Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas..Some Thoughts

Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas..SomeThoughts

Preface / Introduction

Call me now for your FREE Internet marketing consultation. $100 value. Let an expert show youRIGHT NOW how to profit online every single day without leaving home. Call me -- DaleThomson-- now, 609-314-0386. LIVE 24/7/365. Your success guaranteed. I'm waiting for your callRIGHT NOW!

Well it is that time of year again..long lines at the retail stores, the ads being bombarded at you on tvand all the pressures of the season. Christmas is my very favorite time of year. The time of yearwhen the world turns it's eyes to the comming of the Prince of Peace. Wishing good will to allmankind.

Some of my memories of past Christmas come from when I was growing up. Going to write my listfor Santa and the anticipation of waiting to see if he got it and what he would bring me. As I writethis preface I can smell the the aroma of fresh baked chocolate chip cookies and snickerdoodles. Inmy mindseye, I can see Christmas Days of the past. My family always had Christmas Day at ourhouse. Seeing my Aunt and Uncle sitting on the couch my mother head stuck under the tree playingSanta. My grandmother and grandfather sitting on the floor with me playing with my toys. Ah yes,all of those people are gone now but the memories will never fade.

I hope that this ebook will conjure up some of the fond memories for you too. May the Lord bringpeace and goodwill to you and your family this time of year and throughout the years going forward.Your comments are always welcome

Dale G. Thomson

Table of Contents

1. My most memorable Christmas, delivered by hand, changing my life. Now my time to do thesame. 2. 'Yes, Virginia there still is a Santa Claus', and he needs you more than ever before. 3. On the getting and giving of Christmas presents.

My most memorable Christmas, delivered by hand, changingmy life. Now my time to do the same.by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Author's program note. One of the most marvelous things about the Internet is that wherever you arethe riches of the world are just a few keystrokes away, and this is never more true than at Christmas,when you can, wherever you are, remember, access what the most fertile, inventive, and creativeminds crafted to celebrate the birth of our Messiah. It is a feast, a banquet, an embarras de choix thatnever palls, even if you do have distinct touches of Scrooge about you.

One of my favorite Christmas carols never fails to exult, thrill, and cleanse. I always feel betterhearing it... and if you know it, I suspect you feel the same. It's called "Carol of the Bells," and ifyou don't know it, it's my pleasure to introduce it to you. You'll be glad to have it. Either way, go toany search engine to find it. There are many fine versions.

Play it now... turn it up and up again. This is no pallid anthem but a stirring declaration thatsomething of transcendent importance is about to occur... and the bells are ringing out to ensure youdon't miss it and are not late.

It is of Ukrainian origin; a 1904 choral miniature work by Mykola Leontovych, set to the words ofan ancient Ukrainian pagan chant. It tells the tale of a swallow flying into a household to proclaimthe plentiful and bountiful year that that fortunate family will have. Given the rocky road we've alltraveled this year, I am sure you hope that swallow visits you... as I do.

1974.

I was just 26 in 1974, the time in one's life when, having assiduously pursued education,self-improvement and development, one is ready to stride life's stage and announce to the world thatyou are ready to demonstrate your powers and do your bit, however small, to make things better onterra firma. You have your health, your teeth, an ample mane, and that crucial "never say die"attitude, so necessary, sure to be sorely tested in the days ahead. You can be certain of that. In short,you're as ready for life as you'll ever be. And that life bloomed for me in 1974.... when I set out, likethe protagonist of every great novel, not just to see the world, but to conquer it.

And so this year, I tasted life, and tasted deep I tell you, in the city where everyone finds theEngland -- and the life -- they desire... London.

London, beloved, rich, desired, accepting.

If one believes in Fate, as I didn't then but believe now, I encountered mine in what I regarded, notalone either, as the greatest city on earth... where every minute was like the best champagne andevery person delivered gifts one had waited a lifetime to receive and was ready to savor. In this year,in this city everything was possible... so long as one was bold enough to dream it, bold enough toseize it. And I was... and I did.

Robert Montgomery Scott.... His Excellency will be pleased...

I can see him clearly in my mind's eye... and will never forget. He was a gentleman to his fingertips...which meant cordial manners, polished speech, and, most of all, consideration; for a gentleman isnothing without that. When I entered his office in the Embassy of my United States, in GrosvenorSquare, he was direct, but most kind; I could see at once he meant to be my benefactor...

I had written Walter Annenberg, U.S. Ambassador that year, to see if he would assist me in gaining

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Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas..Some Thoughts

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access to the Royal pageants I was studying and wished to see at first hand. Ambassador Annenberg,a titan of American media, richer than Croessus, was the best kind of envoy being gifted with meansand the desire to disperse them liberally. He also understood the need that media have for never-ending content and the need to encourage the creators of such content, people like me. And so heasked the debonair Mr. Scott to receive the young Harvard man and see what could be done. He wasno doubt scrutinizing me, drawing his own conclusions; that was his job. But the scrutiny wasoblique, a chat, not an inquisition. And after this most amiable inspection he said, "For the nextyear, whenever the Ambassador is invited to any Royal ceremony, you shall go as a member of hisofficial party."

The skies had opened and the road below was clear. I was grateful then... and grateful now becausehe -- and the Ambassador -- had given me just what I needed, just when I needed it. And how oftendoes that happen in even the longest life? But it was happening to me, in 1974, in London, and I putthe bit between my teeth and relished the run.

That summer there was a shower of largesse... not least because of the Harvard Traveling Fellowshipbestowed on me, a Fellowship which made it all possible. I went to the annual ceremony of everyorder of chivalry... the Bath, the Order of the British Empire, the St.Michael and St. George, anddelved deep into the mysteries of Thistle, St. Patrick, and Garter. I loved every minute of it and, forcurrent use and later reflection and proof that I had lived, wrote it all down, fodder for many articlesto come. I had occasion to thank the Ambassador over and over again...

... especially on the day when I attended the ceremony marking the 25th wedding anniversary ofH.M. The Queen and her Consort of Edinburgh. My reserved place was right behind one of PrincePhilip's sisters, as if I were a sprig of the Family Royal myself.

But money at an end and the pressing need to harness reality brought me back to Cambridge, toHarvard, to graduate, to get a job I was perhaps destined to hate; how could the mundane details of"real" life compare?

But I had a scheme... to write my way to freedom... and so back to London where in due course Ireturned in December of 1977, there to hand-deliver a proposal for my first book, to HamishHamilton the famous publisher whose ranks I wished to join.

No knock. Just a letter.

It was Christmas Eve, 1977. My friends and I were going to Covent Garden, dressed to the nines,bright, mordant, as sophisticated as earnest money and deadly effect could make us.

Just before we left, a letter was slipped under the door... it was hand addressed to me. I opened itwith alacrity only to read, "I regret to inform you..." It was on Hamish Hamilton's stationery. I didn'tcomplete the letter and was marooned in such unhappiness no Sugar Plum fairy could lift my spirits.

Upon returning, I saw the letter, on the floor. Robert Dobson, so often in the right place at the righttime, picked it up and said, "Hadn't you better read this?"

And so I did... and in instant, a single instant, there was "Joy to the World" in my heart as my noweditor Roger Machell wrote, "I regret to inform you we cannot accept your proposal as written but ifyou make a few minor changes..." A contract and cheque were waiting for me after Christmas at hisoffice. And so "Insubstantial Pageant: Ceremony and Confusion at Queen Victoria's Court" wasborn... and another benefactor stepped forward, Christmas Eve mind, to advance my career andprovide succor.

Now it my turn, 64 this year as I am, to give to others in remembrance of the many, now too oftengone before, who have given to me. God having blessed me so, and especially that unforgettable




Christmas, makes that imperative, pressing, essential, a great joy and comfort.




'Yes, Virginia there still is a Santa Claus', and he needs youmore than ever before.by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Author's program note: September 21, 1897, the editor of the New York Sun ran an unsignededitorial in the form of a letter to the editor and that editor's response. The title of this article was"Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus", and it long ago became the world's most reprinted article,particularly at the Christmas season.

The 8-year girl who wrote the letter (and, yes, she was a real person) achieved by a simple questionan ineradicable place in history, a place any number of kings and queens, politicians and generalsmight have envied. For the question was not glib... and neither was its response.

This response was written by veteran newsman Francis Pharcellus Church, and you can find thecomplete text in any search engine; the message can be read profitably by all good people thoughwell over a century has passed since it was penned.

Its essential message is found in these lines: "Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exits ascertainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to yourlife its highest beauty and joy."

Here's how this all got started.

In 1897, Dr. Philip O'Hanlon, a coroner's assistant on Manhattan's Upper West Side, was asked byhis daughter Virginia (1889-1971) whether Santa Claus really existed. He paused for just a moment,as if he were considering the matter for the first time. Then, he advised her to write to The Sun, aprominent New York City newspaper. "If you see it in The Sun," he assured her, "it's so." Thus heunwittingly provided Francis Pharcellus Church an opportunity to rise above the simple question andaddress the philosophical issues behind it.

Church was a war correspondent during the American Civil War, the bloodiest war to date; onewhich caused doubt, disillusion, despair. Many wrote off the noble experiment of the Great Republicas a failure; hope was in short supply. Church was given a once- in-a-lifetime opportunity to combatthis negativity... to reassure his fellow countrymen and remind them of all the good things that theyhad... if only they would scrutinize carefully, perceive what they saw, and remind themselves of theverities on which the Great Republic was founded and which are available to every citizen. SantaClaus became his apt metaphor.

Grand thoughts, fustian idiom.

Church was a mid-Victorian... which meant, by our leaner, sharper standards, that he was verbose,his prose not merely purple, but cloying, lush, overwritten, prolix. His final paragraph makes all thisvery clear:

"No Santa Claus! Thank God! he lives, and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia,nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, he will still continue to make glad the heart ofchildhood." Today's readers grow quickly impatient , intolerant to exasperation, with such prose;thus the baby is thrown out with the bath water; Church's important message torpedoed by his overripe words and the period style our 19th century ancestors found so arresting, dedicated as they wereto the bombastic, sonorous and grandiloquent. This will never do.

Thus since Church is no longer here to update his work, I appoint myself to do so, not to reinvent thewheel but to show what an author of our time can do to keep his message relevant and evergreen,




important, not dismissed as old hat, the histrionic rhetoric of the Gilded Age. I hope Church smilesbenignly on this attempt, for he was a man whose respect was worth having.

Virginia's letter to me, December 11, 2011.

Dear Dr. Lant,

I am 8 years old. Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. Papa says, 'If you see it in Dr.Lant's articles, it's so". Please tell me the truth; is there a Santa Claus?

Virginia O'Hanlon 115 West Ninety-Fifth St.

My response to Virginia, December 12, 2011.

Dear Virginia,

First of all let me thank you most sincerely for taking the time to write to me and for your confidencein me and my articles. Smart readers like you, young and old, are what keeps me on my toes, and Iaccount you not only a reader, but a young friend.

I can tell you are troubled by what your friends are saying. That is understandable. Many people,perhaps including some of your friends, go out of their way to hurt others by selfish, unconsidered,and hurtful remarks. I can tell right away that you are not such a person, and that is good newsindeed and why I have answered you so promptly.

Being the smart and sensitive young lady you are, I know you are not only thoughtful about whatyou say and how you say it, but take what people say, unless you are sure of them, with a grain ofsalt; in other words you don't believe everything you hear and read... instead you use your own mindto evaluate. That is always the best way and is what we like so much in our Great Republic, in otherwords our citizens rely on their own judgement. As you will when you finish this letter and considerwhat I have confided to you. Let's consider for a moment the people, and sadly there are many such,children and adults, too, who tell everyone Santa Claus doesn't exist. They point to the turbulentstate of the world... wars in far away places we never heard of... people, good people too, withoutshelter or food... all the people who are ill and have no money for treatment, including children yourage, even some in your very neighborhood. They say, and they are very loud about telling peoplelike you, that this is proof positive that there is not now nor has there ever been a person calledSanta Claus.

And now, as the friend you wrote to seeking truth and reassurance, I tell you that these people, eachand every one of them, are wrong, wrong, wrong. And now I tell you why... because Santa Claus isthe embodiment of every good thought, every good deed, every good wish and every good action nomatter by whom, where, or when. Santa Claus represents the sum total of everything good in thisoften turbulent, unhappy, despairing world of ours. Santa Claus takes all good elements and putsthem to work combating the bad and working tirelessly for the good -- for the improvement ofhuman kind and everyone in it, even those poor souls who say he doesn't exist and won't help him inhis tireless ways.

I know, dear Virginia, that you want to help Santa Claus in his great and important work, becauseyou are a dear girl who cares for others and who wishes to help Santa do that, which is much morethan just delivering Christmas presents down chimneys and taking care of his flying reindeer.

You see, Virginia, Santa Claus represents the best in all of us, and he knows that working togetherwe make the world, every day, a better place, a place of good substance and good cheer for all.Today, now that you are sure of the existence of Santa Claus and his good works, I urge you to joinhis team. Do a little good today, Virginia, and not just at Christmas, but every day you want the




world to be better... and help the Jolly Old Elf for he relies so on sweet children like you... and even"seen everything" commentators like me. We are all so grateful to you, Miss Virginia, and your kindnature, which prompted your concern and letter.

Merry Christmas from me and from all of us at Worldprofit, where the Christmas spirit is not thething of a day, but of every day. It is my pleasure to thank you for giving me the much neededopportunity to say so and to recommit my own energy and zeal... and may God and Santa Clausbless you as you truly deserve.

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On the getting and giving of Christmas presents.by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Author's program note. I started and just about finished my Christmas shopping last night, December14. That is the anniversary of the death of Queen Victoria's much loved husband Prince Albert... andis the only day of any year when the public can view his mausoleum at Frogmore, on the grounds ofWindsor Castle. The great queen is also buried there. I went once on a rainy day many years ago tosee and found she had gone to the greatest possible lengths to make sure she was ready for him, hercomfort through the anticipated blissful ages to come.

Prince Albert is on my mind today because he is most probably the man who launched in Englandthe idea of the Christmas tree. And once he had done so, loyalists in the empire on which the sunnever set felt obliged to have Christmas trees, too, even former imperial colonies like our GreatRepublic.

Prince Albert brought the idea from his picayune principality Saxe Coburg Gotha. If it had been upto them, the idea of Christmas trees would have stayed German, insignificant, and parochial... butQueen Victoria ruled over half the world... and her prince ruled over her. He liked Christmas trees(indeed, he liked all things that were family oriented and allowed him to drop a sentimental tear ortwo)... thus Victoria liked Christmas trees... it was the royal couple's gift to the world. I'm glad; I dolike the things with all their trimmings and especially their fresh pine scents.

Besides, all the presents do look nice artfully arranged under the tree, don't they? And since this is astory about Christmas presents, it's nice to know you have a beautiful tree packed with mementoesand memories of past years, a suitable place for packages wrapped and unwrapped.

Thus, I have selected the seasonal favorite "O Christmas Tree" as the incidental music for thisarticle. The best known version was written in 1824 by Leipzig organist Ernst Anschutz. It may alsohave been introduced into England by Prince Albert, whose aspects were serious, nervous, severelyself critical and often lachrymose. If such a hard-working man (dead at just 42) could take pleasurein an actual tree and a fine tune about that tree, I am glad he found some comfort and joy atChristmas and thank him for introducing these features of the season to his wife... then the world.You can find many renditions of this song in any search engine. It's very soothing...

Evening December 14

I am a person who has absolutely no Christmas spirit at all until I set about the important business ofselecting gifts for my chosen ones. You see, I am one of the decided minority of people who actuallylike selecting and giving gifts. I do not regard the matter as forced (as so many others, buddingScrooges all), onerous, a ridiculous waste of time and money, over as early and inexpensively aspossible. No, indeed.

I grew up in an Illinois home, part of the famous Baby Boom generation which has, since itsconception, had such a pronounced effect on manners and mores. Giving apt presents was one of thethings my family and friends liked to do, even grampa Walt who could be notoriously crusty aboutsuch matters, especially if the spending of money was involved (as, with Christmas, it always was). Ihave carried this cheerfulness with me even during my earliest days when money was scarce and onewas, therefore, often frustrated and impatient. That, at least, is not the problem now.

The real problem I face is two-fold. First, my annual list is dwindling year by year, compliments ofthe Grim Reaper, who most assuredly is no cheerleader for Christmas. Second, with only twoexceptions (niece Chelsea and nephew Kyle) there are only two young people on the list, and theyare already young adults, teen-age years already gone. My adult recipients all have comfortable




lives, needing nothing but the one thing I cannot give: good health. Each and every one of them hasa pressing health need... and we are all at the age when no conversation would be complete withouta full and complete health update. Still, needing nothing, they would be most dismayed if nothingcame from me... and I should think most poorly of myself. And so, December 14, 2011, after theday's work is done, I take out the stacks of catalogs I have been hoarding for months... and which areessential to the only kind of shopping I will ever do... shopping which can be done from the ease andcomfort of home, never entering a store for any reason whatsoever.

First, as in every year, I draw up my list and, as always, I remember the dead of my family tree andacquaintance, people I knew so well and loved over the course of a lifetime of Christmases. I neverforget these sinews of my life, though thinking of them is always bittersweet. I complete my shortlist in just a minute or two; I know each name so well and wonder who will be the next to go,shortening my list and diminishing my world.

I then make my preliminary pass through the 50 or so catalogs I have retained for just this moment.Some are automatically eliminated; the Sharper Image catalog immediately goes into the trash dueto their astonishing ineptitude with an order for a dear friend. I shall never again trust my reputationand seasonable equanimity to those boneheads. Catalogs for children are disregarded; we have nochildren. Catalogs with soft furnishings are tossed; January sales will bring better offers. As for stillothers offering t-shirts with the inscription "She who must be obeyed", these are not my style.

Having discarded the dross, I commence my real labors... this year made immensely easier by thegenerous gift of a Sacher torte from Vienna, the gift of Dorotheum, Austria's leading auction house,a place I do regular business. Two slices of this famous confection have put me in a very good moodindeed. And so I begin my perusal and selection...

Unlike most Christmas gift givers, I have no pre-set budget. I buy what I like and which, fromconstant effort, I know the recipient will like. Cost is never the major variable; appropriateness forthe recipient is. And so I ramble through the catalogs knowing I would give no present rather thansomething hasty or unsuitable for a single person on my short list, all loved and cherished by me.

Yet except for Kyle who is difficult, I find over the course of the next 3-4 hours presents that I like,that I feel sure my recipients will like, too. Then today, most probably in the early evening, I shallcall every 800 number indicated and use my credit card to make all the purchases. The mostimportant thing about this way of doing business is that one must be patient, partly because it's avery busy season and partly because the help is often seasonal, with all the potential problems thatentails. Yes, patience is required. And a sunny word to the order taker, if she feels down andbedraggled, conditions immediately apparent.

In a couple of hours on the phone, my shopping is done... gifts now on their way, whilst I take up thenext and final part of my shopping; a visit to Trader Joe's for purchase of the sherry I distribute to allthe people who make my life easier, condo maintenance, house cleaners, et al. I have looked for alifetime for the sherries I give now (for my taste includes both amontillado and cream); Real Tesorois by far the best, and the least expensive; a miracle often performed at Trader Joe's.

Now I am done... simultaneously glad and sad by the paucity of my gifts... happy that I shall makethese special ones happy at least once more... but missing the dear ones gone before and still soloved. For these, I take out my egg nog, remembering the great silver bowl my grandfather usedwhen he administered the nog with brandy; (who got that anyway?), whilst I need only a glass.

And then I plug in my 13" tree, the one with the bubblers my grandmother gave me a half centuryago. And in its undulating bubbles all I see is the past... Christmases past retaining a magicChristmases future cannot hope to duplicate or reprise. But in my dark, quiet room, punctuated bythe brilliant lights on my little tree, "O Christmas Tree" seizes and sooths me... and reminds me how




sturdy God has made me... ready for the future to come...

"O Christmas tree, O Christmas tree How sturdy God hath made thee! Thou bidds't us all placefaithfully Our trust in God, unchangingly."

### We invite your comments on this article below.




ResourceAbout the Author Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a widerange of online services for small and-home based businesses. Services include home businesstraining, affiliate marketing training, earn-at-home programs, traffic tools, advertising, webcasting,hosting, design, WordPress Blogs and more. Find out why Worldprofit is considered the # 1 onlineHome Business Training program by getting a free Associate Membership today.

Republished with author's permission by Dale Thomson http://HomeBizGroup5000.com.



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Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas..Some Thoughts