remember, we’re looking at critical mass, here.

2.      Get in touch with your best friend, your colleagues, your condo association, whomever, and all “adopt a family” together. Or a single child off of the mall’s Angel Tree. Or a senior. The point isn’t to give the most presents or even to give to the most number of kids. The point is to make your money - and your best friend’s, your colleagues’ or your condo association’s money - go the farthest.

3.      Get those same people together and everybody pitch in for a single toy. Schools, Toys for Tots, hospitals, human services organizations…again, take your pick and give them one present from all of you. There is no such thing as too small a donation.

4.      Every time you go to the grocery store between now and December 23^rd, buy one unit of whatever nonperishable food is on sale. Or whatever toiletry is on sale. One. As you leave the store, drop it in the collection barrel that you know every single grocery in the area is going to have up.

5.      Think socks. Or underwear. Or mittens. Are they glamorous and exciting? Aw hell no. But you can get them at the Dollar Store and at discount stores and on sale for very little money. And when it’s winter and someone is cold, I promise, they will be prefer to have several pairs of socks over an iPod.

6.      Still too much this year? Believe me, I get it; I’ve been there. Look at your own closet. Anything still in reasonable condition that you don’t wear any longer? Coats, sweaters, hats, scarves – all good options, so long as they are gently worn. Even backpacks and purses. Shelters will find use for them.

And maybe, there’s just nothing. There is nothing extra to spend, nothing extra to give. None of us want to be there and yet, it’s the way of the world sometimes. There’s still something. As you walk by someone on the street, holding up their sign, look them in the eye. Acknowledge they are a human being. Tell them you wish you had something for them and that you’re sorry you don’t. Treat them as the equal they are. Show them some respect. It’s so little, it costs us nothing, and yet it can mean so very much. And really, isn’t that what this time of year is supposed to be about?

Those are Pobble Thoughts. Grateful some things have changed Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you a whole hell of a lot ~ and, yes, coffee.

East Coast and ... Alaska?

Back just before we left Vancouver, Washington, I wrote about my dislike of the culture in the Pacific Northwest. Go on, click on the link and read it if you don't remember. It's a short post. And it boils down to the people in the west just weren't as nice as the people in the east.


Alaska, though...wow. Alaska feels like home. Feels far more like the culture I'm used to. The car battery died a few days ago, while Lithus was in Europe. I trudged back into the apartment building, asked if anyone had a recommendation for a garage. That wouldn't do.


Suddenly, two people who work for the apartments and another woman who doesn't but whose business rents space here were determined to find someone here in the building who could give me a jump. Twenty minutes later, a man I'd never met before was using the jumper cables from a woman whose name I never got to start my car again.


But it's cold here and whatever caused the battery to die initially didn't get addressed so by the time Lithus was home, it was dead again. Saturday night was the Company's holiday party. It was being held at the hotel directly across the street from our apartment. Lithus asked his boss if Boss would mind giving us a jump, since he was going to be in the area. That wouldn't do.


Sunday morning, Boss and Mrs. Boss showed up, drove us all to breakfast, and then jumped the car. When it was obvious what was wrong, there was no way we were (okay, Lithus was) going to be allowed to work on the car in the cold parking lot. We drove over to their house, parked the car in their garage "to warm up and thaw out" as the four of us went for a drive up to Big Lake. Once we got back, the guys tinkered with the car while Mrs. Boss and I went upstairs, ordered pizza, and drank lemon drops. By the time Lithus drove us home (did I mention the lemon drops?), it had been decided that we would take over the garage again today.


Last night, our friend, Nicki, called. He had today off as well and wanted to know if we could all get together. Lithus told him that, sorry, we were working on the car this afternoon. This wouldn't do.


At 2:00, Nicki showed up at Boss's house and spent the next two hours working on the car with Lithus.


No, we won't let anyone, even a stranger, pay for a jump.
Of course, we'll stop by. And feed you pizza and booze.
You will use our garage.
I will help you work on your car.


This is what I'm used to, yes, even from stoic, aloof New Englanders. This is what home is supposed to feel like. This is what good people do for each other. This is the east coast...and Alaska.



Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

It's Not All About You

A couple years ago, a decisive blow was struck in the great War On Christmas ~ which can be seen at every mall, grocery store, craft market and parade in the country, by the way ~ at the Seattle-Tacoma International Airport. A rabbi was walking through, on his way out of town, and happened to mention that, given the plethora of Christmas decorations, it might be nice to see a menorah along with the rest. In typical over-reactive style, instead of just adding a menorah, the wise folks at Sea-Tac took down every single decoration that was identifiable as Christmas-y. Because, after all, why be inclusive when you can martyr yourself to political correctness and scream about the War On Christmas?


So Happy Hanukkah.



Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Wassail = Drunken Joyous Party!

Wassail! wassail! all over the town,
Our toast it is white and our ale it is brown;
Our bowl it is made of the white maple tree;
With the wassailing bowl , we'll drink to thee.

Now, maybe it's just me, but any song that starts off like this should be a racuous one. Lots of toasting and laughing and enjoying oneselves.

Somewhere along the line, however, this has become sung like a dirge. I could find instrumental versions of it that sounded as if the carolers were actually having fun, but I couldn't find any vocal versions where they sounded either bored out of their minds (the best option) or suicidal (the worst). So, here we have an instrumental version ~ and the lyrics below. Read them; you'll see what I mean. These people knew how to party.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.






Wassail! wassail! all over the town,
Our toast it is white and our ale it is brown;
Our bowl it is made of the white maple tree;
With the wassailing bowl , we'll drink to thee.

Here's to our horse, and to his right ear,
God send our master a happy new year:
A happy new year as e'er he did see,
With my wassailing bowl I drink to thee.

So here is to Cherry and to his right cheek
Pray God send our master a good piece of beef
And a good piece of beef that may we all see
With the wassailing bowl, we'll drink to thee.

Here's to our mare, and to her right eye,
God send our mistress a good Christmas pie;
A good Christmas pie as e'er I did see,
With my wassailing bowl I drink to thee.

So here is to Broad Mary and to her broad horn
May God send our master a good crop of corn
And a good crop of corn that may we all see
With the wassailing bowl, we'll drink to thee.

And here is to Fillpail and to her left ear
Pray God send our master a happy New Year
And a happy New Year as e'er he did see
With the wassailing bowl, we'll drink to thee.

Here's to our cow , and to her long tail,
God send our master us never may fail
Of a cup of good beer : I pray you draw near,
And our jolly wassail it's then you shall hear.

Come butler, come fill us a bowl of the best
Then we hope that your soul in heaven may rest
But if you do draw us a bowl of the small
Then down shall go butler, bowl and all.

Be here any maids? I suppose here be some;
Sure they will not let young men stand on the cold stone!
Sing hey O, maids! come trole back the pin,
And the fairest maid in the house let us all in.

Then here's to the maid in the lily white smock
Who tripped to the door and slipped back the lock
Who tripped to the door and pulled back the pin
For to let these jolly wassailers in.

Moose

One of the things I have wanted since arriving in Alaska is to just wander up on a moose. Everybody assured me it would happen. There are something like 1500 moose within the Anchorage city limits. Lithus has come and picked me up and driven me to where he'd seen a moose but, alas, I had yet to spy an unsolicited moose. Until last night.


The other night, we were driving home from the airport ~ because Lithus has finally returned from Europe ~ when the car in front of us came to a complete stop on the highway. Our cabbie changed lanes and slowed dramatically, too, coming to a complete stop...directly in front of the moose, standing in the middle of the road. And we all just hung out and waited until she had moseyed on across the highway. Her friend stayed on the side of the road, watching, until she decided to head off the other way.


I am told she was a yearling, or maybe two, but still very young. Dear Lord, she was huge. And beauitful. And moosey.


Which helps make today's music choice quite easy...



Those are moosey Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Growing Up Musical

I do not remember a time in my life when music wasn't a part of it. My father was a singer and musician. My grandmother was an opera singer. My mother played piano. Growing up, Crow and I were always involved in something musical. While it never felt forced, I remember looking at Daddy at one point in my late teens and knowing it had been intentional that we had grown up musical.


For ten or so months out of the year, the music that floated through and around the house was usually classical and showtunes, with some 1970s protest folk thrown in for good measure. But from the Friday after Thanksgiving to shortly after Epiphany, it was all Christmas music, all the time. The Canadian Brass. The Philadelphia Brass. The Kingston Trio. Later, Manheim Steamroller and George Winston were added into the mix. And, of course, Handel's Messiah.


After my dad died, we were quieter for a while, but I knew I was healing when music started making its way back into my world. In light of all this, we're going to try something: musical posts. Just for the season. If I actually remember to do it everyday.


We'll start here because, while Daddy had already died by the time flash mobs came into being, I think he would've approved. Especially of this one.


Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you an eggnog latte.

The First Christmas Post of the Year

Because this really never gets old...



Enjoy!

Those are Pobble Thoughts and the musical stylings of Straight, No Chaser. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Thanksgiving: A Perspective*

Well, it happened. I have landed on my butt on the snow. It was my own damn fault. I was not wearing particularly aggressively soled boots and I was pissed, so I was striding along as if I wasn't on icy, snowy slickery-ness.

Now, let me give you a little background information. Lithus and I live right on the edge of "the good part of downtown" and "the bad part of downtown." What this means is, if you look out the east windows of our building, you see modern, sparkly buildings. Downtown shopping. Businesses. Parks. Starbucks. If you look out the west buildings, you see older, lower buildings. The soup kitchen. The halfway house. The drag clubs. The by-the-week flophouse "hotel." You're never quite sure who you're going to meet. It's part of what we love about the area.

Which brings us back to our story... First, I slipped and the man coming down the parking lot behind me called out for me to be careful. Being pissed already, I managed a grimace and a wave. But I didn't slow down. Another fifty steps and down I went. By that time, the man had closed the distance. Not in a scary way, or anything. Just in a he was walking faster than I was, even with my angry stride, way.

He bent down and offered me a hand. I, not being the least bit angry at him, accepted it with a grateful if ego-bruised smile. He held onto my arm long enough for me to get good and stable and before we started to move again. We were right at a place where our paths diverged so I said another quick thank you and started toward my apartment building. He stopped and said "Thank you for letting me help you."

...
...
...

Did I notice he wasn't very clean? Or that he didn't have all his teeth? That he was probably a resident of one of the establishments around me, if he was a resident anywhere? Of course I did. I am a city girl and I am a people watcher. Either of those things means you always know who is around you, behind you, approaching you. Put them together and trust me, I see everything. But I'm also good at threat assessement. This guy just wanted to help me get back up on my feet and stable. And trying to get my feet back under me, his cleanliness and oral hygeine were the least of my concerns.

I want to be surprised at the thought that perhaps someone ~ okay, a woman alone ~ wouldn't have accepted his help. I'm not. It makes me sad to not be surprised. And it makes me sad that he had to thank me for letting him help me. Not sad for him, though. He's not the one who's lost his humanity, after all.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

* with thanks to Lori for the title