adifrentdrumr's Xanga

A serious plea for help

Fri, 15 Aug 2008 01:36:50 GMT

Part of the reason why I have not been around very much on Xanga for quite a while is because for the past two years I have been devoting a lot of time and energy to my volunteer work rescuing, fostering, rehabilitating and re-homing homeless dogs. In that time I have fostered and placed nine dogs, adopted three myself, lost one of my own original two dogs (my beloved Dolly) to congestive heart failure, and just a couple of weeks ago our eldest furkid, Tommy the cat passed away from old age (he would have been 21 next month!)
Currently I have three foster dogs living with me, all seniors with medical issues. One of them, who we call Sandy "Putt-Putt", is in really bad shape, and has required me to give her 24 hour care for over 4 months now, with no end in sight. The rescue group I volunteer for had promised to reimburse all vet bills and medical expenses for foster dogs, but we have paid over $1500 ourselves that has not been repaid by the group. And now they are in serious financial difficulties, so it looks like we will not be getting repaid at all. Sandy's vet bills alone have been over $800 so far, and she is still undergoing vet care on a regular basis. We are now running into difficulty ourselves because of these expenses, and it is limiting the funds we can spend for the care and training of our own dogs, as well as the care of our other fosters.
So, I have set up a fund for Sandy's bills at fundable.com. It is set up for a limited time period, and with only eight days remaining, we still have quite a way to go before we reach our goal.
If you can spare a few dollars to help this sweet old dog, we would all be deeply grateful. If not, maybe you know someone that you can forward the link to who might be able to help?

Click on the picture below to go to Sandy's page on fundable.com and read her story and how to donate.

Thank you very very much from Sandy and the rest of the pack.

Death of an icon

Mon, 04 Aug 2008 02:25:37 GMT

This from today's news:

Alexander Solzhenitsyn dead at 89

The following song, one of my all time favorites, was inspired by the story of his life.

If you have never heard it, go download it right now and give it a listen --
it features one of the most beautiful female voices ever, and a truly awesome piano part as well:

Pays the price, works the seasons through
Frozen days, he thinks of you
Cold as ice but he burns for you
Mother Russia, can't you hear him too?

Mother's son, freedom's overdue
Lonely man, he thinks of you
He isn't done, only lives for you
Mother Russia, can't you hear him too?

Punished for his written thoughts
Starving for his fame
Working blindly, building blocks
Number for a name, his blood flows frozen to the snow

Red blood, white snow
He knows frozen rivers won't flow
So cold, so true
Mother Russia-he cries for you

Ooh ooh ...
Bah dah dah dah ...

Punished for his written thoughts
Starving for his fame
Working blindly, building blocks
Number for a name, his blood flows frozen to the snow

Red blood, white snow
He knows frozen rivers won't flow
So cold, so true
Mother Russia-he cries for you
-- Renaissance: "Mother Russia"

Did you ever wake up with bullfrogs on your mind?

Sat, 26 Apr 2008 21:24:45 GMT

You know how some music is just like a good old friend who always makes you feel better?
Today, I am listening to precisely that kind of music. Namely, a great live album by the multi-talented, and totally underrated David Bromberg, a Philadelphia area favorite since the early 70's -- who you can still catch live now and then. His shows are legendary, you never knew what you would hear, or who would show up on stage. And his lyrics, well, they are just brilliant! People of a 'certain age' might remember him well, and those of you who have never heard of him -- do youself a favor some lazy saturday afternoon and seek out some of his music on the 'net. I guarantee it will make you smile.
Following are the lyrics to one of his masterpieces -- a long, rambling, old-style 'talking blues' number called "Bullfrog Blues" -- it never failed to bring the house down 'back in the day' -- enjoy!
Hey did you ever wake up with, bullfrogs on your, bullfrogs on your, I mean mind?
Folks did you ever wake up, with bullfrogs on your mind?
Now that’s a sure sign good people you got, you got bullfrogs on your mind...
I’m gonna tell ya it’s hard, folks it’s hard when the woman your in love with loves your best friend.
I’m gonna tell ya it’s harder still, when she moves in with the dude. Thats's right.
But it’s extra special hard, when you and him are room mates.
I mean you look over at the pillow where your sweet darlin’ used to lay and still does.
There’s only one thing for you to do, you go down to the pawnshop and you, you speak to the man behind the man behind the Nikons and stilettos and stolen Martin Guitars and compasses and hair dryers...
And you say, "oh Mr. Pawn broker, what do those 3 balls mean on your wall?"
"What do those 3 balls mean on your wall?"
He says: “That means it’s 2 to 1 buddy, you’ll never get you’re shit back outta here at all!”
You say "Mr. Pawn Broker - hey wont you sell me a .38?"
"Oh please, just one little old .38?"
"Yes I used to take a .44, but lately I been losin' weight."
...So you buy yourself, you buy yourself a little 38 pearl-handled revolver and a double-breasted pin-striped suit, so you’re dressed to kill, so-to-speak.
You head back to your best friends house and you, you get a little high-chair-stool kinda thing and you, you peek over the transom into your best friends room...
And in that room you see
A one hundred percent mohair rug, a lizardskin Barcalounger with Magic Fingers. A Garard Turntable with a Pickering Cartridge, Bogen Amplifier, Jensen Speakers, Revox Tape Recorder and a Stromberg-Carlson AM FM Tuner.
A leather-bound five-year collection of playboy magazine, featuring the entire Playboy Philosophy by Hugh M. Heffner.
Schmuck.
A copy of The Whole Earth Catalogue, Siddhartha by Herman Hesse, The Trilogy of the Rings, all four volumes of the teachings of Don Juan and the fifth in manuscript.
The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran...autographed.
Some Spiderman and Fantastic Four comic books - featuring !Dr. Doom!
Some Zap comic books with the pages stuck together.
Some extra-wide cigarette papers featuring the visage of a former vice president of the United States.
Some very suspicious looking Baggies.
And a great big... Olympic sized... thermally heated... el mondo grosso waterbed...
with satin sheets, pink pillowcases,
and...and a fur bed spread.
And on that bed - twistin'and turnin’, rollin’ and tumblin’, shoutin’ and groanin’, jumpin’ and pumpin’, uttering wordless moans and unnamable exclamations, you see your baby and your best friend and good people,
I wish to tell you, its hard...
no, I mean its hard baby. Its hard cause you always thought your best friend was kind of a square and you see him in there doing things that would make Dr. Kinsey wanna cross his legs ya know.
So you get down from that stool you make a few quick notes, stick diagrams to indicate motion.
And you knock at the door.
'Course you don’t get no answer.
So you knock again, you still get no answer,
so you knock again,
no answer,so you charge at that door with all you might and mean, just at the moment that your room mate dressed in a green and yellow polka dot Cannon towel opens up the door and you go flying across the hundred percent mohair carpet, stumble into the lizardskin Barcalounger with Magic Fingers, tumble over the Garard Turntable with a Pickering Cartridge, Bogen Amplifier, Jensen Speakers, Revox Tape Recorder and a Stromberg-Carlson AM FM goddamn Tuner!!
People, I mean to say you go on by the leather bound 5-year collection of playboy magazine, featuring the entire playboy philosophy by Hugh M. Heffner.
(audience: Schmuck) thank you
You go on past Siddhartha by Herman Hesse, The Trilogy of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien, The Whole Earth Catalogue, The complete teachings of Don Juan,
You go on by The Prophet by Kahlil Gilbran, with all the significant passages underlined - every word in the book is underlined.
You stumble on by the Spiderman and Fantastic Four comic books featuring Dr. Doom.
You pass by the Zap comic books with the pages stuck together.
You tumble past the extra wide rolling papers bearing the visage of a former American Vice President and those suspicious looking baggies (copping one or two as you fly by...Shouldn’t be a total loss then.)
And you land in a little shapeless heap, right beside that great big, Olympic sized, thermally heated, el mondo grosso waterbed,
with the satin sheets, pink pillowcases, and the fur bed spread.
And as you pick yourself up off the floor you stop for a moment and you look around you and as you look around for the first time in the whole affair, you start to wonder,
you hear me folks? You start to wonder.
I don’t mean you just kinda wonder I mean you wu…uhhh…uhhhh….under baby!
I mean you wo, you wonder how the hell he got enough money to pay for all that shit in the first place is what you wonder!
Right about this time your sweetheart noticed the gun in your hand, and she come ups to you, she looks up at you, she says:
“don’t do anything self destructive now”.
Bitch
She looks up at you she says: “Johnny don’t point that that might be, Johnny don’t, oh Johnny no, Johnny don’t, oh no Johnny, no Johnny, oh God Johnny,oh Johnny, no, oh God, oh God!!
……………She knows your name is David.
And while she is talking to you, you see a, you see a great big tear form in the, left hand corner of her right hand eye.
For the first time in your whole relationship a genuine salt water tear.
You see that tear and it moves you, it moves you, heart and soul mind and body liver and spleen, the Islands of Langerhans and Medulla ala Longatta.
Folks I mean to say you see that thing and it moves you,
it, most of all it moves your hand holding the pistol so you got a dead bead on that lousy little tear going out the left hand corner of her right hand eye, that’s what it really moves!
And just as you’re, just as you’re about to pull the trigger.
Just as your about to squeeze out her life with the action and mechanism your about to perform,
just as your about to snuff out her entire existence, just as you’re about to do one thing you know can never ever undue, just as you’re about to send her on to the great beyond here after from which there is no return, henceforth hitherto whereas why for at all,
just as you’re about to kill the broad.
She looks up at you with those, weird eyes, and she says something to you at that moment, that stops you cold,
I mean she looks up at you and she says something to you at that moment that freezes your finger on the trigger, turns your knees to water and your brain to jelly, your toes to cupcakes.
It’s a pretty heavy thing she lays on ya.
She looks up at you at that moment, and she says...
gotta understand she knows she’s gonna die.
This girl is so close to death...
she looks up at you and, she says...
she’s so close to death she can read the caliber number and brand of the bullet that’s about to go through her brain that’s how close.
She looks up at you at that moment with those weird eyes, and she says...and those are weird eyes too I wanna tell you. This girl, no listen, this girl has weird eyes one of em’s red the others green. Used to be goin’ out with her she’d be blinking at me, stop, go, go stop ya know like that?
She looks up at you that moment and she says...
I’ll tell you what she says, just second, she says....
Ok next time I’ll tell you.
She looks up at you at that moment,
she cocks and eye at you, you cock an eye at her,
the two of you just stand there cockeyed for a half an hour.
And she says...she says...
”Hey, did you ever wake up, bullfrogs on your, bullfrogs on your, I mean mind, did you ever wake up…………?"

Thursday, March 20, 2008

Thu, 20 Mar 2008 18:51:27 GMT

Your Easter Bunny Name is

Cinna Bun MacBunny

Get your Easter Bunny Name at Quizopolis.com

Sunday, March 16, 2008

Sun, 16 Mar 2008 18:55:44 GMT

Just for fun --

a wee quizzie...

How Irish Are You?

You're 65% Irish

You're very Irish, and most likely from Ireland.
(And if you're not, you should be!)

How Irish Are You?

Looks like I must be Irish at heart, even though I haven't any Irish ancestry.

But I have been told that Welshmen are just Irishmen that got lost -- maybe there is some truth to that after all!

I guess I had better start boiling my corned beef, cabbage and potatoes for St Paddy's Day!

on my mind lately...

Tue, 07 Aug 2007 00:46:55 GMT

I know I have not been updated this blog or any of my webpages in ages -- been busy growing a business, taking care of my pets and foster dogs, and the house, and the gardens... but I just thought I would stop by and post this since it has been on my mind lately for some reason. If you do not know this poem, you should. If you read it long ago, perhaps, like me, you should take a look at it again with fresh eyes. For some reason which I don't even fully understand myself, it speaks to me more now than it ever has.

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

-T.S. Eliot

LET us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherised upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats	5
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question …	10
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,	15
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,	20
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;	25
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;	30
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

In the room the women come and go	35
Talking of Michelangelo.

And indeed there will be time
To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair—	40
[They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”]
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—
[They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”]
Do I dare	45
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all:—
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,	50
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?

And I have known the eyes already, known them all—	55
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?	60
And how should I presume?

And I have known the arms already, known them all—
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
[But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!]
It is perfume from a dress	65
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin? . . . . .
Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets	70
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?…

I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas. . . . . .
And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!	75
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep … tired … or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?	80
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head [grown slightly bald] brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet—and here’s no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,	85
And in short, I was afraid.

And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,	90
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”—	95
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say: “That is not what I meant at all.
That is not it, at all.”

And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,	100
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:	105
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
“That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all.” . . . . .	110
No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,	115
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old … I grow old …	120
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.	125

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown	130
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

Saturday, February 03, 2007

Sat, 03 Feb 2007 04:00:36 GMT

Happy Ground Hog Day!

(Alright, so it ain't a groundhog. It's all I had handy. So sue me.)

All I can say is that if that little booger saw his shadow this morning, he was hallucinating!!

I haven't seen such a grey and dreary day in ... well, since the last grey and dreary day.

Which they are all starting to feel like, pretty much.

Yep, the winter blues are setting in...

...so just wake me when spring arrives, okay?

Tuesday, January 30, 2007

Tue, 30 Jan 2007 03:56:23 GMT

Such goings-on!

The past six months have been such a flurry of activity, I haven't even had time to update my blog(s)...

So I put on a new background that sort of sums up what I feel like I have been in the middle of!!

Thanks to those of you who have stopped by and left messages for me, even though I haven't been around Xanga much at all (but you never know when I might be reading and just not having time to comment!!)

Briefly, the craziness that has invaded my life revolves around two things I have gotten involved in, both fulfilling long-time dreams and aspirations...

my new business venture

www.especiallyfuryou.com

-and-

Pet Rescue

Pom Posse Pomeranian Rescue

The eBay Store is the realization of a dream I have had for about six years, to make and sell unique and original design products for pets and the people who love them. My 83 year old Aunt Mary and my cousin Shirley (who live down near the shore, about an hour away from me) have joined with me in making this a reality. So far we are producing a small variety of items, centered around my own original design slip-on, bowtie-decorated, reversible pet bandanna, sized and shaped to really fit dogs in all shapes and sizes. I call these bandannas Quickerchiefs, and even got a small webpage started just for them:

www.quickerchief.com

We're also making different kinds of dog beds, blankets and crate pads, warm polar fleece dog vests, and fleece scarves and ruanas for people. And a bunch more stuff, with even more on the way. Lots of items are custom made to fit, with choices of fabric and size, plus personalized embroidery and embroidered graphics. My cousin does the embroidery on her machines, and we are doing a lot of things with specific dog breed embroidery or other designs. In addition to the eBay store, we also have a couple of small pet shops carrying our products here in New Jersey, and hope to expand into more in the coming year, as well as set up a booth in a couple of shows or festivals.

Our eBay store is called "Especially Fur You Pet Boutique", but the handcrafted stuff we are creating is called "Especially Fur You by Princess Dolly". That's right, Dolly has her own business now. She is official spokesdog and VP of product testing. On Dolly and Pearl's blog, she and Pearl described in detail a lot of what went into starting the business (as seen through their eyes, that is) but I have been bad, and haven't updated it for a while.

Right now I am taking a break from doing eBay listings, which I need to get back to, but thought it was a good time to ~~procrastinate~~ update my blog...

The Pet Rescue that I have gotten involved with centers around Bosley's Pom Posse - a nationwide volunteer foster-based group that rescues Pomeranians and Pom mixes (and some chihuahuas) from "death row" in pounds and animal shelters all over the country and fosters them in individual homes, getting the TLC, training and vet care they need while they await adoption into "Forever Homes". We locate the dogs in need, call the shelters to check on them, network with local rescue groups, and when no other solution can be arranged, we step in and pull the dogs from the shelters ourselves.

The foster homes we have are not always near the shelters, so we also work with a network of transport, with volunteers chauffering these animals across the country from location to location in relays (each 'leg' about an hour or two, or 50-100 miles) I especially enjoy the transport aspect -- and have driven transport for other groups beside Pom Posse, moving all different breeds of dogs and some cats too. I even hosted one little chi-mix overnite on her way from South Carolina to upstate New York, a two day journey that ended on Christmas eve! Bernie has gone along with me a couple of times -- he is fascinated with the transports that go on all the time, and says we are like an "Underground Railroad" for critters!

We have also fostered two poms. The first is Roxy, an oversized 4 year old boy who was reascued, adopted out and then returned due to 'behavior problems' (I think it was more of the owners' problems than the dog's!) I had him from October, but since the end of December he has been visiting my cousin down at the beach a lot and they are in te process of adopting him. He is a bit too big and boisterous for my household, full of senior cats and small, older Poms, but he fits in perfectly down at the shore with them, and LOVES walking on the beach.

Our second foster, Rudy, was dumped in a pound here in NJ in the end of October by his owner who had him for 12 years. When Rudy developed health issues, the owner gave him up because they couldn't pay. He wasn't doing well in the shelter, and was considered pretty much 'unadoptable' because of his age, health problems, and the fact that he wouldn't let anyone near him. He was so scared and confused, he just wanted everybody to leave him alone, and let him go home. (poor little guy) So when I got the call that he was going to be PTS (Put To Sleep) after Veteran's Day Weekend Bernie and I drove to the pound (about 45 minutes away) and rescued the terrified, growly little furball. Well, it was the hand of fate, I am sure. Rudy fit in perfectly with our household, and wasn't nasty or nippy at all (just a little grumbly -- but it's kinda cute) Dolly and Pearl loved him, too.

And surprise, surprise - a little surgery (part of which was a long-overdue neuter), teeth cleaning and a molar pulled, some dietary supplements and a LOT of TLC, and little Rudy is happy, comfortable, and in surprisingly good health for his age! We can't bear the thought of him having to go through the transition to yet another home at this age, and we have gotten pretty fond of him, too, so we are in the processof adopting him ourselves and making him apermanent family member, rather than just a foster dog.

Meanwhile, Dolly has developed a little bit of health problems in her advancing age (she turns 12 tomorrow) but the vet has her on meds that seem to be helping. Tommy the Idiot Boy (our oldest cat) turned 19 in September and is still going strong, annoying as ever! Bernie has been dealing with a few health challenges, with his bones and joints, and is in the process of getting that checked out. My nephew and his young lady are moving up to NJ from North Carolina, where they have resided for the past 5 years. She will be doing Post-Doctoral research work in genetics at Rutgers U, and he is looking for another job. Maybe when they are living in NJ, it will mean that my brother will come in from central PA more often to visit -- I miss him. The other nephew is out in Harrisburg, struggling with corporate employment (he is a free spirit like his favorite aunt, and the corporate world is killing him!) My first Great-Niece, Jaime was born last spring, and is growing up too fast, like babies will do (she is actually my cousin's granddaughter, but since my cousin's kids always thought of me as their aunt rather than second cousin, I consider them nieces and nephew, and Jaime a great-niece)

I didn't get nearly as much done on the house and gardens as I wanted last year, but the gardens are asleep now for the winter, and the house didn't fall down yet, so it's all good...

So that's about it for me and my life lately...

I don't know when I will have a chance to update again, but hopefully things will go a bit more smoothly, as all the new stuff falls into more of a routine as time passes.

Be well, keep warm, and Think Spring!

Monday, January 01, 2007

Mon, 01 Jan 2007 05:51:13 GMT

HAPPY NEW YEAR

2007!

The Second-Best Christmas Story Ever Sung

Sun, 24 Dec 2006 16:38:09 GMT

Christmas in The Trenches

This song is based on a true story from the front lines of World War I France that I've heard many times. According to a recent source, Ian Calhoun, a Scot, was the commanding officer of the British forces involved in the story. He was subsequently court-martialed for `consorting with the enemy' and sentenced to death. Only George V spared him from that fate.
-- John McCutcheon

My name is Francis Toliver, I come from Liverpool.
Two years ago the war was waiting for me after school.
To Belgium and to Flanders, to Germany to here
I fought for King and country I love dear.
Twas Christmas in the trenches, where the frost so bitter hung
The frozen fields of France were still,
no Christmas song was sung.
Our families back in England were toasting us that day
Their brave and glorious lads so far away.
I was lying with my messmate on the cold an rocky ground
When across the lines of battle came a most peculiar sound.
Says I, "Now listen up, me boys!" each soldier strained to hear
As one young German voice sang out so clear.
"He's singing bloody well, you know!" my partner says to me.
Soon, one by one, each German voice joined in harmony.
The cannons rested silent, the gas clouds rolled no more
As Christmas brought us respite from the war.
As soon as they were finished and a reverent pause was spent
"God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen" struck up some lads from Kent.
The next they sang was "Stille Nacht," "Tis 'Silent Night,'" says I
And in two tongues one song filled up that sky.
"There's someone coming towards us!" the front line sentry cried.
All sights were fixed on one lone figure trudging from their side.
His truce flag, like a Christmas star, shone on that plain so bright
As he, bravely, strode unarmed into the night.
Soon one by one on either side walked into No Man's Land
With neither gun nor bayonet we met there hand to hand.
We shared some secret brandy and wished each other well
And in a flare lit soccer game we gave 'em hell.
We traded chocolates, cigarettes, and photographs from home.
These sons and fathers far away from families of their own.
Young Sanders played his squeezebox and they had a violin
This curious and unlikely band of men.
Soon daylight stole upon us and France was France once more
With sad farewells we each prepared to settle back to war
But the question haunted every heart that lived that wondrous night
"Whose family have I fixed within my sights?"
'Twas Christmas in the trenches where the frost, so bitter hung.
The frozen fields of France were warmed as songs of peace were sung.
For the walls they'd kept between us to exact the work of war
Had been crumbled and were gone forevermore.
My name is Francis Toliver, in Liverpool I dwell,
Each Christmas come since World War I, I've learned its lessons well,
That the ones who call the shots won't be among the dead and lame
And on each end of the rifle we're the same.

Copyright © 1984 John McCutcheon / Appalsong
Reprinted for Fair Use Only.

...ShaloMerryChristmaSolsticeBlessings...

May Peace on Earth

and

Good Will

to ALL Men

soon become reality,

...starting within each of our own hearts.