I think Mystic hit every branch I wanted to place here!
And with Sky's thread, it shows how the main western empires have been diluted.
When I say 'empire' -I don't mean some oppressing bully that the universities are seeking
to paint any country that values its people and looks to control other lands. I mean a place
of civilised patronage, where its citizens are cared for and strive to improve.
Isn't it strange that old-ish(!) nobodies on a website see the change and the mainstream media
don't?! Or something more important... who's behind the weakening of these societies.
The ones in the countries that are implementing the watering-down are mere tools to lure the
young into believing their bedroom is the same as the outside world... and yet, nobody is looking
to see who's behind the curtain pulling the levers.
.............................................
I remember Christmas.
My older sister (she must be in her eighties now), once told my Mother when I was just a small child,
that she didn't believe in Santa Clause. I don't recall the actual instance, but my sister told me about
it later.
She's a tough bitch, born with a withered arm and limps due to a double-decker bus running over her
leg when she was very small. Throw in that's she's deaf too and I think that most would assume this
is a sob-story!
But it's not, she was born prematurely at home and my Grandpa kept her alive in front of a roaring
fire with a spoon of whisky to draw the flames of resolution I felt when I used to fight with her.
Ever been bitten inside your mouth whilst someone's good arm is knocking seven-shades of shit out
of you?!!! That's my sis -that is.
Anyway, on Christmas morning, when my other older sister and I were opening our presents, there on
the fire-hearth lay her gifts.
A piece of coal and a tangerine.
That was back in the early sixties and it wouldn't be until 1983 when I was getting married and sitting
with my family at the wedding reception, was the incident brought up again.
My mother explained to my new wife that to renounce Santa Claus was like denying God existed or that
John Wayne wasn't the fastest gun in the West... and she said it with a face of cold-eye seriousness.
I lightheartedly remarked that it was a good ploy to make sure you kept your kids in line and turning to
my wide-eyed better-half, I smirked with the comment "Yeah, then she got her real gifts later"
The hand that carried the burden its crippled brother could not, reached over and touched my wife's arm.
"No... there were no other presents, just the coal and fruit" my sister said earnestly. A glance to my
mother told us both that this was true.
On Monday night... Christmas Eve, that limping woman will place a mince pie on her mantle-piece above the
fire and leave a carrot beside it for the reindeer. Her husband is dead and her married-daughter lives far away,
but I know my sister will be at the window because she believes in the man who brings joy to children.
My son is twenty six years-old and I am nearing sixty. My pragmatic Dad and the ghost-seer and demon
-fighter that was my mother have gone to battle whatever lies beyond this life.
But every Christmas Eve, me and my boy leave a slug of whisky beside a small orange and a chunk of coal.
Lately, we've began to check the NORAD website for Santa's journey and we smile at each other at the age-old
quaintness of it all.
But make no mistake, we believe he's out there... we both believe.
And with Sky's thread, it shows how the main western empires have been diluted.
When I say 'empire' -I don't mean some oppressing bully that the universities are seeking
to paint any country that values its people and looks to control other lands. I mean a place
of civilised patronage, where its citizens are cared for and strive to improve.
Isn't it strange that old-ish(!) nobodies on a website see the change and the mainstream media
don't?! Or something more important... who's behind the weakening of these societies.
The ones in the countries that are implementing the watering-down are mere tools to lure the
young into believing their bedroom is the same as the outside world... and yet, nobody is looking
to see who's behind the curtain pulling the levers.
.............................................
I remember Christmas.
My older sister (she must be in her eighties now), once told my Mother when I was just a small child,
that she didn't believe in Santa Clause. I don't recall the actual instance, but my sister told me about
it later.
She's a tough bitch, born with a withered arm and limps due to a double-decker bus running over her
leg when she was very small. Throw in that's she's deaf too and I think that most would assume this
is a sob-story!
But it's not, she was born prematurely at home and my Grandpa kept her alive in front of a roaring
fire with a spoon of whisky to draw the flames of resolution I felt when I used to fight with her.
Ever been bitten inside your mouth whilst someone's good arm is knocking seven-shades of shit out
of you?!!! That's my sis -that is.
Anyway, on Christmas morning, when my other older sister and I were opening our presents, there on
the fire-hearth lay her gifts.
A piece of coal and a tangerine.
That was back in the early sixties and it wouldn't be until 1983 when I was getting married and sitting
with my family at the wedding reception, was the incident brought up again.
My mother explained to my new wife that to renounce Santa Claus was like denying God existed or that
John Wayne wasn't the fastest gun in the West... and she said it with a face of cold-eye seriousness.
I lightheartedly remarked that it was a good ploy to make sure you kept your kids in line and turning to
my wide-eyed better-half, I smirked with the comment "Yeah, then she got her real gifts later"
The hand that carried the burden its crippled brother could not, reached over and touched my wife's arm.
"No... there were no other presents, just the coal and fruit" my sister said earnestly. A glance to my
mother told us both that this was true.
On Monday night... Christmas Eve, that limping woman will place a mince pie on her mantle-piece above the
fire and leave a carrot beside it for the reindeer. Her husband is dead and her married-daughter lives far away,
but I know my sister will be at the window because she believes in the man who brings joy to children.
My son is twenty six years-old and I am nearing sixty. My pragmatic Dad and the ghost-seer and demon
-fighter that was my mother have gone to battle whatever lies beyond this life.
But every Christmas Eve, me and my boy leave a slug of whisky beside a small orange and a chunk of coal.
Lately, we've began to check the NORAD website for Santa's journey and we smile at each other at the age-old
quaintness of it all.
But make no mistake, we believe he's out there... we both believe.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.