Must say I’ve enjoyed what I’ve read of Relief: a Quarterly Christian Expression. The first issue came to me several days ago. The editors chose to mix fiction, non-fiction, and poetry together so that if you read from front to back you would splash through a variety of word imagery. They also chose to put their choice selections, the best of the approved submissions for the issue, in the front for special recognition. Let me echo their kudos here; writers Michael Snyder, Nancy J Nordenson, and Jill Bergkamp have submitted excellent work.

I should blog on some of the stories in Relief later. I wish I could reproduce some of the poetry, but no, you’ll have to pick up a printed issue to read these bits of elegance. If you don’t care for elegance, keep read this blog.

Today is a good day. A day that will live in my yellowed book of memories, for reasons I’ll explain below.

Dave Lull sent me this link, about how it looks like some Norwegians served in the Roman legions.

Archaeological findings have strengthened notions amongst scholars that quite a few Norwegians, from the farthermost north of Europe, in all likelihood served as soldiers in the Roman legions.

You may or may not know that it was the practice of the Romans to station “auxiliaries” (that is, legions made up of “barbarians” from the provinces) in corners of the empire farthest from their original homes, so as to prevent them growing sympathetic to local insurgents. A large number of the soldiers who served in Palestine came from Germany. Assuming that the Norwegians would have been lumped together with the Germans, some of my ancestors (my great-grandfather was born at Avaldsnes) might have been witnesses to the life, death and even resurrection of Christ.

Might have scourged Christ personally, as a matter of fact. Though I prefer to imagine virtuous centurions.

Anyway, the good thing that happened today was that I came home to a package from Norway in the mail (you thought I was writing about your package, weren’t you, Phil? Well, your package was great too. Thanks again). This was from Cousin Trygve in Hardanger, and it was the CD De Beste, by Sissel Kyrkjebø (sorry, no picture there).

As is to be expected in a “Best of” album, a lot of it is stuff I already have (as if I can ever have enough copies of Sissel’s songs). But it includes some cuts from the very beginning of her career, when she was a girl soloist on a Norwegian TV show called “Syng Med Oss” (“Sing With Us”). One of them is a song that was on an album the show’s cast did for the Norwegian National Cancer Foundation, which I once borrowed from a friend and of which I made an illegal copy, one of my treasured possessions to this day. (No, I don’t condone illegal copying, but this was an album absolutely impossible to acquire by legal means. That’s not an excuse, just an explanation.)

The song was Sissel doing the Japanese international hit “Sukiyaki.” I know it sounds ridiculous—a Japanese song sung in Norwegian by a Norwegian. But it’s heartbreakingly beautiful. Sissel was born to sing that song. According to the liner notes, I’m not the only person who’s been dreaming of a re-release of that cut. They’ve been getting requests from all over the world (Sissel is actually very big in Japan). And now it’s here. And I have it.

If I never post again, it’ll because I’ve died of joy. Life can only go downhill from here.

Update: In case anyone should be thinking of ordering the De Beste album (and I do recommend it), I should give one warning. What I’ve heard so far has been almost uniformly great, with some wonderful surprises, but one big disappointment. One of the cuts on the second disk is Sissel’s “duet” with the rapper Warren G, over the music to Borodin’s “Prince Igor.” It’s a very odd mix, with Borodin’s lovely music and Sissel’s transcendent voice backing up Warren G’s hostile and frankly dirty rap lyrics. There’s a lot of profanity in it, and it sits like a cowpie in the middle of a cathedral. I understand the song did well commercially, but I wish Sissel had turned it down. So be warned.

I have run out of time this evening, so let me copy and paste:

Legion of Lit Mags event on Saturday, December 2, 5-10pm at Galapagos Art Space in Brooklyn, New York. Nine prominent literary magazines will team up to showcase the latest issues of their magazines, raffle off incredible prizes, and offer an opportunity to meet and talk with influential literary journal editors in a celebratory evening filled with readings and entertainment. Lit mags, Small Spiral Notebook and Ballyhoo Stories will host the event.

The Legion of Lit Mags includes: Ballyhoo Stories, BOMB, Opium, Pindeldyboz, Post Road, Quick Fiction, Small Spiral Notebook, Swink, and Tin House. Readers at the event include: Noria Jablonski, Irina Reyn, Brian McMullen, Aaron Hamburger, Elizabeth Searle, Salar Abdoh, Brian McMullen, and others. Musical Performances courtesy of Pindeldyboz.

Still feeling punk. Left work early again, as soon as an assistant was in to watch the library.

I put my (artificial) Christmas tree up over the weekend. It’s in front of one of the big windows at the front of my house, so that you can see it from outside, and it gives the interior a warm glow.

I don’t belong to the “Welcome to St. Nick’s Casino” school of Christmas lighting. I prefer my lights to say, “This is a home full of love” (that mine isn’t a home full of love is beside the point.).

When people pass by I want them to say, “It looks warm and cozy in there. I’d like to be in that house.”

But of course they can’t come in. It’s my house. Mine, mine, mine!

And after all, isn’t that what Christmas is all about?

Talk show hosts Michael Medved and Dennis Prager disagree today on whether freshman congressman Keith Ellison should be permitted to be sworn in on the Koran. Medved says yes, Prager says no.

Since I’m going to be one of Mr. Ellison’s constituents (for my sins), I’ll break the tie.

Medved is right.

There is no religious test for public office in America. If that puts the Koran into an American ceremony, well, I may not like it but I’ll have to live with it.

Redemption returns with ‘Christmas Carol’ by Tony Brown

“And while others give gifts, an undertaker, a charwoman and a laundress sell a dead man’s belongings to the local fence. Charles Dickens’ ‘A Christmas Carol in Prose, Being a Ghost Story of Christmas’ is no walk around the tinseled mall.”



“Ex-Scrooge is a fine director of `Christmas Carol’ present by Chris Jones

Last year, old Ebenezer at the Goodman Theatre was starting to look dangerously like an undigested bit of beef. This year, a recovering Scrooge has swung open the coffin door of this seasonal perennial and breathed notable new life into its tired Dickensian veins.”

‘Christmas Carol’ stays true to Dickens’ voice by David Lewellen

“Charles Dickens’ novella became an instant classic when it was published in 1843, and stage versions have proliferated ever since.”

A Veritable Chorus Of `Carol’s By Deborah Hornblow

From downtown Hartford to Westport to Ivoryton and Stockbridge, Mass., the spirit of Christmas has arrived at theaters, where six distinct productions of the Charles Dickens classic “A Christmas Carol” inspire holiday cheer in audiences of all ages.

Vision Forum has staged a three-phase treasure hunt for a chest of 400 solid gold coins. They say, “To crack the code and find the four hundred gold coins, you must take a journey through history that will reveal America’s greatest national treasure — the providential hand of God in the life of this nation.” Read about The Jameston 400, which coincides with the 400th anniversary of its founding, May 13, 1607.

This will be short, if I have anything to say about it. I’m not feeling very well. One swollen gland (on the left side of my jaw, in case you’re making a diagram), and feeling run down. I chickened out of work a little early today, and hope to spend the evening on my back.

My renter has moved in, and so far he has made himself almost invisible. That’s how we like our renters around here. He’s even found a couple things in the house he thinks he can upgrade for me.

Of course that’s how it would start, wouldn’t it, if this were a slasher movie? The quiet, helpful tenant moves in and proceeds to gradually take over the house, and then my life, until the moment when he finally reveals his horrid, unspeakable plans for me…

However, I’ve noticed that real life generally resembles horror movies only in this regard, that if you feel under your seat you’ll find dried gum.

Dennis Prager had a guest on the other day who’d written a book on grammar. One subject they brought up was the common “John and I” mistake, where the person says, “He delivered the pizza to John and I.”

In fact it ought to be “John and me” in this sentence. You can figure out what to do by simply dropping John (and believe me, honey, you should have dropped the bum long ago) and seeing how the sentence goes without him. “He delivered the pizza to me” is obviously correct. Adding John to the mix does not change the matter.

But I know where the problem comes from. It comes from overextended rule-following. I remember even today my mother hearing me say, “Moloch and me went out into the grove,” and she corrected me. “It’s ‘Moloch and I went out to the grove.’”

She failed to add (and I probably wouldn’t have understood it if she had, at that age) that this only applied to the objects of sentences, not the subjects. (Or is it subjects, not objects? I always get them confused. Look it up? I’m sick, you sadist!)

Anyway, many people never get past that lesson and believe that “X and I” is correct in all situations.

Thus do we try to apply as absolutes rules which are only conditional. No doubt there are many such situations, in grammar and life.

But I’m too tired to think about it.

A Salt Lake City, Utah couple has been accused of stealing millions of federal grant money intended for textbooks. One example from the indictment states the school paid $93 for $13 books.

They say, “You can’t tell me how to live. ‘Judge not lest ye be judged.'”

But change the subject, and they say, “What you are doing is bad for you and dangerous to everyone else. Stop it.”

The worst possible thing happened at Thanksgiving, from a blogger’s point of view.

Everything went fine.

Moloch and his wife drove up on Wednesday night, so as to roust me out of bed early, to remind me that Turkeys Take Time. With their supervision I set about the mighty enterprise, le grande ouvre, den store gjerning.

And it was a total success. I followed Martha Stewart’s turkey instructions (brother Baal had sent me a link to her site), and the result was as perfect a turkey as I’ve ever enjoyed. I don’t think I’ll go to the extent of following her giblet gravy recipe again in the future (it was a lot of work and I didn’t like it any better than the kind we usually make), but even I, who live to make jokes about myself, can’t find any reason to quibble.

It was, in fact, pretty much the kind of holiday experience I’d hoped to facilitate when I bought a house that could be a central holiday gathering place for the Walker clan. Blithering Heights is a little cramped with more than five people in it at once, but we got along well in the close quarters. Not so much as a political or theological discussion arose to trouble the waters.

We laughed loudly when The Oldest Niece spoke to her boyfriend on the phone thus:

TON: “I’m here in Minneapolis with my family.”

BF: (Unheard)

TON: “Yeah, well, you don’t know my family.”

(Fill in the blank yourself.)

We also had some laughs when The Oldest Nephew brought out his newly purchased Wii gaming box and hooked it up to my TV. He showed us the games he had. Moloch’s wife showed remarkable enthusiasm playing the boxing game against Moloch. I averted my eyes, wounded by this gratuitous display of virtual domestic violence. But Mrs. Moloch seemed to enjoy herself a whole lot.

The best part of the Wii system, in my opinion, was the opportunity to create avatars of ourselves. We worked as a committee to caricature each one of us in turn, and we got some remarkable likenesses. My avatar, everyone agreed, was the most successful, largely because my hair and beard are fairly distinctive. Smooth-faced kids are the toughest.

I’m sorry that this report isn’t as entertaining as a “drop-kick the turkey” Thanksgiving horror story would be.

But not very sorry.