Santa and the Lumberjacks -- a somewhat tall tale

 

 

Since the holiday season is coming, I thought it would be fun to revisit those long ago holidays when gifts and food and holiday decorations were hand made. I still try to create handmade gifts for my children and grandchildren – everything from games and storybooks to body pillows and quilts. At one time, I would write short stories and incorporate them into the Christmas cards I sent to family and friends. As my holiday gift to you, here is one of those stories. Enjoy and happy holidays.

SANTA AND THE LUMBERJACKS

A Somewhat Tall Tale 

            A very long, long time ago, before video games and 4-wheelers and even before television, families made each other gifts for Christmas out of what was available to them. Mothers would make patchwork quilts to keep the children warm at night, and fathers would carve animals and toy tops out of small chunks of wood. Children would take scraps of paper and make paper chains to hang around the house to give it a festive air. On Christmas morning, Santa would leave each child a peppermint stick and perhaps, if they were very good, an orange in their stocking.

            But then one year, word reached Santa that a late frost hit the orange orchards, destroying the blossoms and there would be no oranges. Santa didn’t know what he would do for the children he visited. As he walked home through the woods where he lived, he came across a group of lumberjacks, sitting by the side of the road in tears.

            Now Santa was a big, jolly man, but lumberjacks were an even heartier group, and Santa had often seen them felling trees with a single blow of an ax. The men were large enough that it only took one of them to hoist a tree onto a wagon, or toss it into the river to float downstream. So you can understand that seeing these huge men sniffling and wailing was a trifle upsetting for Santa.

            “What is wrong?” he asked the first man.

            “The forest has been sold; the mill shut down,” the man said. He jerked a hanky out of his pocket that was larger than a blanket and it landed on Santa, covering him from head to foot. As the lumberjack dabbed at his eyes with one corner, Santa struggled out from under the blue fleece.

            “What are we to do?” shouted another, stirring up such a wind it knocked Santa down and blew his hat right off his head where it landed in the snow.

            Santa was almost afraid to ask another question.

            “Are all of you lumberjacks? Can’t you find other work?”

            “I am the cook for the lumber company,” answered a man with a strange looking metal pot on his head where a cap would normally be. He held several spoons in one huge hand, and a mixing bowl in the other that was gigantic enough for Santa to use as a bathtub. Before Santa could say a word, yet another piped up.

            “And I am Patch, for I mend the clothes and tend the cuts for all the men who fell the trees.” Santa could certainly see how the man got his name, for his clothes were a patchwork of colors and patterns, and scraps of material stuck out of each and every one of his pockets.

            “Well, come along with me, and I will take you home where Mrs. Claus will feed you some supper.” Santa had a generous heart, and though he didn’t know how to find oranges for the children’s Christmas this year, he did know that Mrs. Claus would welcome these men into their home.

            Mrs. Claus had just baked bread and when she offered some to the hungry men, one lumberjack popped a whole loaf into his mouth as though it were a gumdrop. Her eyes widened and she hurriedly chopped another bushel of vegetables into the stew she was making. When it was ready, she scooped hearty portions into her biggest pots for the hungry lumberjacks, happy she had enough to feed them. But then they sat down on her chairs and the legs broke under each and every one of the huge men.

            Not wanting to be impolite, Mrs. Claus smiled and asked them very nicely, “Would you mind standing up to eat?”

            She then turned to Santa and whispered, “They can not stay here, for the beds are too small and by morning we would not have a lick of furniture left.”

            Santa said the lumberjacks could stay in the barn, but when they tried to go inside, only two of them would fit, and only after they had knocked out the stalls for the mules.

            “I will stay in the milk house,” Patch said, laying large boards on top of the milk cans to make a bed.

            “I will sleep in the tool shed,” said Cook, opening the door. Before Santa could say a word, he began throwing hoes and shovels, trowels and rakes out into the snow. Even empty, the shed was not large, and as Santa walked back to the house, he saw that Cook’s feet stuck out of the doorway. He would have to ask Mrs. Claus for an extra blanket.

* * *

            Santa woke up in the morning to an incredible amount of racket. It was usually very quiet in the woods where he and Mrs. Claus lived, and he couldn’t figure out what would make so much pounding, sawing, hammering and whirring noise.

            When he went outside to see, he found the lumberjacks all at work. They had cut down trees (only the dead ones as they were environmentally friendly), shaved off the bark and were whittling dolls and hobbyhorses, toy trains and soldiers. Patch was sewing little clothes for the dolls, and Cook had taken apart a mop and was using the string to make manes for the hobbyhorses.

            One of the lumberjacks, the tallest and widest of them all, blushed as he explained the noise to Santa. “You were so kind to give us food and a place to sleep. We heard you tell Mrs. Claus there would be no oranges for the children this year, so we decided to make them toys instead.”

            “Why that is very nice of you,” Santa replied, “but you have made so many.” He looked around the barn, where dolls and toy soldiers sat in neat rows all along the hayloft. The hobbyhorses were lined up along one wall, their faces comical as one lumberjack painted on eyes and smiles. Though the lumberjacks were very large and two of them barely fit in the barn, they had made all the toys just the right size for children.

            “Ouch,” Patch cried when he forgot and stood up straight, his head poking a hole right through the roof.

            “I think we are going to have to build a bigger workshop,” Santa stated. “One where you will not have to walk on your knees or sleep with your feet sticking out the door.”

            Not only did the lumberjacks make toys and trains and hobby horses, they quickly built Santa a huge building tall enough so all four could work inside and no one banged their head on the roof. And thus began Santa’s Workshop.

* * *

            Christmas Eve came with a new layer of snow all over everything to make the landscape white and glittering.

            “I’ve made you a new coat to keep you warm,” Mrs. Claus said, holding it up for Santa. “But Patch used all my material, and even cut up the blanket for the toy soldiers’ coats, and so I had only this red fur to use.”

            Of course, Santa wasn’t about to tell Mrs. Claus that he didn’t look good in red, so he allowed her to help him into the coat, buckling a wide black belt around his middle to keep it closed.

            The lumberjacks put all the toys into gigantic bags and loaded them onto Santa’s wagon. Then they hitched the mules to the harness. They stood beside Mrs. Claus and waved, their huge hands causing the new snow to flurry about so much they couldn’t see Santa as he drove out of sight.

Mrs. Clause only hoped he would not drive the mules right off the road, for not only was there no light to brighten the way, but Bessie, one of the mules, was blind in one eye and really shouldn’t be out late at night. Thankfully, Santa only went to the neighboring villages and farms, always getting home before dawn.

* * *

            Sleepy and tired from his night on the road, Santa unhitched the mules and put them to bed in the barn. He dragged his bag of leftover toys behind him as he walked to the house, hoping Mrs. Claus would have a hot breakfast waiting for him.

            When he opened the door, it was to find Mrs. Claus crying, her apron full of tears and the floor awash with puddles.

            “What has happened?” he asked, dropping his bag into the corner.

            “They reopened the mill so the lumberjacks have left!” she wailed.

“But you didn’t care for the fact they broke your chairs and cut up your blankets and that Patch put a hole in the roof of the barn with his head.”

            “I know, and they ruined the tools when they tossed them out into the snow,” she added to the list of grievances against the lumberjacks.

            “Then why are you crying now that they have gone?” Santa shook his head.

            “How will we make toys for the children next year?”

            “Well, perhaps I will have to get apples if the orange trees fail again,” Santa said with a sigh.

            “We can help.”

Santa thought Mrs. Claus had spoken, though the words were much higher than her sweet voice. “I know you will, dear,” he replied, patting her on the shoulder.

            “I didn’t say anything. I thought you had spoken,” she told him.

            “Let us out. We want to help.” A thumping sound came from the corner, and when Santa turned, he saw his bag wiggling and bumping all over the floor.

            “What on earth?” Mrs. Claus asked.

            “The lumberjacks made so many dolls and soldiers, I had some left over,” Santa replied as he carefully approached the squirming, jumping bag. He pulled the tie that kept it closed. Out tumbled the dolls in their patchwork dresses and the soldiers in their blanket uniforms, all talking at once.

            “We should make more trains and bicycles to ride on.”

“And doll houses to live in.”

“And games to play like checkers and dominoes.”

Santa and Mrs. Claus were so surprised, they fell into the only two chairs not broken by the lumberjacks. The small dolls and soldiers, so very different from the huge lumbering men who had been there just the night before, laughed and chattered happily.

“Well, we won’t have to worry about anyone putting a hole in the roof with their head, now will we?” Mrs. Claus asked.

“And even though there are many more of them, I don’t suppose they will eat as much as the lumberjacks, will they?” Santa said as he watched the dolls and soldiers merrily dance around the room, still talking excitedly about all the toys they wanted to make.

“If you make so many trains and bikes and games and doll houses, how will I ever get them all delivered?” Santa asked. “I went as far and wide as I could with my wagon and mules, and still, I had all of you left over.”

The dolls looked at the soldiers, and they all giggled.

“I think we had better go outside for this,” said one soldier with red painted cheeks and a button nose.

The soldiers dragged Santa’s bag out into the yard. The dolls grabbed Santa and Mrs. Claus by the hands and pulled and pushed them out onto the porch. It was just before dawn and the glint of new fallen snow made everything glitter and twinkle like a fairyland.

“Hurry, before it’s too late,” one of the dolls said. “The magic is almost over.”

As Santa watched, two soldiers held the bag open and another went inside. He could hear whispers and neighs and all kinds of noise as the bag jumped around and looked like it was alive.

“Here they come!” a muffled voice hollered from deep inside the bag.

The head of one hobbyhorse poked out of the bag, followed by another and another. Where once they had only a stick for a body, now they had four legs. As they emerged and stood wobbling in the snow, they grew and grew and sprouted beautiful antlers on their heads.

“Why, you’re reindeer!” Santa exclaimed.

One of the reindeer, whose nose was painted bright red, nodded, the bells on his antlers jingling merrily.

“We can fly, too,” said one. “We’ll make sure you’re on time to each and every child’s house on Christmas Eve, delivering all the toys made by your…” The reindeer looked curiously at the toys.

“We’re dolls.”

“We’re soldiers.”

“Hmm, we can’t keep calling you that,” Santa said. “Let’s see. There are eleven of you.”

“Elvens,” repeated one of the baby dolls who was just learning to talk.

“That’s it!” Santa exclaimed, his belly shaking with his laughter. “We’ll call you elves!”

So the story is told that thanks to the huge and hearty lumberjacks, Santa now has a workshop and a merry group of elves to help him make toys every year. And with the speed of the magical reindeer, Santa has time to deliver all those toys to good girls and boys all over the world.

If you love holiday stories, I invite you to visit my page at Books We Love at https://bwlpublishing.ca/baldwin-barbara/ where I have three of them waiting for your reading pleasure. “If Wishes Were Magic”, “Always Believe” and “Snowflakes and Kisses” are all available in both ebook and print.

Barbara Baldwin

www.authorsden.com/barbarajbaldwin

www.amazon.com/author/barbarabaldwin

Holidays on the Horizon by Janet Lane Walters @BWLAuthor #MFRWAuthor #Holidays #Stockings #Christmas #Horror Writer's Demise

 Another month has arrived. At present I'm busily working on a new book in a new Series The Writer's House. In the area where I live, there was and still may be a house that rented space to various membrs of the Arts community. This new series takes place in a house where the authors can find a space to write and not be bothered by family and other diversions.

Valentina Hartley is the heroine. She is new to town and goes to an evening lecture on Ideas for Writing Your Book. When the lecture is finished, Val who does research at present for college professors leaves to find the foyer, porch and parking lot lights out. She stumbles over the body of a dead man. His throat has been slit. She is helped to stand by her new friend who has a half house she can rent to bring her son and mother to town. At present she is living in a warehouse her business partner has rented.

Kyle Bradley a detective on the local police force is a widower. His sister, Dana has given up her position as a nurse to care for his son following the boy's mother's death. The dead man is a mystery. Fairly new to town, he has taken the horror writing community by storm, His origins are mysterious.

Thus the story begins and hopefully will be solved. But can the murderer be caught?

How do the holidays fit in. They are there since I need to have the book to my publisher before Christmas. The holidays will be busy this year.

I;ve started buying for Christmas Stockings. This year I have seventeen to do. They must be started early since many of them must be sent to children and grandchildren at a distance. Six to Florida and 2 to Georgia. The rest are rather local which is nice. Except  five must be done before they leave on their cruise.  I really enjoy doing the stockings and finding unusual things they might use. Pens are always put into them and I ave new ones with myname on them for this year. I also give them socks to wear. One year I decided not to do the socks but I got calls in protest so now they receive their socks.

The Origins of Halloween by Eileen O'Finlan

NEW RELEASE! 

Click here for purchase information

In my new historical novel, The Folklorist, main character, Charlotte Lajoie, puts together an exhibit on the history and evolution of Halloween for the New England Folklife Museum where she works. To accurately describe the exhibit, I had to do research on the subject. For this I relied heavily on a wonderful book by Halloween expert Lisa Morton called Trick or Treat: A History of Halloween.

I could not possibly relate all I learned in one blog post, so I will just offer an overview of the origins of the Halloween. 

As many people know, the holiday we celebrate on October 31st had its beginnings in the ancient Celtic festival of Samhain, which means "summer's end." A Druid religious holiday, it was a three-day festival celebrating the reaping of an abundant harvest and the belief that souls journeyed to the other world, which they called Tir na tSamhraidh (Land of Summer) at this time. They believed that the veil between this world and that one was very thin at Samhain, allowing the dead to return to the living, and creatures called sidh (fairies) to cross to our side. On Samhain, a gathering was held that featured feasting, sports, repayment of debts, and legal trials, followed in some cases, by executions. Story-telling featured prominently at the festival, most stories having an eerie, supernatural element to them. Fortune-telling was also a favored element of Samhain.

Interestingly, by the 7th century, when the Celtic lands were Christianized, Samhain didn't totally disappear. It was transformed, yet it remained a religious holiday. By the 8th century, Pope Gregory III moved the feast of All Saints to November 1st, and 100 years later Pope Gregory IV declared it a universal Church holiday. Because "hallow" comes from the Old English word "halga", meaning holy, the night before All Saints Day became All Hallows' Eve, eventually morphing into Hallowe'en and finally Halloween.

Like Samhain, it was a three-day celebration consisting of All Hallows' Eve, All Saints Day, and All Souls Day. Though the Church purposely supplanted Samhain with these three days, the Celts were unwilling to entirely give up their ancient roots. They celebrated with traditional foods reminiscent of those used for the ancient festival and retained the mix of joyful celebration and somber contemplation of death.

By 1350 the Black Death had killed 60% of Europe's population. Popular culture changed along with this calamity bringing about a morbid fascination and obsession with death. The invention of the printing press allowed for the dissemination of artwork. Especially popular was an image known as the Danse Macabre which featured skeletons and Grim Reapers. These images soon became incorporated into the All Hallows' Eve festival especially since the belief that the dead cross over at this time had not left the Celtic lands. 

With the tens of thousands of women executed for witchcraft in the 1480s,  another Halloween icon arose - the witch. Suspected witches were often accused of causing or spreading the Plague and were believed to have a close association and sometimes a sexual relationship with devil. They soon became incorporated into the holiday as well. The traditional  image of the witch with a broom, cauldron, and cat, all symbols of female housekeeping, began to appear at this time.

It was in the mid-19th century that Halloween finally made its way to America along with Irish and Scottish immigrants.  As the newly emerging middle-class tried to imitate the British, they became fascinated with Queen Victoria's 1869 Halloween visit to Balmoral Castle in Scotland reported on in American newspapers. If the queen could celebrate Halloween, so could they!

By the early 20th century, Halloween was becoming established in America, though it was still very much an adult affair. That's not to say kids had no part in it. Children's Halloween parties became popular by the by the 1920s. On the downside, teen boys became so enamored of Halloween pranks that they grew in intensity and became so out of control that by the 1930s Halloween was nearly outlawed.

Civic organizations saved the day by offering parties, parades, costuming, carnivals, and contests to supplant the pranking. Handbooks, popular from 1915 to 1950 were written with instructions on how to celebrate the holiday. In the 1930s, neighbors pooled resources to create "house-to-house parties" in which groups of kids were taken from one house to the next, each house hosting a different theme - the precursor to trick-or-treating.

 

Finally, Halloween in America as we know it today came into its own shortly after World War II with the development of suburban neighborhoods and the ability to safely trick-or-treat for candy.

So, as you celebrate Halloween this year, remember you are taking part in a holiday with a long, varied, and fascinating history! 

 

On Finishing Manuscripts by Vanessa C. Hawkins

 

 

 Vanessa Hawkins Author Page

Exhausted and overcome by Christmas and another completed manuscript, I have naught the energy to write much more this month. So I shall give you fine readers this: a poem on finishing manuscripts. Enjoy! 

Twas the night before New Years, 

And all in the house,

A mother was writing

and trying to rouse

her creations! 

Of romance! and fear! and conclusions, 

but kiddos indulged with sugar lllusions

won't sleep. And now it is half past the hour, 

and mother, up late, is starting to sour,

and so as the hen scratch digs wounds on the page, 

she worries her ire is starting to rage, 

but despite all her kids and her spouse and chores, 

she finishes early, the manuscript soars!

from 'in progress' to 'finished'

my, what a delight, 

but now everyone's sleeping

she's up past midnight.

 So the New Year is gone, 

and the fireworks done, 

and now all she has left 

is to edit...

No fun. 

Hope everyone had a Happy New Year! :) 

Leave It to Santa to Take Credit for Everything Us Moms Do by Vanessa C. Hawkins

 

 

 Vanessa Hawkins Author Page

      It is December, which for most, is the month of holiday cheer, presents, candy canes and Santa Claus, but for me its the inevitable month of writer's block. Nanowrimo--which for those of you that don't know is abbreviated for National November Writing Month (I think...)--- is the month where we write a bunch of words as fast as we can, with the ultimate goal of acheiving 50k words.

So 50k. It's a goal I used to find feasible, but after having spawn, realized it was way too &5^$ing crazy for me to ever accomplish now. SO I aimed for 10K and hit the mark. Now it's December, and I feel like a deflated bag of goo, chock full of little hairs, rocks and whatever else you may find stuck to the carpet. 

Me.

Now how am I supposed to write when there is Christmas to think about? Not to mention that I used up all my good ideas in an effort to get my draft done (which it isn't, by the way). I figure I have about 10k more words to go, but all I want is a good hoodie, some wine and true crime shows. 

Merry Christmas! Next up on Cold Case Files...

And you know... It used to be that if you finished Nano, you got a sticker. Now they don't give them out (at least where I am) so I can't even do it for the bragging rights! Not to mention that they changed the website and I can't even see my past achievements... you know... the days when I WAS able to write 50k in one month. 

So I guess I'll just keep writing and figure it out later. Afterall, that's what I told y'all to do when you get a case of writer's block. Wouldn't make any sense for me to tell others to keep on truckin' right? 

Ughh... I hope Santa brings me a nap...

Easter by Barbara Baldwin

Find all my books at www.bookswelove.com

Easter

Did I miss it?

Daylight savings time has started. And the spring equinox occurred back in March. What happened to Easter?

In the United States, our holidays seem to fall in two ways. First, we have those that fall on the same numeric day every year – January 1, February 14, July 4, and December 25, among others. Then we have those holidays that fall on the same day of the month – Mother’s Day is the second Sunday in May and Father’s day is on the third Sunday of June; Indigenous People’s Day and Labor day on the first Monday of their respective months; Thanksgiving on the fourth Thursday of November. Even USA elections are set on the first Tuesday after the first Monday of November.

But Easter can vary every year as much as a month, coming as early as March 22 or as late as April 25 because it is set according to the moon. Specifically, Easter is celebrated on the first Sunday following the full Moon that occurs on or just after the spring equinox.

And if that isn’t enough to confuse you, take a look at Easter treats. Valentine’s Day is all about chocolate. Christmas is fondly highlighted not only with candy canes but with favorite baked goods. But here comes the Easter Bunny with hard boiled eggs, jelly bean eggs, speckled “bird” eggs, chocolate covered marshmallow eggs, peanut butter eggs, Cadbury™ eggs and hard shell cream eggs. EGGS, EGGS, EGGS! And bunnies don’t even lay eggs, so where did that come from? According to some sources, the Easter bunny first arrived in America in the 1700s with German immigrants who settled in Pennsylvania and transported their tradition of an egg-laying hare called “Osterhase” or “Oschter Haws.” Their children made nests in which this creature could lay its colored eggs. Baskets began to be used later in place of nests. The egg, an ancient symbol of new life, has often been associated with pagan festivals celebrating spring.

However you celebrate Easter, I hope it is joyous and full of sunshine and happiness. And in case you don’t care for all the candy that comes along with the holiday (as if), fill your Easter basket with some good books. They’re fulfilling but have no calories!

Barbara Baldwin

http://www.authorsden.com/barbarajbaldwin

https://bookswelove.net/baldwin-barbara/

Amazon.com: Barbara Baldwin: Books, Biography, Blog, Audiobooks, Kindle

 

 

 

 

Holidays by J. S. Marlo

 

 

 

Seasoned Hearts

"Love & Sacrifice #1"

is now available  

click here

 

 

The Red Quilt

"a sweet & uplifting holiday story"

click here

J. S. Marlo's BWL Books

I started a new series titled Fifteen Shades. The series consists of holiday tales inspired by colours. The first book The Red Quilt was released in December 2021. The Red Quilt takes place at Christmas and features fifteen shades of red.

I started the second book. It is supposed to take place during Canadian thanksgiving and feature fifteen shades of blue. Now, in the last few weeks, I’ve been rethinking the setting, so I’ve been looking at other holidays celebrated in my home country.

Valentine’s Day (St. Valentine’s Day):

 

Valentine’s Day celebrates romantic love, friendship, and admiration. It is celebrated on 14 February in over 28 countries. In the Philippines, 14 February is the most common wedding anniversary day.

 

St. Patrick’s Day (The Feast of St. Patrick):

 

St. Patrick’s Day is a cultural and religious holiday celebrated on 17 March, the traditional death date of Saint Patrick, the foremost patron saint of Ireland. It is celebrated in more than 50 countries.

 

Easter:

 

Easter is both a pagan and a religious holiday. It is referred to a as a moveable feast. Its date varies according to the calendar originally used (Gregorian vs Julian) and the day of the last full moon (either astronomical or Julian). In Western countries, it can fall on any Sunday between 22 March and 25 April, but in some Eastern parts of the world, it can fall on any Sunday between 4 April and May 8. Around 95 countries celebrate Easter, but traditions vary by countries.

 

Canada Day:

 

Canada Day is celebrated on 1 July.

 

Thanksgiving:

 

Thanksgiving celebrates the harvest and blessings of the past year. There are roughly 17 countries that celebrate their own version of
Thanksgiving. The date and traditions varies by countries. In Canada, it is celebrated on the second Monday of October, and in the United States, it is celebrated on the fourth Thursday of November.

 

Halloween:

 

Halloween is a combination of pagan and religious rituals, and is believed to be one of the oldest celebrations in the world. It is celebrated toward the end of October/beginning of November (mostly on 31 October and 2 November) in around 40 countries.

 

Remembrance Day:

 

Remembrance Day is a memorial day observed on 11 November throughout the British Commonwealth since the end of WW1. It is also known as Armistice Day or Poppy Day. The day is also marked by war remembrances in many non-Commonwealth countries.

 

Every year since 1919, on the 11^th hour of the 11^th day of the 11^th month, we observe a moment of silence to mark the sacrifice of the many who have fallen in the service of their country, and to acknowledge the courage of those who still serve.

Christmas:

 

Christmas is both a sacred religious holiday and a worldwide cultural and commercial phenomenon. More than two billion people in over 160 countries celebrated Christmas. It is the most celebrated holiday in the world, but the day (see map) and the traditions associated with this holiday vary by countries.

 

New Year:

 

The New Year celebration is a global event with different types of celebration. The Pacific Islands of Tonga, Samoa, Kiribati were the first to welcome 1 January 2022 while Baker and Howland Islands were the last.

 

Happy Spring! Happy Easter! Stay safe!

JS

 

 

J. S. Marlo's Website

 

Happy New Year! by Eileen O'Finlan

 

Click here for purchase information

Click here to visit Eileen O'Finlan's website

I'm sometimes asked why there is no mention of Christmas in either Kelegeen or Erin's Children. The answer is simple. In Kelegeen the characters are too busy trying not to starve to death during Ireland's Great Hunger to celebrate Christmas and in Erin's Children which is set in Massachusetts, the holiday wasn't much celebrated. While the time period for Erin's Children, the 1850s, saw the establishment of Christmas as a holiday in Massachusetts (in 1856) it would still be a while before it got much real attention. Thanksgiving was the really big holiday at the time (you'll find three of them in Erin's Children!) along with George Washington's birthday and the 4th of July. New Year's was also celebrated though not with the same fanfare we associate with the holiday today.

Before 1752 New Years was celebrated on March 25th, the date when the new year started according to the Julian calendar. In colonial times young ladies prepared bowls of wassail and went "wassailing." The word comes from Middle English and means "health to you." The drink consisted of mulled ale or cider and sugar, ginger, cinnamon, and other spices and little bits of toast floating on top. It was also customary to give small gifts on New Years. In the 18th century these gifts were usually oranges decorated with ribbon and spiked with cloves. By the 19th century people began exchanging other gifts, though they were still just small tokens. 

In my current work-in-progress, sixteen year old Jerusha Kendall is given a diary for New Years in 1838. What she writes in it throughout the year piques the interest of Charlotte Lajoie, a folklorist and one of Jerusha's descendants, who uses it to uncover a long-hidden family secret. Thank goodness for New Years presents.

                                     

Happy National Peppermint Latte Day! ... by Diane Bator

 

Drop Dead Cowboy, Book 1 Sugarwood Mysteries

 Happy National Peppermint Latte Day!

Yes, it's for real! (https://web-holidays.com/blog/2018/11/04/national-peppermint-latte-day/) 

Did you know that there is a holiday for nearly every day of the year? I discovered that a couple years ago when one of my co-workers decided it would be fun to have something to celebrate every day. I never really put much thought into that until this year.

The world has been a tumultuous place the past 2 years. We've been locked up, had shots we never thought we'd need, and discovered sources of anxiety we never thought we'd have. Truly, who would've thought we'd be afraid to be in the same room as other people?

When I was asked to write a blog for the holidays, my first thought was Bah-humbug. What's there to celebrate? Not even the characters in the Christmas book I'm working on seemed concerned about the holiday season so why should I?

Then I discovered that anything can be a source of celebration.

Even Peppermint Lattes.

So, how does this relate to writing? Procrastination for one. I found digging into what December celebrations made the calendar a pretty steep rabbit hole to fall into. Along the path, I also found inspiration in the form of Peppermint Latte Day which resulted in two of my characters discussing murder over Christmas cookies and a latte in my newest Sugarwood Mystery, Dead Man's Doll, coming in September 2022:

Sugarwood, Ontario was known for two things:  maple syrup and our Christmas tree lighting festival that always went off with a variety of creative challenges but never failed to impress. I just hoped we didn’t end up finding a body on a bench like we had during the town’s Halloween bash. Since we had four days to go, I’d taken to crossing my fingers whenever I thought about it.

“Do you think we have enough decorations?” Merilee Rutherford, my partner both in Stitch’n’Time and crime solving, had circled November twenty-seven with a fat, red marker weeks ago.

I gazed around our craft shop. Large shiny balls hung from the ceiling, strands of garland draped over the top of every cupboard and cabinet, and a four-foot tree glistened in the front window. We’d spent hours wrapping empty boxes to pile underneath and added a few needlepoint kits, fabric swatches, and sewing kits to attract customers.

I grinned. “I think Santa would feel right at home in our workshop. All that’s missing are the milk and cookies.”

Drake, my Golden Retriever-slash-Husky raised his head.

“How about a peppermint latte and cookies,” Merilee asked. “I could run up to the bakery and grab lunch complete with dessert.”

“Santa’s going to have to bring me a whole new wardrobe at this rate.” I tucked a thumb inside the waistband of my pants. They were getting snug already and it wasn’t even December. I started to tell her to hold the latte. No way was I giving up cookies before Christmas. In the end, I kept my mouth shut.

While Merilee was gone, Drake returned his attention to the heat vent while I finished hanging one last string of lights around the inside of the front window swaying to the soft Christmas music we’d already started to play.

Outside the gloom of the day was brightened by the swirling blue and red lights from a passing police car. Since there was no way anyone could be speeding on the roads given the current conditions, I had to assume the police were on their way to an accident.

Drake got up to amble toward the door.

“Do you need to go out?” I asked.

Rather than paw at the glass, he sat and yawned.

“Good to know it’s not an emergency.”

Less than a minute later, Merilee bustled through the front door carrying a cardboard tray and a paper bag. Drake stood as a string of drool seeped from the corner of his mouth.

I laughed. “You smelled cookies. What a surprise."  

And who says a character has to celebrate a traditional holiday? 

In the writing world we do this exercise every November called Nanowrimo. A short way of saying National Novel Writing Month. One of those events that is so crazy it requires an entire month rather than a day. What normal person would set a goal to write 50,000 words in 30 days? Of course, most writers celebrate Nanowrimo starting December 1st when we hibernate for about three days to catch up on sleep and ease the cramps from our fingers!

Here's a fun thing to do. Go to https://web-holidays.com/ , find your birthdate, and see what else you can celebrate along with it. Mine is National Cavier Day among others. 

If you do check out the daily list and run out of favorite things to celebrate in December, please keep in mind this is also National Eggnog and National Fruitcake Month. 

Cheers!

Diane