🎄 Did you know.........
🎄The history of Christmas trees has many roots, ranging from the use of evergreens in ancient Egypt and Rome, to the German traditions of candlelit trees that made its way to America in the 1800s
🎄Long before the advent of Christianity, plants and trees that remained green all year had a special meaning for people in the winter.
Just as people today decorate their homes during the festive season with pine, spruce, and fir trees, many ancient peoples hung evergreen boughs over their doors and windows.
In many countries it was believed that evergreens would keep away witches, ghosts, evil spirits, and illness.
🎄 Germany is credited with starting the Christmas tree tradition, as we now know it. In the 16th century devout Christians would bring decorated trees into their homes.
Some built Christmas pyramids of wood, and decorated them with evergreens and candles if wood was scarce.
🎄The first Christmas tree in England, was introduced by George III’s German-born queen, Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, although it was a yew tree rather than a fir that was used.
At first, the custom mainly stayed within the confines of the Royal family.
🎄 When Queen Victoria was a young girl, she talks about them in her diary of 1832, and how there were presents all around them.
When Victoria became Queen and married Prince Albert, they continued with the Christmas tree tradition
The Christmas tree gained popularity, and the wealthy copied the Royal couple by also having a tree.
🎄 The Victorian tree was decorated with toys and small gifts, candles, candies, popcorn strings, and fancy cakes hung from the branches by ribbons and by paper chains.
In 1848, Newspapers published a piece about the trees at Windsor Castle, with the Royal family around it. This led to greater interest in the Christmas tree, and more of the wealthy and middle class people started having one of their own.
🎄 Blown-glass ornaments were offered for sale in Britain and the United States as early as the 1870s, many produced in small workshops in Germany.
These workshops also created decorations made from tinsel, cast lead, beads, pressed paper, and cotton.
🎄 By 1890, strings of electric tree lights were also available. It wasn’t until as late as the early 1920’s, that having a Christmas tree spread to all classes of society.
In the 1930s, artificial trees made of brush bristles were developed in the United States, and the 1950s and ’60s saw the mass production of aluminum and PVC plastic trees.
The artificial trees gained significant popularity in countries where fresh trees were hard to get.
🎄In December 1848, an illustration showed Queen Victoria, Prince Albert, and their children admiring a Christmas tree. PHOTOGRAPH BY HULTON ARCHIVE, GETTY IMAGES
"As the night gets dark. Let your worries fade. Sleep peacefully knowing you've done all you can do for today." - Roald Dahl
(art: Jill Barklem)
Bill Bullard quoting Plato
A condescending remark followed by, I was kidding, then followed by, can’t you take a joke, is a sign. This sign reads: I was telling you the truth about how I feel about you. Hurtful words laced in meaness dwell in a lower vibe
Nothing more, nothing less. Somethings are said simply to make us feel wrong because they (the attacker) can’t handle what is actually right. They intend to take a stab at our soft spot and expect us to laugh - but when we don’t, it’s put right back on us – and that’s a problem.
A joke at someone else’s expense is a sad way to create humor. Remember the origin.
"When Someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time." -Maya Angelou
If you receive a little nasty (so-called kidding), don’t take it in; look to the truth; it’s usually their own inner disturbance throwing up on you. -debbie lynn
"Remember. Whoever is trying to bring you down is already below you."
"My mother always used to bake goro for Christmas when she was well. The first thing I remember is her rolling the dough thinly and using a template to cut it precisely to fit the iron. This dough needed to be kept cold, so she would go up and down the cellar stairs to fetch new cold pieces for the iron.
Now, I'm the one who makes goro. I cheat a bit by using a batter instead. But on the bright side, the trimmings become a pre-Christmas treat to enjoy with coffee"
Goro is a type of traditional Norwegian waffle cookie, representing one of our oldest confections. The first waffle irons arrived in Norway from Holland in the 1600s. These irons featured religious motifs, and the flat, iron-baked cookies symbolized the unleavened bread of the Jews. Similarly, the communion wafer, or oblate, was cooked in similar irons. The earliest of these irons were called 'apostle irons' as they represented the twelve apostles.
In Denmark, these cookies are known as 'Gode raad', while in Sweden, they're referred to as 'gorån'. The name suggests that one needed to be well-off to make these cookies, probably because the ingredients were considered expensive.
The time-consuming nature of baking goro is highlighted by a story from a vicarage in Lom in the 1850s. It's told that goro and another traditional cookie called 'fattigmann' were always baked at night, likely to use the kitchen undisturbed. It's mentioned that the goro iron made only one cookie at a time, so it took all night to bake and cook a large batch.
@MissAdventurous The 🪓! 😅
But check out my strange collection of "found" objects, since we moved to rural Wyoming... I keep them lined them up along the back porch.
The skull is from a fawn; I found it in the woods by the river behind our house. 🦌🤎🥺
I'm not sure what the bone is...perhaps a cow femur? 🦴🐃
There's also local volcanic rock, and a discarded license plate that's older than I am. 🌋🕺🏻
~ Sunset Snuggles
🦄 Enthusiast 🏞 Travel Fiend 🐘 Animal Lover
🎄 Merry Christmas to my homies! ☃️
Ohhhh @SunsetSnuggles I'm loving the collection so far 😁😁 totally up my alleyway. 💗💞❤️
And on the path of self-acceptance, These twelve illusions you shall shed:
The illusion of being unwanted: For, in truth, there is no such thing as an unwanted soul.
The illusion of being unlovable: For your true self is love.
The illusion of unworthiness: For you are always deserving of love and success.
The illusion of being weird: For there is no such thing as normal.
The illusion of needing external validation: For your worth is never dependent on another's approval.
The illusion of being insignificant: For your presence impacts all of humanity.
The illusion of being powerless: For within you lies the strength to shape your destiny and influence the world.
The illusion of not being good enough: For you were born good enough.
The illusion of being a burden: For your existence is a precious gift, and your contributions add value.
The illusion of being unsuccessful: For success is subjective, and your path is uniquely yours.
The illusion of being ugly: Because that label only ever reflects the viewer being incapable of seeing beauty.
And the illusion that aging decreases your value: For, in truth, you are not a body but a soul.
Words by Tahlia Hunter
Artwork by Katarína Vavrová Artist
Helpful info if you aren't able to cuddle 🤗
Christmas Card by SALVADOR DALI ( 1904 – 1989) Christmas of 1960, when Salvador Dalí designed holiday greeting cards for Hallmark.
The designs Dalí came up with included “Surrealist renditions of the Christmas tree and the Holy Family,” as well as some “vaguely unsettling” images ~ a headless angel playing a lute and the three wise men atop some insane-looking camels.
Ultimately, Hallmark only produced two of the Dalí cards, a nativity scene and a depiction of the Madonna and Child. Alas, even those relatively tame images didn’t go over well.
The Battle of the Oak and Holly Kings
The tales were told of two great kings, one dark, and one light, who twice a year, would heroically fight.
A rivalry many centuries old since ancient times, the tales were told.
Of two great kings, one dark, and one light, who twice a year, Would heroically fight.
The Holly King, the darker one, ruled the Winter, the dimming Sun.
While the King of Oak, was vibrant and bright. he reigned over Summer, the Sun’s growing light.
At Yule they would battle, ‘twas an inspiring scene, and the victory would go to the mighty Oak King.
But at Midsummer’s time, with the Sun at its peak, the Holly King would win, the Oak King grew weak.
And so it went on, year after year, and the story was told to all who could hear.
So, honor the Oak King in Summer, when the Sun’s light is warm, and the Holly King in winter in the swirling snow storms...
“When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives mean the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a warm and tender hand. The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares.” Henri Nouwen
John Currin - Pistachio, 2016.
A Story of The Christmas tree ... 🎄
The history of Christmas trees has many roots, ranging from the use of evergreens in ancient Egypt and Rome, to the German traditions of candlelit trees that made its way to America in the 1800s
Long before the advent of Christianity, plants and trees that remained green all year had a special meaning for people in the winter.
Germany is credited with starting the Christmas tree tradition, as we now know it. In the 16th century devout Christians would bring decorated trees into their homes.
The first Christmas tree in England, was introduced by George III’s German-born queen, Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, although it was a yew tree rather than a fir that was used.
When Queen Victoria was a young girl, she talks about them in her diary of 1832, and how there were presents all around them.
The Victorian tree was decorated with toys and small gifts, candles, candies, popcorn strings, and fancy cakes hung from the branches by ribbons and by paper chains.
Blown-glass ornaments were offered for sale in Britain and the United States as early as the 1870s, many produced in small workshops in Germany.
By 1890, strings of electric tree lights were also available. It wasn’t until as late as the early 1920’s, that having a Christmas tree spread to all classes of society.
Photo taken in Constanz, Germany ... Source unknown
Just putting up the mistletoe and pondering this magical, mystical plant. It was sacred to the druids and said to offer protection from all evil. I love it because it does things differently to other plants. It grows in the air, from the branches of other trees, not from the earth, and it bears fruit at the time of the winter solstice, when most other plants are dormant. Called ‘uchelwydd’ in Welsh.
“Plants and animals don’t fight the winter; they don’t pretend it’s not happening and attempt to carry on living the same lives that they lived in the summer. They prepare. They adapt. They perform extraordinary acts of metamorphosis to get them through.
Winter is a time of withdrawing from the world, maximising scant resources, carrying out acts of brutal efficiency and vanishing from sight; but that’s where the transformation occurs. Winter is not the death of the life cycle, but its crucible.”
Katherine May - Wintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times, 2020.
Elaine Bayley - Welcome December, December's Song.
Kathleen Rockwell aka Kitty Rockwell, aka Klondike Kate, c.1900-1901
Kathleen Rockwell, known as Kitty, originated from Kansas and hailed from a prosperous family. The family relocated successively to South Dakota and Spokane. She was sent to a boarding school during her teenage years but displayed minimal interest, leading to her eventual departure. Her initial foray into the limelight occurred in New York City, but the allure of the Gold Rush prompted her relocation to Alaska. Legend has it that Kitty arrived unprepared, needing more supplies for entry. To overcome a Mounted Police inspection roadblock, she adopted a disguise, posing as a boy, and hastily boarded a boat.
Displaying resourcefulness, Kitty made her way to Whitehorse. Various accounts suggest she engaged in dance or what euphemistically is termed the "world's oldest profession." Her success in Whitehorse and the Lousetown area of Dawson City became the stuff of legends. Descriptions of her performances included twirling with 100 yards of fabric or donning a crown adorned with 50 lit candles, catapulting her to immense popularity. In advertisements, the moniker "Klondike Kate" further distinguished her, contributing to her financial success as she amassed gold dust and sought investment opportunities.
Her path intersected with Alexander Pantages, a young Greek immigrant working as a waiter in a local dance hall. This association led to Kitty joining his stage troupe, and Pantages eventually became the town's Orpheum Theater manager. Their tumultuous relationship, marked by gossip and allegations of theft and deception, lacked mutual trust.
1902, Kitty and Alexander ventured beyond the Yukon to establish nickelodeons and theaters in other cities. Kitty backed Pantages's acquisition of a theater in Seattle and opened her theater in Vancouver. The headlines captured their romance's unraveling in 1907 when Alexander unexpectedly married Lois Mendenhall. Kitty, feeling betrayed, took a bold step by suing Alexander for $25,000 and breach of promise, a rarity for a young woman challenging a prominent figure like Pantages. The legal drama unfolded in the public eye, with Kitty surprising her legal counsel by settling out of court, strategically excluding them from any financial gain.
Subsequently, Kitty married a miner named John Matson, but the union was short-lived. She relocated to Bend, Oregon, where she achieved celebrity status, primarily due to her charitable endeavors. Locals fondly referred to her as "Aunt Kate," describing her as a fundraising dynamo during the Great Depression, contributing to social causes and preparing soup for the less fortunate.
While she did not reclaim the fame she briefly held in the Yukon, memories of that era remained integral to her life. In the 1930s, "Sourdough" reunions and her role in training young Hollywood starlets during the 1940s provided a modest resurgence in recognition. Kitty spent the last 45 years of her life in Oregon, initially in Bend, then near Salem, and finally in Linn County.
✨️✨️✨️ 'Twas The Night Before Yuletide ✨️✨️✨️
'Twas the night before Yuletide and all through the glen Not a creature was stirring, not a fox, not a hen. A mantle of snow shone brightly that night As it lay on the ground, reflecting moonlight.
The faeries were nestled all snug in their trees, Unmindful of flurries and a chilly north breeze. The elves and the gnomes were down in their burrows, Sleeping like babes in their soft earthen furrows.
When lo! The earth moved with a thunderous quake, Causing chairs to fall over and dishes to break. The Little Folk scrambled to get on their feet Then raced to the river where they usually meet.
“What happened?” they wondered, they questioned, they probed, As they shivered in night clothes, some bare-armed, some robed. “What caused the earth's shudder? What caused her to shiver?” They all spoke at once as they stood by the river.
Then what to their wondering eyes should appear But a shining gold light in the shape of a sphere. It blinked and it twinkled, it winked like an eye, Then it flew straight up and was lost in the sky.
Before they could murmur, before they could bustle, There emerged from the crowd, with a swish and a rustle, A stately old crone with her hand on a cane, Resplendent in green with a flowing white mane.
As she passed by them the old crone's perfume, Smelling of meadows and flowers abloom, Made each of the fey folk think of the spring When the earth wakes from slumber and the birds start to sing.
“My name is Gaia,” the old crone proclaimed in a voice that at once was both wild and tamed, “I've come to remind you, for you seem to forget, that Yule is the time of re-birth, and yet…”
“I see no hearth fires, hear no music, no bells, The air isn't filled with rich fragrant smells Of baking and roasting, and simmering stews, Of cider that's mulled or other hot brews.”
“There aren't any children at play in the snow, Or houses lit up by candles’ glow. Have you forgotten, my children, the fun Of celebrating the rebirth of the sun?”
She looked at the fey folk, her eyes going round, As they shuffled their feet and stared at the ground. Then she smiled the smile that brings light to the day, “Come, my children,” she said, “Let's play.”
They gathered the mistletoe, gathered the holly, Threw off the drab and drew on the jolly. They lit a big bonfire, and they danced and they sang. They brought out the bells and clapped when they rang.
They strung lights on the trees, and bows, oh so merry, In colours of cranberry, bayberry, cherry. They built giant snowmen and adorned them with hats, Then surrounded them with snow birds, and snow cats and bats.
Then just before dawn, at the end of their fest, Before they went homeward to seek out their rest, The fey folk they gathered ‘round their favourite oak tree And welcomed the sun ‘neath the tree's finery.
They were just reaching home when it suddenly came, The gold light returned like an arrow-shot flame. It lit on the tree top where they could see from afar The golden-like sphere turned into a star.
The old crone just smiled at the beautiful sight, "Happy Yuletide, my children," she whispered. "Good night."
C.C. Williford
“So the Shortest Day came and the year died And everywhere down the centuries of the snow‐white world Came people singing, dancing, To drive the dark away.
They lighted candles in the winter trees; They hung their homes with evergreen; They burned beseeching fires all night long To keep the year alive.
And when the new year's sunshine blazed awake They shouted, reveling. Through all the frosty ages you can hear them Echoing behind us ‐ listen!
All the long echoes, sing the same delight, This Shortest Day, As promise wakens in the sleeping land: They carol, feast, give thanks, And dearly love their friends, And hope for peace. And so do we, here, now, This year and every year. Welcome, Yule!”
~ Susan Cooper, “The Shortest Day” 🎨 Tijana Lukovic, “Winter Solstice”
The Yule Faeries - A Winter Solstice Story by D. J. Conway
A group of little Faeries huddled in their home deep under the roots of a giant oak tree. They were safe and snug in their tiny underground cave lined with dandelion fluff, bird feathers, and dried moss.
Outside, the wind blew cold and the snow fell softly down to cover the ground. "I saw the Sun King today," the faerie named Rose said as she pulled her mossy cloak tighter about her. "He looked so old and tired as he walked off through the forest. What is wrong with him?
"The great oak said he's dying" answered Daffodil. "Dying? Oh, what will we do now?", Little Meadow Grass started to cry, "If the Sun King dies, our little plant friends will not grow. The Birds will not come and sing again. Everything will be winter for ever!" Lilac, Dandelion and Elder Blossom tried to comfort their friend, but they were all very sad. As they huddled together, there was a knock on the tiny door.
"Open up, Faeries," called out a loud voice. "Why are you hiding instead of joining us in our Solstice celebration?" Rose opened the door and the little gnome Brown Knobby pushed inside, shaking the glistening snowflakes off his brown coat and hat.
"We are too sad to celebrate," Daffodil said wiping her eyes, "The Sun King is dying, haven't you heard?"
"He is dead you silly Faeries." Brown Knobby's round dark eyes sparkled with laughter. "Now hurry, or we'll be late for the celebration!"
"How can you be happy and laughing?!" Elder Blossom stamped her little foot and frowned at the gnome. "If the Sun King IS dead, it will be winter always. We will never see the Sun again!"
"Silly little child-Faeries." Brown Knobby grabbed Dandelion by the hand and pulled her to her feet. "There is a secret to the Winter Solstice. Don't you want to know what it is?"
The Faeries looked at him in surprise. "Secret?" they all said. "What secret? We are only new little Faeries, you silly gnome. We've never been to a Solstice celebration before."
"Come and see. Come and see. Get your capes and come with me." Brown Knobby danced and jigged around the room. "Hurry, Hurry, don't be slow! To the Sacred Oak Grove through the snow!" He danced out of the door and disappeared.
"What did that gnome mean?" Rose asked as she gathered up her cloak of dried rose petals held together with cobwebs and lined with goose down.
"I don't know, but the Lady lives in the Sacred Grove." Meadow Grass pulled on her hat. "Perhaps if we go to see the Goddess, She can explain what Brown Knobby was talking about". The Faeries left their snug little home and trudged off through the snow toward the sacred oak grove. The forest was dark with only the light of the Moon shining down through the thick fir branches and bare limbs of maple and hawthorn. It was very difficult for them to get through the snow because they were very, very small. As they waded through the wet snow and shivered in the cold wind, they met a fox.
"Where are you going, Faeries?" the fox asked.
"To the sacred grove," they answered, they were cold and shivering.
"Climb on my back and I will take you there swiftly."
The fox knelt down so the Faeries could climb up. Then he raced off through the dark. "Listen!" Lilac said as they neared the Grove of Sacred trees. "Someone is singing happy songs. A LOT of someones."
The beautiful music carried over the cold, still, moonlit air. It was the most beautiful music the Faeries had ever heard. The fox carried the Faeries right to the edge of the stone altar in the center of the grove, then knelt down.
"Look!" said Elder Blossom as they slid to the snow covered ground. "There is the Maiden and the Mother and the OLD Wise Crone, and many other Little People."
"They are all smiling and happy," said Lilac as she looked around at all the creatures.
"All the animals are here too," whispered Dandelion. "Why are they all looking at the Mother?" The Faeries moved closer to the three Ladies seated on the altar stone. The Mother held a bundle close in Her arms, smiling down at it. The Maiden reached down and took the Faeries gently in her Hands. She held them close to the Mother so they could see what She held.
"A Baby!" the Faeries cried. " A new little Baby! Look how he glows!"
"He is the newborn Sun King," said the Maiden smiling.
"But Brown Knobby and the old oak tree said the Sun King was dead," the Faeries answered her. "How can this little baby be the Sun King?"
"That is the great secret of the Winter Solstice." The Old Wise One touched the baby's cheek with her wrinkled hand. "Every year the Sun King must come to the sacred grove during the darkest days of winter where he dies. I take his spirit to the Mother who gives him new life again. This is the way for all creatures, not just the Sun King."
"You mean everything lives and dies and lives again? the Faeries looked down in wonder at the baby Sun King, nestled in the arms of the Mother.
"Yes, Little Ones," answered the Old Wise Crone. "There is never an end to life. This is the great mystical secret of the Winter Solstice."
The Faeries laughed because they were so happy.
"I think the little Sun King should have gifts," said Rose. "I will show him where the wild roses bloom in the early summer."
"And, I will teach him to call the birds and listen to the songs of the wind," exclaimed Dandelion. "When he is older and stronger, " said the Mother, "then the flowers will bloom at his touch, the birds will return to sing their songs, and the air will be warm from his breath, and winter will be gone for a time. Then the Sun King will run and play with you in the forest."
The little Faeries sang to the Baby Sun King, songs of the coming spring, the sweet smelling flowers, the bumbling bees, and all the secrets of the forest. And all the creatures within the sacred grove sang with them. Then the fox took them back to their snug home under the roots of the giant oak tree where they dreamed wonderful dreams, waiting for the warmth of spring and the fun they would have with the little Sun King.
Image: Lady of the Wildwood watercolor by designer/artist Helena Nelson Reed