Art and the philosophy of life

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A Christmas Story…School Play

Free Grayscale Photo of Children Wearing Costumes At A Christmas Presentation Stock Photo

“How’s the Christmas play coming along?” asked the principal.

“How do you think?  We have far too many angels, a Native American, absolutely no wise men, and the baby in the manger is a cat wrapped in a blanket.  No one knows their lines, everyone is giggling, and all the beards are falling off the boys.  Half the kids look as if they’re praying, several children brought dreidels, the star is too small, some of the kids look like they’er in a jazz club, and…”

“So, it’s going well?”

She glared at him.  “I’m two seconds away from quitting and getting a job herding cats, which will be much easier and a lot more fun.”

“Now, Now, Sylvia, they’re just children.”

“No, they aren’t.  They’re monsters who were born to test my ability not to…”

“Just do the best you can.  The parents only come to see their kids, they don’t care if the play is good or bad.”

“Angels?  Why are they even in the play?”

“I’m afraid that’s your area of expertise,” he said, smiling, as he hurried back to his office.

Sylvia took a few deep breaths, then walked into the auditorium.  One of the boys walked up to her and said, “My parents want me to be a wise guy.”

“Tell them you already are,” she said, brushing past him.

She stood in front of the stage, and told the kids to take off their costumes and put them out of sight.  She told one of the girls to release the cat, who hissed, then walked to the side of the stage and watched what was happening.

“Forget everything we were doing.  No angels, no manger, no stars or bearded people.  Just think of what you’re wearing as your costume.”

A girl raised her hand.

“Yes, Betty?”

“I think this is a better idea, and I think we should do a Christmas program to Queen’s music, like WHO WANTS TO LIVE FOREVER, I mean this is all about death, isn’t it?”

“We can do ANOTHER ONE BITES THE DUST,” yelled Tommy.

“After all,” said Pam, “In the end, THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE.”

Sylvia smiled.  “Done.”  She put the music on her phone and started teaching the kids dance steps.  Then she asked how many had Queen T-shirts, and nine kids raised their hands.  I can borrow my mom’s, said one girl and another one pointed to herself and nodded.

All of the kids were paying attention.  All of them were learning the words and dance steps.  Suddenly, everyone was happy and having fun.  Everyone was smiling.  Sylvia took a step back and watched as the children started adding their own steps to the routine.  They pushed each other into positions and told each other what to do.

“Can I still wear my halo?” asked Amy, tugging on Sylvia’s sleeve.

The other kids heard Amy and turned toward her and said, “NO!”

“Fine,” she said, putting her halo on the floor.  “It kind of itched anyway.”  Then she went back to the stage and started dancing.

“There’s no time for us,” sang a boy.  “There’s no place for us.”

“Climate change and violence took our dreams from us,” sang Amy.

“Who wants to live forever?” sang the chorus.  “How can we live forever?  Oohhhhh ooh.”

“There’s no chance for us,” said Brian, coming to the end of the stage.  “It’s all decided for us.  Generation after generation, have all lied to us.”

“Who wants to live forever?” they sang.  “How can we live forever?  Oohhhh ooh.”

“How’s that?” asked Tina.

Sylvia started hugging the kids.  “This is going to be the best Christmas play EVER,” she said.

“It’s more relevant, don’t you think?” asked Judy.

“Absolutely,” said Sylvia.

“Uh,” said Jeanne.  “I think the cat wants a part.”

Two days later, parents filled the seats.

The cat was included in the play, as an extra, and sat center stage, as the curtain went up, or sideways, if truth be told.  The dance routine was outstanding, even if some kids were out of step.  The songs were amazing, and the children put their hearts into every word.

The parents sat in silence.  There was nothing for them to laugh at. No funny parts at all. No silly mistakes, no angels, or kids with beards or dreidels.

As the show was ending, Sylvia stepped forward.

“This Christmas play is honest and true.  The greatest gift we can give to our children, and to ourselves, is a green and healthy planet, filled with diversity and beauty.  Clean air, so inhalers will no longer be needed during classes. Clean water, clean and healthy food, without chemicals, and no GMO’s.  A world of peace, and an end to violence, hatred and discrimination.  A place where children can grow up safe and healthy, in a world without war and corrupt governments.  THIS is what Christmas should be about.”

The kids started clapping and jumping around.  The parents stood and applauded, as well.

The principal, seeing which way the wind was blowing, joined in.  (He was a coward.)

And that’s how one school made a difference in the lives of the children who went there to learn what needed to be done, if they wanted to live, maybe not forever, but a full, happy and healthy life.

 

Photo:  Suzy Hazelwood
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A Christmas story…

“What’s wrong, Mary?” asked her best friend, Catherine.

Mary rubbed her hands together and looked down.

“You know you can tell me anything.”

“I think I’m with child.”

“Joe’s?”

Mary nodded.

“Birth control hasn’t been invented yet, so it’s understandable.”

“I’m not sure what to do,” said Mary, softly.

“Run away.  There is no other choice.  You will be shunned, destroy your family’s reputation, or be stoned to death.  Run.”

“That’s what Joe said.”

“He’s right.  Get a nice mule and flee.”

“Why won’t anything happen to him, if we stay?”

“Men don’t pay for what they do, we pay for what they do.”

“It’s not fair.”

“It’s deadly,” said Cathrine.  “Where will you go?”

Mary shrugged.  “Who knows?  As far as the mule can carry me, I guess.”

“Walking is good for pregnant women and it will give the mule a break from carrying you.”

“I suppose that’s true,” said Mary.

“If only you were born in the future.”

“I think it’s going to be a girl,” said Mary, rubbing her stomach, but who knows, without an ultrasound, it’s just a guess, but she feels like a girl.”

Cathrine, took Mary’s hand.  “Have you chosen any names?”

“Cleo for a girl and Hey Zeus for a boy.  Joe wanted to name her Elsbeth and him Tony, but they sound funny, don’t they?”

“In this time and place, yes,” said Cathrine.  “They sound funny.”

“We’re leaving tonight.”

“I’ll miss you, my dearest friend.  If only someone would invent computers, we could stay in touch.”

“I’ll try to let you know where I am, eventually,” said Mary.  “Joe’s going to tell everyone we never had sex and that some angel, or one of the gods miraculously impregnated me while I was reading in the courtyard.”

“Hmmm.  I don’t think anyone will believe you, but who knows, maybe in the future they’ll make a religion out of it.  You know, worship at your feet or something equally silly.”

“I’ll miss your sense of humor.”

“I told you not to have sex with him.”

“He said that if I loved him, I would do it.”

“That old line?  Oh, please.  I can’t believe you fell for that!”

“Neither can I.”

“Well,” sighed Cathrine, “best of luck.  I hope you find a nice place to live and that Joe gets over his fear of commitment and marries you.  Maybe he’ll finally get a job.”

“That would be nice,” she said.

“Do you have reservations where you can stay?”

Mary shook her head.  “Joe said they would be able to follow us if we did that, so we’re going to wing it.”

“Bad idea.  You could end up in a stable somewhere, if all the rooms are taken.”

“That’s what I said, but he said he knows what he’s doing and to just be quiet, now that I’ve ruined his life.”

“HIS life?  YOU ruined HIS life?”

“He said this is all my fault.”

“I never did like him,” said Cathrine, pulling a blade out of her pocket.  “I can get rid of him for you, if you like.”

“No.  But thank you.  He’s going to lead the mule.”

“Seriously?”

Mary nodded again.

“What if you have to deliver the baby by yourself?”

“Cave women did it, I guess.  I mean the first woman to ever get pregnant must have been horrified, but she probably lived through it.”

“I guess.  Joe won’t be any help, you know that, right?”

“I know.  He faints at the sight of blood.”

“And if he tells you there are men who are wise, just kick him in the shins, as hard as you can.  Be sure to feed and water the mule, he’s more important, and smarter, than Joe.”

“I think my mother knows what’s happening.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“Well, I better get going,” said Mary, reaching for her friend.  “I’ll miss you so much.”

“I’ll come and visit, once you get settled.”

“I would love that.  You can be her Goddess Mother.”

“I would like that.  Thank you.  And it’s almost Yule, so have a nice pagan holiday and celebrate the earth, not the idiot men who are trying to steal everything from us.”

“Promise,” snickered Mary.  “Double-dog promise.”

And so Mary and Joe went on their way and ended up in a stable, where Mary delivered the baby by herself, while Joe waited outside and talked to the men at the Inn.  Same old same old.  The mule ran away and had a bad back for the rest of his life.  The so called wise men are still lost somewhere, trying to read the stars and Cleo was a sweet little girl who eventually ended up running the world.

THE END

 

 

 

A Wishing Tree…

cards hanging on Christmas tree

Photo:  Valentin Petkov
Unsplash

Christmas tree…a poem

Free Green Christmas Tree With White Baubles Stock Photo

every tree
represents those who
decorated it
each unique
in its own way

 

 

Photo:  Karolina Grabowska
Pexels

A Short Christmas story…

“Are you from around here?” he asked, as they stood in line at the overly Christmased coffee shop?”

“Don’t I look like I’m from around here?” she snapped, pulling an earbud out of her ear.  “What’s your problem?  Looking for a small town girl in the big city, one you can show around and watch her eyes get big, while fall head over heals for you?  Only happens in sappy romance novels, so back off.”

“So you’re in publishing,” he laughed.

“Yes,” she sighed.  “You?”

He nodded.

“I’m so sick of those stupid stories.  You know what’s going to happen from the first sentence. I’ve come to hate small towns and wide eyed innocent females who run a bakery, bookstore, or find letters in their grandmother’s attic from a hundred years ago. All of them looking to change their live through men, or a move to somewhere else, especially a big city or Paris.  It’s like no one can write anything else any longer.  Now they sell Christmas trees and wreaths, while they help their father save the farm, or the resort, or hotel, or B and B.  Either that or they are decorating the main street that has one stoplight that hardly ever works.”

“I feel the same way,” he said.  “They’re all the same, with slight changes of place, names and reasons for running away.  And don’t forget the women who run from the big city to small towns where they make friends and finally realize that farms and a slower pace is all that’s been missing in their lives, other than the guy who pulls up to the general store in a beat up pickup truck getting hundred pound bags of feed, carrying ten at a time.”

“Why don’t men ever run away?” she asked.  “Why don’t they sit around having scones and weeping to their male friends about their broken hearts or the bookstore their grandmother left them in her will?  Men are never looking for anything, or running from anything.  Romance and women just seem to FIND them.”

“Men don’t know how to find anything,” he said, seriously.  “I mean the three wise men were a joke.  They got lost in the desert and were never found.  Car keys, directions…men spend their time trying to figure out where everything is.”

She stared at him.  “That’s true for some of them.”

“Plus they don’t think about what they want, or whether or not anything is missing in their lives, not until someone points it out.”

“I wish women were like that.”

“You’re kidding,” he said, horrified  “How would men ever managed without women?”

“You guys inherit money and estates, while women inherit businesses that are doomed, or in horrible condition, so they can worry, be short of money, and hire handsome, strong, beautiful men to make repairs, then fall in love with them.”

“Pathetic,” he said.  “I couldn’t agree more.”

She looked at him.  “Wait…is that what’s happening to us?”

“I doubt it.  We’re both from the city, both…uh, I don’t know…is it?”

“What’s your name?”

“Danny.  What’s yours?”

“Meg.”

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“Not sure.”

“Should we discuss it over our coffee?”

“I guess, but let’s not turn this into one of those icky books.”

“Agreed.”

“Let’s sit over there, where it’s quiet.”

 

 

Cookie time…

Free Gingerbread Cookies on Cutting Board Stock Photo

Photo:  Nati
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It’s that time of year…

Free Photo of Decorations on the Wall Stock Photo

Photo:  Pascal Claivaz
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Merry, Merry…

Free Dachshund Dog Wearing a Red Sweater Stock Photo

Photo:  Dominbika Roseclay
Pexel

Image

Happy Dogmas…

Your like 💙 is a huge expression of affection for my work. I will be extremely grateful to you for a little heart 💙. Thanks for visiting my page. For you all the likes in the world 💙

Fa la la la la…la la la laaaaaaaaaaa.

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