A Little Night Music

Between the past and the future lie the Nether Lands.


My best wishes to all for a good year and many more after.
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An Appreciation

I want to take this time as I do just about every year to say thank you to the people in my life who have made this a good year in a lot of respects, all things considered.

I made it through with my health and sanity relatively unscathed, and I have my immediate family all in good condition and spirits, and we all got through 2011 with few complaints. At our family reunion in Santa Fe in August, I realized how blessed I am to have both of my parents to guide and inspire me, my brothers and sister to remind me of the oneness of family, and extended family to share joy and sorrow with. At my 40th year high school class reunion in September, I renewed friendships with people who had been a part of my life for many years, and in some ways still are. This was a good year for renewal.

I still have a place to work and good people and friends to work with, doing good things for the hundreds of thousands of students and teachers in Miami-Dade County Public Schools. The last couple of years have been tough for all of us with cutbacks in the budget and added responsibilities for all of us. But we made it through in good stead and I'm happy and humbled to be a part of the effort. We have had our own shares of testing times -- taking on new duties with less money to do it -- but we made it through, and so to all of my colleagues and friends, thanks for everything. See you Tuesday.

This past August marked the tenth anniversary of my return to Miami. It hardly seems possible, but this is the longest I've stayed in one place since I graduated from high school, surpassing the eight years I lived in Colorado. Of course, helping me feel back at home has been the friendship and companionship of Bob and the Old Professor, who are still enjoying their retirements and the joys of volunteer work. Our regular Friday nights out to dinner and the wonderful meals on occasion are a great part of my life, not to mention the joy that Bob and I get out of using the OP as our straight man, so to speak. Never was there a better role model since George Burns or Margaret Dumont. And without Bob, my enthusiasm for cars and great humor would be sorely diminished.

There also the big wide world of the blogosphere out there that provides endless insight as well as maddening inanity. But it's all a part of the mix. Bark Bark Woof Woof marked eight years back in November. This year was the most prolific (if not insightful) with over 2,150 posts; some of them even worth reading. I owe so much to so many people who have linked and promoted this little bit of the blogosphere, especially Rick at SFDB, and those who have included me in their effort: Melissa McEwan at Shakesville, Michael at The Reaction, and Kenneth Quinnell at FPC. I have become a lot better at this largely because of them.

And then, of course, there's you, dear Reader. Believe it or not, I don't do this just because I love to write. Well, I do love to write, but it would seem to be a hollow effort if I didn't think there was someone out there to read it and certainly keep me on my toes. You have made this blog a joy to write, and I am always thinking of you when I sit down here in the early morning to look at the world with dry bemusement and try not to bump into the furniture on my way to the coffee maker.

So here we go into 2012. What's next?

PS: You can get a t-shirt with that cool picture of Mustang Bobby and Sam at the BBWW Shop. Get yours today.
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Looking Back/Looking Forward

It's time for my annual crystal ball gazing and retrospective. A year ago I made some predictions, so let's see how I did.

On December 31, 2010, I wrote:

- If you thought 2010 was the year of gridlock, Hell No You Can't, and strange pronouncements from political characters and punditry, that was only the curtain raiser. With the House in the hands of the far-right and the Tea Party unmoved and unimpressed with reality, we're going to be constantly entertained, horrified, disgusted, and gob-smacked. Speaker of the House John Boehner will be dealing with a group of people who resemble a classroom full of sugared-up eight-year-olds. All the attempts to repeal every bill passed by a Democratic president since 1960 will energize the base only to have them ground to a fine powder and blown away by the Senate or a veto pen. There will be heroic, if not Pyrrhic, attempts to cut spending and bring down the deficit, but the crazies are driving the bus and as long as they do, it's going to look more like a pie fight than civil discourse. The DREAM Act will not pass; Republicans need someone to beat up on, and immigrants, like Muslims, are easy pickings since they know that they'll never vote for the GOP. Meanwhile, they'll keep up the kinderspiel of doing things like reading the Constitution while constantly trying to subvert it and re-write it, especially when they get to the part about "equal rights under the law." Of course they believe in that... as long as you're white, straight, and Christian. There will be hundreds of subpoenas issued by House committees to investigate everything in the Obama White House, up to and including the bidding process for the swing set built for the Obama children. If you want to make a fortune in this economy, graduate law school in January, pass the bar exam, and move to Washington.

Nailed it. That was kind of an easy one, because if there's one thing that's easy to predict, it's the behavior of the Republicans. They dug in their heels on simple things like passing bills to support the responders to September 11, 2001 and autism research just because the president supported them, while out at the state level, newly-elected governors took their elections as mandates to enact new bills that overreached and angered even their own supporters. It was a year of hostage-taking and childish tantrums, hypocrisy and schadenfreude, race-baiting, women-hating, and gay-bashing, and we haven't even gotten past the candidates who are running for the GOP nomination.

More below the fold.

- The economy will continue to improve, albeit slowly. That's how they do it; they go in cycles, and especially after this last Great Recession, there will be a lot of changes, just as there was after every economic downturn. A year from now the unemployment number will be around 8%, which is still high, but on the track to be lower by the time the 2012 election comes around.

I give myself a B on that one. The unemployment rate is allegedly at 8.6% nationally, but it's still in the teens for black men, and it's still higher than that in some states. Here in Florida it's getting a little better in spite of Gov. Rick Scott's gutting of many programs and throwing a lot of state workers out of jobs.

- Of course Sarah Palin will announce she's running for president. We've known that since the day after the 2008 election. Her competition will include Mitt Romney, Mike Huckabee, Newt Gingrich, and just for the fun of it, John Bolton. A year from now, we'll be weeks away from the Iowa caucuses. President Obama will not have a serious primary challenger. The "professional left" is a pale shadow of a threat compared to the hard-core on the right; when they form a circular firing squad, they usually end up winging it.

Half right on that in that Mitt Romney and Newt Gingrich would be in the running, but I should have known that Sarah Palin had neither the attention span or the maturity to make a valid attempt to run for office. But I was pleasantly surprised to see that her replacements -- Michele Bachmann, Rick Perry, and Herman Cain -- would be just as entertaining.

- We're going to see more progress on gay equality, but at about the same pace as this year. Court cases challenging the Defense of Marriage Act will make it to the federal level, and Perry vs. Schwarzenegger will be appealed to the Supreme Court no matter the outcome of the current appeal, and it should land on the steps in Washington in time for the 2012 term. By then, perhaps, Antonin Scalia will be retired and living in Sicily. Based on the make-up of the House and Senate, you can forget about passing the Employment Non-Discrimination Act (ENDA).

I give myself an A- on that; the Prop 8 case hasn't made it to the U.S. Supreme Court yet, but a lot more progress is being made, including the Senate voting out a bill to repeal DOMA. The end of DADT in September was a huge achievement.

- Florida politics will be fun to watch. Gov. Rick Scott will get a lot of stuff through the legislature since they're all Republicans, but it will be interesting to see what he does with the economy since it's the only thing bigger than his personal wealth. At some point even he and the legislature will figure out that cutting taxes and services will hit the wall, and even Republicans send their kids to public schools and take prescription medicines. I give it until June before some kind of scandal about cronyism and questionable dealings hits the state; it's in their DNA. And in Miami-Dade politics, it would be an event if there wasn't a scandal, threats of recalls, and some people doing the Miranda macarena.

That Rick Scott isn't under indictment isn't a surprise, but neither is his approval level, which is about the same as that of the ebola virus. His regime of voter registration laws and drug testing for welfare benefits are facing lawsuits, and his slashing of education funding in favor of corporate tax relief and charter schools has decimated public education to the point that he's rapidly trying to recover. Locally, Miami went through a recall and run-off election for the county mayor, and the cronyism at the high levels got so rampant that even the Miami Herald wrote about it. In other words, just another year in South Florida.

- Another perennial favorite: This will be the year that Cuba will see some big changes, through the passing of one or more of the Castro brothers and the de facto relaxation of the U.S. embargo to the point that by next year, Cuba will be like Vietnam; nominally Communist but practically capitalist. (I've been saying that privately since 1989, though.)

Right prediction, wrong region: what I wanted for Cuba landed in the Middle East, so we got rid of dictators in Tunis, Libya, Egypt, and we're working on Syria and Yemen. Next year in Havana....

- Personal predictions... the same, I hope, as last year: I will keep writing, I will continue to go to Inge and to Stratford, I'll still be driving the Mustang, the Pontiac will still be in the garage. If I upgrade my technology, it will be to get a Samsung 42" flat screen HDTV, assuming I can come up with the money for it.

I am nothing if not predictable. All came true, with the exception that the HDTV is 32".

Okay, now I'll boldly go into 2012.

- Barack Obama will narrowly win re-election against Mitt Romney. It will be a campaign of fear, loathing, excess, and outrage... and that's just on the GOP side until the inevitable coronation of Mr. Romney. The amount of money to be spent on both sides will be enough to run several mid-sized countries. Re-election campaigns are, of course, a vote on the performance of the incumbent, and Mr. Obama will have to defend his record, but the Republicans have, by their own actions, inactions, and lurch to the right in response to their hatred of all things Obama, made the choice in the election pretty clear. The stated GOP agenda has been to deny Barack Obama a second term, but other than that, they have offered nothing of substance if they win the election. That's not surprising; they never do. They live on bumper sticker slogans and ten-word answers -- Repeal Obamacare; Ban Abortion; Deport the Brown People; No More Taxes; Kill the Queers -- but they offer no solutions, unless you want to go back to revive the bold and new ideas from the administration of William McKinley. The campaign will resemble that of the one in 1948 where Harry Truman, coming back from dismal approval ratings, beat the patrician and automatonic Thomas E. Dewey. Mr. Truman ran against an intransigent and right-wing-whacky Republican Congress, and Mr. Obama has pretty much the same situation. It won't be a landslide, but unless there's a complete meltdown of the Obama campaign juggernaut, he'll win and might even win back Congress for the Democrats. It will not be the end of the right-wingers by any means; if anything, the re-election of Barack Obama will drive them even further over the cliff, and we will find out that the level of lunacy is infinite.

- The Supreme Court, by a vote of 5 to 4, will uphold the new healthcare law, and the California Prop 8 case will get on their docket for 2013.

- Despite the best efforts of the Republicans, the economy will continue to improve, but at about the same pace as it currently is, meaning that by Election Day the unemployment rate will be around 8%. Consumer confidence will continue to grow, and while the housing market will still be soft, bigger ticket items like cars and appliances will start to sell; those old cars can't run forever.

- Wisconsin Gov. Scott Walker will be recalled, which will send a shiver through right-wing governors from Ohio and Michigan to Florida. As the thousands of people in the streets from Madison to Wall Street proved, you mess with the middle class at your peril, and that sleeping giant has been awakened.

- Here in Florida, Sen. Bill Nelson (D) will win another term in a tight race against Rep. Connie Mack (R), and Rep. Allen West (R) will be tossed out on his ass by the good people of Broward County. Alan Grayson (D), who lost in 2010, will win back a seat in Congress, and this will send a strong message to the Florida Democrats that if they can find some good people to run for office, they can beat Rick Scott in 2014.

- The Tigers will go all the way this year. They got very close this year, and there's always next year.

- We will lose the requisite number of celebrities and friends as life goes on. As I always say, it's important to cherish them while they are with us.

- Personally, some things never change. I'll go to the William Inge Festival in April -- my 21st time -- where we'll honor David Henry Hwang. I'll go to Stratford in July with my parents, and I'll go back to work on Tuesday. I've done some tinkering with the Pontiac as it verges on becoming a certified antique, which happens when the 2013 models go on sale. I have no plans to move or change jobs, and the only momentous thing that will happen is that I turn 60 in September. Big whoop.

- And of course, the usual prediction: One year from now I'll write a post just like this one, look back at this one, and think, "Gee, that was dumb." Or not.
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Short Takes

The Iowa caucus campaign is heading into its last weekend.

Iran may be getting ready to test a long-range missile.

Syrian protesters rally to show their stuff to international monitors.

Verizon bails on its plan to add a $2 fee for on-line payments.

U.S. seals a deal to sell a lot of weapons to the U.A.E.
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A Little Night Music

Allen called to remind me of the last time I saw Paris -- on this date in 1985. We were spending a few days there before going on to Italy for ten days in a villa in Castelfranco di Sopra, a tiny Tuscan village near Florence.

On this particular day, we strolled around the city, and Allen bought a set of rosary beads for his mom at Notre Dame. We then did a tour of the Louvre, and discovered, much to our chagrin, that we were out of money and the travelers' checks were safely locked in our hotel room, which was up near the Arc de Triomphe. We didn't even have enough for a taxi, so we walked from the Louvre all the way back to the hotel. It's a lovely walk... if it's springtime. But this was deep and dark December, and by the time we got back, were glace. For years it was one of our fondest memories... and still is.



Bon voyage, Allen and Terry.
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What Do Teachers Make?

Whenever I write about education and teaching, I can count on getting a sneering and patronizing commenter who knocks the public schools, public education in general, and then tells me how teachers and educators have it easy. They are usually someone with the brain-power of Rick Perry, so I am all to happy to re-run this gem from Taylor Mali, who informs us exactly what teachers make.


Any questions?

HT to Elroon.
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With Friends Like These

In a story that only the Very Serious People could care about, the word is that one of President Obama's problems is that he's not a schmoozer in Washington. Oh, the humanity.

Charlie, over to you.

Nobody of whom I'm aware ever thought of President Obama as Mr. Happy Fun Guy. The last guy, you may recall, was bouncy and gregarious and handed out alpha-male frat-boy nicknames, and then he got in there and screwed up the country. Moreover, if there are five people of value who still care what James Carville — let alone Gerald Rafshoon — thinks about anything, I don't know them. But perhaps the singular failure of this particular "White House Memo" is its argument that things would be better all around if the president had "reached out" to the Congress. Good god, there are even some Democrats in there saying it, which is a very good indication of the problems the president has, none of which will be solved by some discreet hand-holding over the canapes at Ben and Sally's.

We've heard this complaint from the Beltway before; the last time was about the Clintons, who were portrayed as the Your Worst Nightmare: White Trash with Money, and before that, Jimmy Carter, who was seen as too uptight and Jesusy to hang out with the vodka-and-tonic crowd. With the Obamas, the reaction seems to be along the lines of "What makes them so uppity that they can't be seen to be tipping their hat to us?"

Frankly, if the Obamas would rather not suck up to the Washington Kool Kidz, that's a feature, not a bug.
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Lists

I'm not really into making lists about the best or worst things of a particular year. For instance, movies. I didn't go out to the theatre to see enough movies to make a top ten list. If you're just talking about movies, then I saw a lot of them on TV, but they were from a lot of different years. The same with books; I read them, but very few of them are new this year.

I did see a lot of the new TV shows this year. Many of them were really pretty crappy, but a couple on commercial TV stood out, such as Prime Suspect, the re-make of the British series, and Person of Interest, which is about two secretive men out to save the world. Thanks to TiVo, I discovered The Good Wife, a lawyer series with Julianna Margulies and Christine Baranski which has been on for a couple of years, and some guilty-pleasure shows like Covert Affairs, Suits, and Rizzoli and Isles, which are on cable channels. None of them is especially deep or insightful, but they're fun and they're giving actors and writers jobs in the business, and that's a far cry better than the endless cycles of reality shows such as When Barnyard Animals Attack or Real Housewives of Sugar Ridge, Ohio.

Here's an idea: if you, dear reader, would like to share your list(s), I'm all ears. In fact, I'd like to hear your recommendations for the best films, books, TV shows, or anything else you care to share for 2011. It would be fun to see what you have to say, and then I can look into them so that I can keep up.
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Short Takes

Egypt raided the offices of non-governmental agencies, including three from the U.S.

Same Old -- North Korea dashes any thoughts of rapprochement with South Korea.

To Boldly Go -- China plans to expand their role in the final frontier.

Jamaica's opposition party has won election in a landslide.

Verizon ticks off the web with news of a new $2 fee for payment.

A Day Ahead -- Samoa skips Friday, December 30, align itself with its neighbors on the International Date Line.
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Friday Catblogging Classic

"How do you text on this thing?"
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A Little Moore Night Music

In honor of Mary Tyler Moore's birthday.


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A Little Night Music

In honor of my new toy...


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High Tech

Well, I had a wonderful morning in the Keys, thank you very much. I needed that drive to clear my head, even though I still have the stubborn remainders of the cold.

On the way home, though, I decided that I would finally join the 21st century and get a cell phone that has a QWERTY keyboard and, after all these years, learn how to text. I had de-activated text messaging on my old phone because it was impossible to figure out how to send one with the old-style keypad, and I also thought that it was nothing I needed. My old phone, which I had gotten in 2005, was beginning to show signs of age, and this one works pretty much the same way as the old one; the buttons on the front are the same, and the slide-out keyboard is actually readable -- with my glasses.

The best news is that because I stayed with my same carrier and was eligible for an upgrade, the entire cost was $1.73.

I've already sent my very first text. It was to my brother, who has been after me for years to get it. And what, you may ask, was the content of that first text?

What hath God wrought?

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What A Choice

Do I stay at home and putter around, or do I grab my sunglasses, put the top down, and go see the sunrise off Key Largo?

That was easy. See you later.
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Random Thought

Morning Joe is re-running an interview with Dick Cheney from last September. I'm reminded that I am so glad that George W. Bush remained healthy for eight years.
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Short Takes

Democracy in Action -- North Korea declares Kim Jong-un the "supreme leader."

The U.S. will be selling weapons to Iraq.

Oil prices will not be dropping below $100 a barrel any time soon.

Oops -- A New York Times e-mail to its subscribers causes massive confusion.

R.I.P -- Cheetah, 80, the chimpanzee that made Johnny Weissmuller a star.

Miami Dolphins' Jason Taylor is retiring after Sunday's game.
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A Little Night Music

For me and John...


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Old Friends

I had lunch today with a friend that I first met on September 6, 1960. (There's the connection to last night's A Little Night Music post.) How do I know that date for certain? Because that was my first day of Grade 3 at my new school, and John was one of the first boys I met.

There was an instant connection; we both knew we would be friends, and so we were all the way through Grade 6, and then even after when he went on to middle school and I repeated. But when I came back from St. George's in 1968, John had left the school, and we lost touch. But I never forgot his humor, his wit, and the sheer talent that I knew would carry him to great success in whatever career he chose. And succeed he has.

I next heard from him in 1979. He was in town on a visit from his home in New York City, and I visited him when I passed through the city that summer. And then, through the reach of the social network, we reconnected again last summer. This time I promise not to let go.

There are friends you make for life that you know will always have that connection. Today at the sidewalk cafe in Fort Lauderdale, thirty-two years disappeared without a trace, and that little boy with the crewcut and horn-rimmed glasses who quoted Rod Serling and did a dead-on Charles Laughton was with me again.

Grade 4 - 1961-1962
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Axles of Evil

TPM posted some photos of Kim Jong-il's funeral in Pyongyang, North Korea. Notice anything interesting about the hearse, other than they've mounted the casket on the roof?

Both the hearse and the portrait-bearers are late-model Lincoln Continentals, circa 1975. Ironic that the Dear Leader would be escorted to his dirt nap in one of the symbols of pure Western decadence.
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Random Irony of the Day

Rick Perry, staunch defender of states' rights and strident opponent of "activist judges", is suing in federal court to overturn Virginia's law that kept him off that state's primary ballot.
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Jon Swift Memorial Roundup 2011

It's time for the annual look at the best posts of bloggers as chosen by the bloggers themselves. In the words of Lance Mannion:

Our late and much missed comrade in blogging, journalist and writer Al Weisel, revered and admired across the bandwidth as the “reasonable conservative” blogger Modest Jon Swift, was a champion of the lesser known and little known bloggers working tirelessly in the shadows...

One of his projects was a year-end Blogger Round Up. Al/Jon asked bloggers far and wide, famous and in- and not at all, to submit a link to their favorite post of the past twelve months and then he sorted, compiled, blurbed, hyperlinked and posted them on his popular blog. His round-ups presented readers with a huge banquet table of links to work many of has had missed the first time around and brought those bloggers traffic and, more important, new readers they wouldn’t have otherwise enjoyed.

My submission was my tribute to playwright Lanford Wilson, who died in March.

There's a lot of good writing included in the roundup, so I suggest that you take your time and look through them.

A big hat-tip to Batocchio at Vagabond Scholar for doing the work to bring it all together.
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Captain Obvious

Mitt Romney will be the Republican nominee for president in 2012.

Yeah, I know the first caucus hasn't met in Iowa and the first primary hasn't been held in New Hampshire, and Newt Gingrich is still running around the country selling books and his wonderfulness, but it's blatantly obvious that regardless of what the Tea Party and the rest of the clown posse have to say, the GOP establishment will make sure that Mr. Romney gets the nomination in Tampa next summer. Bet on it.

So what that means is that we will have the next ten months to enjoy the magnificent fun of picking apart Mr. Romney without having to worry about the ankle-biters like Michele Bachmann and Rick Santorum, and the pompous postulations of Newt Gingrich.

And even better, we'll be entertained by the snark of Charles Pierce as he levels his sites on The Candidate.

He is the real austerity candidate, the guy who will run the ball here for the banksters who are crippling Europe, and a lot of Europeans, with economic strategies that keep themselves afloat while children die of preventable diseases, and guaranteeing that whatever recoveries there will be in places like Ireland and the UK will be the sole property of the people who most deserve them. This is what Willard Romney would like to bring to America. He just has to convince enough people that the pain will be imposed upon the undeserving Them. It is a vicious puppet show of a campaign he's running.

He is really the only true class warrior in the race. He's counting on prejudice and ignorance because he is running in the Republican primaries and that's the coin of the realm. But he's also counting on the desperate dreams of desperate people who want to believe that there is a big bag of money out there that's going to the Wrong People, and that, if someone would only re-direct it, their lives would be better. Well, there is a big bag of money out there, and it is indeed going to the Wrong People, and those would be the people in whose company Willard Romney has spent his entire, cosseted, entitled existence. He has embarked on a divisive campaign of misdirection, hoping against hope that nobody notices that he mortgaged himself to his ambition on an adjustable rate, and that he's underwater on his soul.

If you think that's harsh, you should be reading what the right-wingers are saying about Mr. Romney. The True Believers are lining up their arguments to drive home the theory that No True Conservative would vote for him, and even the virulent hatred of Barack Obama may not persuade them.

There are a lot of issues with trying to run a candidate who doesn't seem to have any core principles. It makes it impossible for his supporters to get excited about him because you can't fall in love with a weathervane. Even worse, since politicians tend to be such liars anyway and you know Romney has no firm beliefs, it's very easy for everyone to assume the worst. Democrats will feel that Romney will be a right wing death-beast. Republicans will think that Romney will screw them over. Independents won't know what to believe, which will make the hundreds of millions that Obama will spend on attack ads particularly effective. Ronald Reagan famously said the GOP needed "a banner of no pale pastels, but bold colors." That's particularly relevant when it comes to Mitt Romney who has proven to be a pasty grey pile of formless mush.

So there you have it. Get the popcorn.
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Good Signs

I'll take good news as I can get it. There are some signs that things are getting better.

- Via Think Progress, Bloomberg reports that the demand for U.S. bonds is very high, which means financing our deficit is getting cheaper. And as I noted recently, the deficit is projected to fall below $1 trillion in 2012.

- Congress failed to renew the ethanol subsidy that had been in place since 1980. While that may not sound like an important thing, it does mean that corn as a feed and food crop will not have to compete on an uneven field with fuel. That's good for food prices.

- Whether it's the slowly improving economy or the GOP clown car, President Obama's approval rating is going back up.

The latest Gallup survey shows that 47 percent of Americans now say they approve of the way that President Obama is handling his job. This is a 5 percent improvement since the Dec. 16-18 Gallup survey and marks the first time the president’s numbers have been in positive territory since July. The number of Americans who say they disapprove of Obama’s job performance has fallen to 45 percent, down 5 points from Dec. 16-18.

Sweet dreams are made of these.
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Short Takes

Kim Jong-il's funeral is today.

Hosni Mubarak's trial continues in Egypt.

Sen. Ben Nelson (D-NE) won't run for re-election.

Rick Perry is suing to try to get back on the Virginia primary ballot.

Home prices drop for the second month in a row.

The wealth gap between elected officials and their constituents exists in South Florida too.
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A Little Night Music

The number one song in America on September 6, 1960.


Why is that date important? I'll tell you tomorrow.
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Cold Comfort -- Ctd.

Yeah, finally getting over it. Eight days is about the average life span of a head cold, and this morning the lingering effects are clogged ears, a hoarse voice, and a nagging cough that only shows up when I'm trying to sleep. Other than that, I'm okay.

I'm grateful that the good folks at Walgreen's were open on Christmas Day so I could replenish my supply of Kleenex and Bufferin. I hope they got holiday pay for it.

Thanks for all the good wishes. And now that I'm somewhere back to normal, I'll get back to work on the play.
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More Like A Canyon

From the Washington Post:

Between 1984 and 2009, the median net worth of a member of the House more than doubled, according to the analysis of financial disclosures, from $280,000 to $725,000 in inflation-adjusted 2009 dollars, excluding home ­equity.

Over the same period, the wealth of an American family has declined slightly, with the comparable median figure sliding from $20,600 to $20,500, according to the Panel Study of Income Dynamics from the University of Michigan.

They call that a "wealth gap." It sounds more like a canyon.

I don't begrudge someone making a good salary for a tough job, and unlike idiots like Rick Perry who think we don't need a full-time Congress, running the country isn't a part-time job. But it doesn't really help make the case when a congressperson is sitting on three-quarters of a million bucks (and that's the median, so there's a bunch that are worth a lot more) and they tell us they truly represent the "average American."

It's no wonder they don't get the "We are the 99%" bit.
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Short Takes

Yemeni leader may come to U.S. for medical treatment.

North Korea wants to do business with South Korea.

Newt Gingrich goes directly after Romney in Iowa.

Prince Philip is "in good spirits" after heart surgery.

Some people are concerned over cancer from TSA screenings.
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A Little Night Comedy

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Essence of Newt

In case you happen to be under the age of thirty and your recollections of the politics of the first Bush administration are a little hazy, Bob Woodward reminded us yesterday of what it was like when Newt Gingrich, then a mere member of Congress, got hold of some power.

On the evening of Oct. 4, 1990, Newt Gingrich and his then-wife, Marianne, were enjoying a VIP reception at a Republican fundraiser when they were suddenly hustled over to have their picture taken with President George H.W. Bush.

“I thought it was a bad idea,” Gingrich said in a series of interviews in 1992 that have not been previously published.

Days earlier, Gingrich had dramatically walked out of the White House and was leading a very public rebellion against a deficit reduction and tax increase deal that Bush and top congressional leaders of both parties — including, they thought, Gingrich — had signed off on after months of tedious negotiations. The House was to vote on the deal the very next day.

“We went over and I said [to Bush], ‘I’m really sorry that this is happening,’ and he said with as much pain as I’ve heard from a politician, ‘You’re killing us, you are just killing us.’ ”

The photo was snapped, Gingrich and his wife took their seats for dinner, “and both of us just felt like crying,” he said.

Gingrich’s revolt highlighted a rift that persists to this day within the Republican Party, between a pragmatic establishment open to deal­making and a more rigid conservative base that prefers purity over compromise.

[...]

Gingrich’s defiance and high-visibility debut as provocateur in 1990 was a decisive moment for him. It was the first chance he had to exercise real political power, providing an early glimpse of the complexity and the contradictions that he has displayed since.

Bush’s budget director, the late Richard G. Darman, said that the White House was not given serious notice that Gingrich would balk at the deal and that his revolt was “an act of political sabotage.” In one 1992 memo, Darman wrote in capital letters of the “1990 GINGRICH STAB IN THE BACK.”

Gingrich was unrepentant, arguing that he had a higher purpose. “It was destructive,” he acknowledged, but necessary to stop Bush and others from making deals with Democrats.

Therein lies the essence of Newt Gingrich. There is no doubt that Mr. Gingrich revolted on the 1990 Republicans because of his policy differences; he did it because he saw an opportunity to make a name for himself and grab the headlines. That's all. He does not and never did care a rat's ass about the welfare of the country beyond what he can get out of it. With him it's all about power and acquiring more of it. That explains his narcissism, his hypocrisy, and his calculations to do anything that will gain him the upper hand in any negotiation.

The good news is that this man will never be the Republican nominee and he will never win a presidential election. The bad news is that he will never understand why it is that the voters reject him. He'll blame it on them; they're too stupid to realize just what a savior he is, and we will be inflicted with him running around the country as he promotes himself and his endless stream of books and videos like a late-night boner-pill salesman. Perfect casting.
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Catching Up

In case you missed it among all the festivities, the House and Senate did pass the payroll tax cut extension late last week, and the few remaining people in Washington who had other plans for the holidays were able to get on the last plane and head home.

Just about everyone agrees that this fight was a huge victory for President Obama. For one thing, he finally got the GOP to cave on something, which is no small feat, seeing as how he has been his own worst enemy when it comes to standing up to the them. But there's also the added bonus of drawing attention to a tax cut that a lot of American workers didn't know they were already getting.

Surely, during one of the most severe economic downturns in our nation’s history, Americans of all stripes fastidiously check their paystubs to calculate exactly how much withholding the local, state and federal governments are taking. What’s that? You don’t? You didn’t know that payroll taxes have been reduced by two percent since the beginning of last year?

Well you do now. And that’s the big bonus to the Obama victory on the payroll tax cut, a previously lesser known component of the 2010 deal on the Bush tax cut extension. The very public fight over the legislation has been won by Democrats eyeing traction in 2012, igniting media interest in the policy and subsequent image of the House GOP with political egg on their face.

One of the things that drives me crazy about President Obama and the Democrats is that they routinely fail to drive home their own accomplishments. They let the Mighty Wurlitzer of Fox News and the orcosphere carry on with lies about "massive tax hikes" and "death panels" and the "failed healthcare law" when the reality is that tax rates went down under the first stimulus plan and again with the extension of the Bush tax cuts a year ago. The healthcare law is already touching millions of lives, including kids being carried on their parents' insurance and the doughnut hole being closed for seniors on Medicare. But it's really hard to hear about those successes and accomplishments over the roar of the whackos, especially when the president himself doesn't raise his voice.

I've been saying for a long time that the Republicans can't be taken seriously when it comes to dealing with serious issues. The best thing that can come out of the fight over the payroll tax extension is that voters are seeing that too.
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Oops -- Gingrich and Perry Won't Carry Virginia

As the saying goes, you don't plan to fail; you fail to plan.

Former House Speaker Newt Gingrich and Texas Gov. Rick Perry have failed to qualify for Virginia's March 6 Republican primary.

The Republican Party of Virginia announced late Friday and early Saturday that Gingrich and Perry fell short of the 10,000 signatures of registered voters required for a candidate's name to be on the ballot.

Former Massachusetts Gov. Mitt Romney and Texas Rep. Ron Paul met the threshold and will be on the ballot.

Failure to compete in Virginia, which is among the "Super Tuesday" primaries, would deal a huge blow to any contender who had not locked up the nomination by then.

Mr. Gingrich did what any mature adult would do in a situation like this: he blamed it on the state of Virginia instead of his campaign, and immediately vowed to start a write-in campaign. Small problem; Virginia doesn't allow write-ins on primary ballots.

After careful introspection and reflection, Mr. Gingrich's campaign said that the Virginia ballot disaster was comparable to the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor:

“Newt and I agreed that the analogy is December 1941,” campaign director Michael Krull said in a message posted to Facebook. “We have experienced an unexpected set-back, but we will re-group and re-focus with increased determination, commitment and positive action. Throughout the next months there will be ups and downs; there will be successes and failures; there will be easy victories and difficult days - but in the end we will stand victorious.”

So a failure on the part of a local campaign to get enough signatures on petitions is comparable to an attack that killed over 1,500 Americans and plunged us into World War II? Excuse me, but I think your hyperbole is leaking all over the floor.
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Short Takes

Iraq -- More bombings, more deaths.

A lot of people were killed in bombings in Nigeria by Muslim extremists.

The U.S. and Pakistan are preparing for a "curtailed" relationship.

Anonymous strikes again, this time hacking into a security firm.

The Justice Department is easing rules on internet gambling.

Parts of Broward County and Fort Lauderdale are under a boil-water warning due to a water main break.

The Miami Heat beat the Mavericks in their NBA season opener.
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A Little Night Music

Something quiet to settle down with at the end of the day, whether you spent it with family, kids, dogs, cats, and all the stuff, or just had a nice quiet day all to yourself.


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The Sense of Christmas

My folks sent me a lovely wreath for the front door made from cut evergreens, and every time I open the door I get a powerful sense-memory of Christmas as a child.

We had a house with tall ceilings so we always got a Christmas tree that was at least ten feet tall - maybe taller. (It could have been less, but when you're six or seven, it looks a lot taller.) We had tons of decorations from our family history; gingerbread decorations held together with fine wire, bubble lights that never seemed to work right, and hundreds of ornaments. We always had a debate about tinsel - I hated it, my sister wanted it. Guess who won that one. Every year we put the tree in a different room - one year in the living room, the next in the front parlor, and then in the bay window in the dining room.

That was not the extent of the decorating by any means. While my family was not particularly religious, we went all out for the season in the decor mode that would have made Martha Stewart get out of the business. This was a tradition carried on from both of my parent's families; my father tells how his father was a meticulous hanger of the old-fashioned lead tinsel, and my mother's family did it up to the heights of giddiness that included the tree and presents magically appearing overnight on Christmas Eve. So we had a legacy to live up to. Lights on the front porch were interwoven in the cedar roping that looped down from the eaves. There was more roping on the bannister going up the front stairs, tied on with red ribbons, and roping again around the big mirror in the front hall. Candles in Christmas candelabra filled the house with the scent of candle smoke, merging with the evergreens, and on Christmas Eve, when the big roast was in the oven for the dinner with Aunt Margaret, the house was awash with homey aromas.

We had an old-fashioned hi-fi system with speakers throughout the first floor of the house, and as we put up the tree and the roping - usually the weekend before Christmas - we would dig out the Christmas LP's. The perennial was the Mormon Tabernacle Choir's Joy To the World that began with "Lo, How a Rose E'er Blooming." That would be followed by the Bing Crosby Merry Christmas album and anything else we had in the rack.

We had two fireplaces in the house, including one in the kitchen, so that's where we hung our stockings with care. Christmas morning would arrive and the four kids would line up, youngest first, on the back stairs, squirming with anticipation until we were let into the kitchen and a breakfast of Christmas baked treats, including a Scandanavian stollen baked by a family friend. (Never one who liked things like that, I often wished the stollen would be stolen....) Then we'd line up at the appropriate closed door behind which lay the treasure. Nearly fainting with the anticipation, the door would be flung open - a four-voiced gasp of breath, followed by pounding feet and squeals of delight. We took turns, shredding the wrapping, opening the boxes, reading the tags - "From Mom and Dad," "From Santa," "From Grammie." My mother kept a list of who got what from whom so that the thank-you notes could be written. There was always one Big Present for each kid - a bicycle, skis, a train set, a kitten - and lots of books and clothes, too. And each child was sure to give his sibling something, usually something oddly appropriate; like lavender bath beads from me to my sister.

When it was all over, the trash can was filled with the wrappings, the loot taken upstairs, and new clothes tried on. I would pore through the new books until I was nagged to get dressed to go to Christmas dinner somewhere else - with cross-town relatives or the Carranor Club - and the streets would be empty as we piled into the station wagon. We'd come home in the cold and dark, tired from all the excitement, ready to come down from the sugar-spiked high. The next day we'd pack up for our annual skiing trip to Boyne Mountain in Michigan, complete with its own set of sense memories.

These traditions were carried on as we each grew up and started our own families, adding our own touches; Allen and I merged some of each to come up with our own for fifteen years, including the tree (aritifical, though - he's allergic to pine) and music. (I've got the Bing Crosby CD on as I write this.) My sister has passed it on to her children, and my younger brother, with his three kids, carries on much as we did when we were young.

So while there may not be a whole lot of religion in any of it, there's the strength of the ties of family and love that surpasses any denominational definition. It is a common thread that binds us all together whether we say "Happy Holidays," "Merry Christmas," "Felice Navidad" (which I immediately corrupted to "Fleas On Your Dad"), "Happy Hannukah," or "Good Kwanzaa." It's the sense of togetherness and hope that can be spread regardless of whether or not you celebrate the birth of the son of God, and the thankfulness that you feel that you have made it through yet another year and look forward to making the next one better.
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Christmas Card

Let there be peace on earth
And let it begin with me
Let there be peace on earth
The peace that was meant to be

From my family to yours...

(From 1953 - I'm the kid sitting on my grandmother's lap.)

And from my house to yours.


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A Little Christmas Music

Ironically, my favorite kind of Christmas music has always been the traditional carols. This arrangement of a medley of English carols by Gustav Holst is a fine example. Enjoy.


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A Quaker Christmas Story

Candles in the Window
by Chuck Fager

Abram Woodhouse was late, and he knew it. But even so, as the daylight faded he climbed the path up Castleberg hill on the north edge of Settle. From the hilltop, on a bright clear day, he could see from Settle southwest to Pendle Hill, where George Fox had his vision of a great people to be gathered; and to the westward rose the whitewashed limestone crags of Pen-y-Ghent. He wanted to look down and see the village all lit up.

But the sun was down and a cold winter fog was rolling in dark and low over the slopes of the Yorkshire Dales. By the time Abram reached the top, huffing and puffing, snow had begun to fall, and about all he could see were the tops of some leafless trees and the mist made by his rapid breathing.

He stopped there for a moment to catch his breath. Looking north, he couldn't see the sheep he knew were out there on the rock-strewn hillsides, huddling against the cold under their thick, matted coats of fleece. Peering over the rocky ledge down toward the village, he thought he could make out a faint flicker here and there, but it could have been just his imagination.

Too bad, he thought. He had hoped to see Settle sparkling in the dark like the queen's necklace on a black velvet cushion, with candles in practically every window. Every window, that is, but the ones in the Woodhouse bakery and pastry Shop, and at their house on Lancaster Street.

The Bakery! The thought reminded Abram that he was late. He snatched up his pie basket and scrambled quickly down the path, back to the village and a long evening's work.

Christmas Eve, so called by the world's people, was always a frantically busy time at the bakery. While the Woodhouse family, being Quakers, did not observe Christmas as a special day, almost all their customers did. That meant orders for dozens more pies than usual, plus hundreds of tarts and ginger cakes, and scores of extra loaves of their rich, thick bread.

So all the week before, the whole Woodhouse family were in the shop almost round the clock, mixing dough, sprinkling sugar and cinnamon, spooning out the cherry preserves, and tending the fire under the big brick ovens.

Abram did all of this, and more: he was often sent out with a basket full of pies or tarts for delivery to the better customers: beef and mincemeat pies to old Tilbury at the Golden Lion Pub beyond the square; or down the cobbles of South Street, through the narrow passage of the Ginnett and past the sturdy old Meetinghouse, with scones for the Blackburns and buns for the widow Kilburn. Sometimes he crossed the river Ribble to Giggleswick, where the vicar doted on Mother's ginger cakes.

This evening he had been sent to the pub, where Tilbury wanted three more pies for his last round of customers, and it was from there that he had turned to climb the hill.

Abram wouldn't have thought of it, especially in the cold, except for the candles--two in a window in every house and shop.

"What are they for, this time?" he had asked Father that morning.

"It's a double illumination," Father said, "for victories past and victories prayed for. George Cockburn's troops burning Washington, DC is the victory past, and Wellington beating Napoleon before the end of 1815 is what they're praying for."

"That's a fine thing to pray for, in what's supposed to be a Christian country," his grandmother had snorted. Laying down her rolling pin, Gran had wiped sweat from her brow. "All it means is more dead soldiers, penniless widows and hungry orphans, from Paris to New York. Love thine enemies, indeed. A terrible, sinful waste."

She sighed and picked up her rolling pin. With swift, expert strokes she flattened a thick lump of dough into delicate pie crusts.

"In Philadelphia," she went on, hefting the rolling pin for emphasis, "there were dozens of pitiful beggars, one-legged and one-eyed, left over from their glorious revolution, twenty- five years later. Saw 'em with my own eyes, y'know. No need for it, I say. War is a sin, I say. And not just I, but the blessed--"

The bell over the door had tinkled just then, and Mrs. Lamb entered, seeking some bread. Gran had stopped in midsentence at its jingle. This was Quaker talk, and not for customers' ears, especially not this year.

But such talk had always interested Abram; and he never tired of hearing about Gran's travels in the ministry to America. It seemed as if she had seen everything there, from William Penn's great Quaker city to the terrible slavemarkets of Baltimore and Richmond. And she had gone there all alone, back in 1805.

To be sure, a woman traveling all that way unaccompanied had been somewhat irregular, even for Friends. But when Sarah Haygarth, who was to go with her, came down with smallpox a week before their ship sailed, Gran told the elders straight out that she still felt called to go. They had given her a traveling certificate, she insisted, and she was not going to return it until it had the signatures of Friends in America on it.

And that had been that. Gran was not someone to be trifled with. Not then, and not now.

In fact, it was Gran's gruffness which was about to come in very handy for Abram. Hurrying around a corner of the square, he ran smack into a larger boy running the other direction, looking back as he came.

Abram, his broadbrimmed hat and his basket all went sprawling. The larger boy recoiled, then seemed to recognize Abram. "Bloody Quaker!" he shouted, and kicked Abram as he tried to regain his footing. "Cowards, all of you! Bet you'd like to see Napoleon and Andy Jackson killing British soldiers, wouldn't ya?"

Abram dodged the next kick and managed to get up. "Who's thee?" he asked, backing away. "What does thee want?"

"I want all traitors and Quakers out of England!" the boy cried. He threw a rock at Abram, which missed. "Go to Philadelphia, or someplace where your sort is welcome. We hate cowards and traitors, and we hate you!"

The boy raised his fists and stepped menacingly toward Abram, who was backed up against the wall of a house. There's no place to run, he thought, so I may as well stand my ground. "Who's thee calling a coward?" he said, and raised his fists.

But then a hooded figure carrying a long stick loomed around the corner. "Here, now, what's this?" a voice said curtly.

Abram recognized Gran's commanding, husky tones. But the other boy, eyeing her staff cautiously, edged away from him, right up under a window in which two candles were burning. In their glow Abram got a good look at him: curly red hair and a freckled face, with one front tooth missing. His chin was wrapped in a gray muffler; his coat was ragged and patched.

"Go along now," Gran commanded him. She tapped her staff significantly on the stone walk.

The boy turned and ran. "Bloody Quakers!" he spat again over his shoulder. "All your windows will be broken tonight! You'll see!"

Gran watched him disappear around a corner, and then said, more quietly, "Is thee hurt, lad?" Abram shook his head, and picked up his basket and hat. He was a little ashamed that she had discovered him preparing to fight. One leg ached where it had been kicked. But it would get better.

"Well, then," Gran said, "let's get on to 'shop now. Thy father was worryin' about thee."

Abram limped a little as they walked through the square and he explained about his detour up the hill. Gran understood that; Castleberg was one of her favorite places too. But Abram was bothered by the boy's words. "Gran," he said anxiously, "hadn't we better tell Father, so he can get the shutters closed? We don't want anymore broken windows."

Gran nodded. "We'll tell him," she said. "But I've a feeling we may be a bit too late."

And so they were. At the shop, Father was sweeping up shards of glass from the walk in front. Behind him, inside the shop, mother and his sister Sarah were brushing off the display shelf. No one seemed very upset. Abram was not much surprised either; after all, they were used to it, in a way. The nights of illumination were called to celebrate British battle victories. If your window didn't have a candle in it on such nights, you risked having it broken by ragamuffins.

Even so, the elders of Settle Meeting had made it clear: the Quaker Peace Testimony forbade joining in illuminations or any other celebrations of carnal warfare, come what may. And the Woodhouse family kept to the testimony as best they could.

"Did thee see who did it?" Abram asked.

"Caught a glimpse of him running off," Father said. "Redheaded lad. Ragged. No one I knew."

Of course, thought Abram. The boy who kicked me! Anger flashed over him. Next time I see him, he told himself grimly, I will thrash him good, Peace Testimony or no.

Mother was shaking her head at Gran. "Well," she said, "I expect it's a good thing we've a standing order with Cobbold's glaziers. They'll be here day after tomorrow with a new window. I think we Friends have been keeping Cobbold in business through this war."

"How many does this make?" Gran asked. "Five times, or is it six?"

"Six," Father answered through the empty window frame. "It's been a long war." He clumped the big shutters closed over the opening and came through the door to bolt them from inside. "We'll just have to leave them shut til Barney gets here." He surveyed the shop and his family. "I think that's about cleaned up," he said. "So we better get back to work, eh?"

Mother nodded, and put away the brooms. Then she and Sarah returned to their tarts. Abram was sent to bring in a big sack of flour, then feed the fire and stoke it with air from the bellows, to be ready for Gran's next batch of pies. Well-stoked, the oven fire kept them all warm despite the broken window.

Coming back from the wood bin with another armload of logs, he heard Gran whispering to Mother. "Did thee notice, Martha, there was a black bow on the candles in Margaret Newhouse's window? It must be her boy Jack. He was off to New Orleans with the Yorkshire dragoons."

Mother shook her head. "The poor lad." she murmured. "God have mercy on his soul."

"And hers, too," Gran added, more loudly. "What'll she do now, I wonder, with four other children and her husband gone too?" Then more softly, almost to herself, she said, "another one for my pie list, I reckon."

Abram added the logs to the fire, and pumped the bellows. Then he wrapped up some orders for delivery that night. The vicar was laying in a double batch of ginger cakes, to get him through the holiday. Abram put the parcel on the counter by the back door, next to a stack of pies.

The pile of goodies made him feel envious of the lavish worldly celebrations of which they were to be part. Candy, gifts, parties, bright decorations--he had seen all these, if only for moments at a time, when making his deliveries.

Of course, the holiday would not go completely unnoticed by the Woodhouse family. The shop would be closed--there was no business that day anyway--and they always had a big dinner, with special desserts. Then father would read the Nativity story from his big old Bible, wire spectacles balanced shakily on his nose. But that would be about all. "For Friends," Gran had explained to him and his sister long ago, "Christ lives within, y'know, and Christmas should be every day."

Abram could see her point, but he still yearned for some of the gaiety and gifts other households had. For that matter, it seemed that Gran herself did not keep entirely to this stern plain testimony. For each year since he had been old enough to work in the shop, Abram had noticed her preparing special parcels of pies and tarts and bread, which she set aside from the other orders. And when he awoke on Christmas morning, she was always gone, never appearing until almost dinnertime, then coming in red-faced from the chill. She never explained where she had been; but next day at the shop, the special parcels would be gone.

Staring at the stack of well-wrapped pies, Abram suddenly understood where Gran had been all those Christmas mornings: Her parcels must be meant for some of the poor families of Settle. And as soon as he realized this, he felt a strong urge, almost a need, to join her on her rounds tomorrow. He turned toward her, bent over a counter flecked with flour.

Listening to his request, Gran looked up thoughfully from the dough she was kneading. "If thee really wants to, Abram, thee may come," she said quietly. "But think about it awhile before thee decides. I start well before dawn, and thee needn't spoil thy rest on a quiet morning. Tell me before thee turns in tonight."

Abram nodded, but he already knew what he would say. If he had to get up early, he would just go to bed sooner, that's all.

It did not turn out to be quite that simple, though. The Woodhouse home was built of solid stone, and all its windows were covered by strong shutters, pulled tight against rocks and bricks on nights of illumination. Even so, Abram was jerked awake twice by the sound of bottles crashing against the outer wall, accompanied by muffled curses.

After the second time, he lay awake, blinking in the darkness, for a long time. He remembered the redheaded boy, wondered if it was him, and felt again his anger at the attacks. He wasn't sure, when he heard Gran's quiet knock at his door, whether he had been back to sleep at all.

She saw him yawning, and whispered, "Thee still needn't come. Stay and go back to bed." He shook his head, and shrugged his way into his warmest clothes.

Heavily muffled, they slipped out into the darkness of Lancaster Street, each carrying a large basket laden with their treasure. Gran led the way, and even using her walking staff, she seemed to glide down the streets, sure-footed, as if hardly touching the ground. Abram, more than half a century younger, was hard-pressed to keep up with her.

The work was simple enough. On High Street Gran stopped at a doorway, and leaned a parcel against it at an angle, so it would stay put. She worked as silently as a thief. Around the next corner, another doorway. By the time they had worked their way to Tilbury Close, around the corner from the shop, their baskets were almost empty. Producing a key from her heavy skirts, Gran let them into the bakery, where in the dim glow from the banked coals beneath the oven Abram could make out another stack of parcels beside the door.

As they loaded up, Abram whispered a question that had been nagging at his mind: "Gran, how does thee know where to go?"

She shrugged, and whispered back. "Women know," she said. "The Women's Meeting keeps track, we hear things in the shop. And," she paused significantly, "I just remember which windows have black ribbons. Come along now." She pulled the door shut behind them.

There were some windows where candles still burned, flickering in low misshapen stumps of wax, but mostly Settle was dark. As they crossed the empty square, with its row of shops in the Shambles, Abram glanced up and saw that the sky had cleared. He could make out a sprinkle of stars between the dark shapes of the buildings.

They were headed up the steep side streets beyond the square now, where the houses were smaller and becoming shabby. It seemed that Gran was laying parcels more often here, and soon their baskets were almost empty again. Then she stopped by an alley, and gestured to Abram.

"Here," she said, handing him a big parcel, "thee can take this one. Past the third house on the left there's a gate, and a tiny cottage set back a few yards. Step quietly now."

Abram eagerly took the parcel, and she followed him down the alley. He found the gate, but stumbled on a cobblestone as he reached for it. The gate creaked as he pushed it back. He couldn't see the cottage at first, then spotted a glow. Moving toward it, he tripped over a milkpail and almost lost his balance as the metal rolled and clattered.

Frightened at the noise, Abram straightened up and took a few more paces toward the cottage. He was almost at the door, stooping to lay the parcel, when it was jerked open abruptly.

"Who's there?" a frightened voice demanded. A figure stood in the doorway holding a lantern in one hand and a club raised in the other.

At the rush of light and sound, Abram stumbled backward, and tripped again over the milk pail, which had rolled up behind him. Losing his balance, he flailed his arms out to keep from falling, flinging away his heavy parcel. The figure in the doorway, equally startled, reflexively dropped the club and caught the package one-handed.

Thoroughly rattled now, Abram rolled to his feet and darted to the gate. There he glanced back toward the cottage, then started to run again--right into Gran's muffled form.

She caught hold of him and held him a moment, until he got over his panic. As he clung to her he suddenly realized she was stifling giggles.

"My heavens, lad," she said, "don't thee remember what the saviour said? 'When thou givest alms, let not thy left hand know what thy right hand is doing.' I'm afraid thee needs some practice in that, Abram. Come along now."

Back out of the alley, Gran turned away from the village, up the steep street again, then plunged suddenly through a low gate onto what Abram knew was the path up the side of Castleberg. "Is there someone up here too?'' he whispered, but she shook her head and kept climbing. She knew this path as well as the rest of the town, even in the dark, and kept ahead of him despite her age.

At the crest of the hill she stepped to the ledge where the village lay visible below. The predawn air was clear now. Settle's few remaining lights blinked up at them, and a glimmer wavered on the slow current of the Ribble.

The night sky was a much more impressive display, moonless and glittering with stars from horizon to horizon. Behind him Abram heard the faint baaing of sheep, somewhere on the dales. It was cold up here, but beautiful. He realized that he had hardly felt the cold til now.

Gran broke into his thoughts. "Did thee recognize anyone at the cottage, Abram?" she asked.

He thought back. It all happened so fast. But wait--in the lamplight, just for a split-second, he thought he had seen a face--he drew in his breath sharply. "Gran!" he exclaimed. "It was the boy who kicked me. His hair, his tooth--they were the same."

He felt rather than saw her nod. "Aye," she said, "and he recognized thee, too. But what about the cottage, now? Did thee notice anything about it, lad?"

He thought back again. There hadn't been much light until the door opened, just a glow from--from what? Then he knew: "Candles," he said. "In the window."

"Aye," she said again. "And did thee see what was on the candlestick?"

He frowned in thought, then shook his head.

"A black ribbon," she said quietly. "It's his father. Killed in Flanders two months ago."

He considered this in silence, watching his breath turn into mist and starting to shiver, until Gran said, "We'd best get back. There's still a dozen more stops to make yet. The war has been long, lad, and in the world's eyes Christmas is short. Though I think thee knows better."

He followed her quietly down the path, through the empty streets and across the square, toward the shuttered shop. The candles will be burning again tonight, Abram thought, and the redheaded lad might be out too, looking to throw his rocks.

But perhaps not. Abram realized that his anger at the boy was gone. If he met him again, he wouldn't feel a need to fight. And he could hope that, if the lad had recognized him at the cottage, maybe some of his anger would begin to cool, too. Maybe they could have peace on earth, at least between the two of them, here in Settle, at least for now.

The elders of Settle Meeting wouldn't let him put a candle in the window even for that small victory, he thought. But when the tapers were lit at home for dinner, he would remember. That would be his Quaker illumination for this Christmas. It might not be much as the world measured such things. But it would do.
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Stop That Noise!

A Little Night Music

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Cold Comfort -- Ctd.

I'm slowly getting better. I had forgotten how long it takes for the common cold to go away, and I had forgotten how perfectly annoying that irritating cough and congestion can be. Now I remember.

I've been chugging enough water that my kidneys are suing for separate maintenance and I've beaten a path to the biffy many times in the night. The good news is that the effects are slowly receding, but my voice has descended to the timbre of Lauren Bacall.

Being sick has turned the creative juices to sludge, so I can report that progress on the new play is very slow. I expect that once I'm firing on all thrusters, I'll get back to it. Right now I'm watching the Dolphins lead the Patriots, which I know cannot last.

I'll put up my usual Christmas posting for tomorrow, and then I'll be enjoying the day with my Miami friends and family. Have a nice Christmas Eve if you celebrate, and if you don't, try the kung-pao chicken at the Peking Moon.
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Props!

Rachel Maddow has a tendency to use props on her show to get across a point. Sometimes they work... and sometimes they don't.

Visit msnbc.com for breaking news, world news, and news about the economy

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Short Takes

The Department of Justice has rejected South Carolina's new voter ID law.

Oops -- Newt Gingrich and Rick Perry fail to qualify for the Virginia primary ballot.

Cuba is freeing 2,900 prisoners.

Prince Philip received a heart stent.

Shoez! -- People riot over the new Air Jordans.

Java Jive -- Travelers on Florida's Turnpike treated to free coffee.
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A Little Night Music

Count your blessings... I have no plans for "Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer." Ever.
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The War On Christmas -- Ctd

Here's the official White House Christmas card:

The greeting inside reads, "From our family to yours, may your holidays shine with the light of the season."

What!? No mention of "Merry Christmas"? No picture of the Baby Jesus or Three Wise Men, or even Santa Claus? This is just more proof that Barack Obama is a secret Muslim Kenyan socialist who is using the official White House card to spread his evil message of sharia and single-payer healthcare. And you can bet that the GOP is furious about it.

Sarah Palin even opined on the issue on Fox.

"It's odd," Palin said, wondering why the president's Christmas card highlights his dog instead of traditions like "family, faith and freedom."

If she's upset about that, wait till she sees the ones from George W. Bush and Ronald Reagan.

Yeah, you guessed it. Both Bush and Reagan sent out "holiday" cards with no mention of Christmas or Jesus. So did John F. Kennedy and and Lyndon Johnson. Maybe it's because they, like most sane people, know that not everyone in America is religious, Christian, or a far-right-wing nitwit.

HT to the FC.
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House GOP Caves

It was only a matter of time.

Under a deal reached between House and Senate leaders, the House will now approve as early as Friday the two-month extension of a payroll tax holiday and unemployment benefits approved by the Senate last Saturday, and the Senate will appoint members of a House-Senate conference committee to negotiate legislation to extend both benefits through 2012.

House Republicans — who rejected an almost identical deal on Tuesday — collapsed under the political rubble that has accumulated over the week, much of it from their own party, worried that the blockade would do serious damage to their appeal to voters.

The House speaker, John A. Boehner, determined to put the issue behind his party, announced the decision over the phone to members on Thursday, and did not permit the usual back and forth that is common on such calls, enraging many of them.

After his conversation with lawmakers, the speaker conceded to reporters that it might not have been “politically the smartest thing in the world” for House Republicans to put themselves between a tax cut and the 160 million American workers who would benefit from it, and to allow President Obama and Congressional Democrats to seize the momentum on the issue.

I doubt that the Republicans will learn anything from this. In fact, the next time it's going to make the teabaggers even more intransigent, especially now that they see that John Boehner can be rolled. If I were him, I'd keep an eye on Eric Cantor; there's a touch of Brutus going on there.

The punditocracy will declare that this is good news for Mitt Romney and actually bad for the Democrats, and we'll be back to the same old bullshit as soon as the new year begins, but for the moment, let's enjoy the fact that 160 million people aren't going to get a nasty surprise with their first paycheck next month.
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The Impact of Gay Marriage

I love good snark.

The gay and lesbian community of Minnesota has issued a letter of apology to recently resigned Senate Majority Leader Amy Koch for ruining the institution of marriage and causing her to stray from her husband and engage in an "inappropriate relationship."

"On behalf of all gays and lesbians living in Minnesota, I would like to wholeheartedly apologize for our community's successful efforts to threaten your traditional marriage," reads the letter from John Medeiros. "We apologize that our selfish requests to marry those we love has cheapened and degraded traditional marriage so much that we caused you to stray from your own holy union for something more cheap and tawdry."

​The letter comes on the heels of Koch's own apology, released yesterday, in which she expressed her deep regret for "engaging in a relationship with a Senate staffer." Although the letter did not specify the identity of the other participant in the "inappropriate relationship," it is widely rumored to be former communications chief Michael Brodkorb, who lost several positions with the GOP in the wake of the scandal.

Koch, Brodkorb, and their fellow Republicans campaigned this year to put a constitutional amendment on next year's ballot to define marriage as the union between a man and a woman, thus forbidding gay marriage. Sadly, the amendment comes too late to prevent Koch from straying from her own marriage.

Here's the whole letter.

Oh, I know, it's not nice to laugh and giggle uncontrollably over someone else's misfortune, and it's too bad when someone's marriage goes kablooey because of a case of the galloping hornies. But when you make a career out of campaigning to keep other people from seeking the kind of stability and companionship that she apparently takes so cavalierly, it's hard not to bust a gut. Heh.
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Short Takes

Strong earthquakes hit New Zealand.

Both sides were at fault for the deadly drone strike in Pakistan, according to the U.S.

North and South Korea hint at making nice.

Travel this weekend may be messy.

Best Buy cancels some on-line orders. (Good thing I went to the store.)
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Friday Catblogging Classic

Snowball really likes this old music box that I put out every year. It plays Silent Night.

"Play it again."
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A Little Night Music

Celebrate the solstice.


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Previews of Coming Attractions

The first trailer for The Hobbit - An Unexpected Journey.


It opens December 14, 2012 at a theatre near you.

HT to Melissa.
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Our Christmas Revels

Were it not for the fact that about 160 million people would get a tax hike next week and screw up the economy, the twitterpation over the extension of the payroll tax cut within House Republicans would be hilarious. Speaker John Boehner was for the renewal before he was against it, the Tea Party contingent is in full cry, the punditocracy is having conniptions, the Wall Street Journal is thundering its disapproval, and of course you know that Newt Gingrich would have something to say because he is the font of all wisdom, even when he's full of it. Mitt Romney had no position because he's not sure yet. And whodathunk that the Republicans would be fighting over passing a tax cut?

Rest assured that the White House is enjoying every moment of this. It makes the Democrats look like the reasonable people in the room, and it shows once again that when it comes right down to it, the Republicans can't get over their obsession with defeating Barack Obama. And the White House has now -- finally -- learned that they can stand up to the bullies and they will beat the crap out of themselves in their effort to lay a glove on him. And since the summer debacle over the debt limit, it became clear to a lot of people on both sides of the aisle that the Republicans are really undisciplined -- they're liked sugar-bombed six year olds -- and their message to the voters to elect them is based mainly on lies, misrepresentations, and just plain weirdness.

If this seems like a re-run of a Christmas special from years past, you're right. A year ago we went through the same thing with the extension of the Bush tax cuts. The conventional wisdom at the time was that the Republicans, who weren't even in the majority yet, put one over on the Democrats. But now that we've seen what kind of leadership the GOP has to offer -- none -- it's scaring the crap out of voters who are looking them over and realizing what a bunch of clowns they are.
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Winter Solstice

Welcome to winter today in the Northern Hemisphere.

The good news is that from now on the days will be getting longer... at least in terms of daylight. And you folks in the Southern Hemisphere, enjoy your summer.

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Short Takes

A string of bombings in Iraq killed dozens of people.

Euro-Crisis -- The European Central Bank is giving out the dough.

Wal-Mart pulls tainted baby formula.

Countrywide Mortgage reaches a settlement in the amount of $355 million with the feds.

Newt Gingrich's campaign is sputtering in Florida.
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A Little Night Music

Yumpin' Yiminy. I first heard this on J.P. McCarthy's morning show on WJR in Detroit sometime back in the 1960's.


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When Fact-Checkers Cave

Politifact, the organization that checks statements by politicians and parties for their veracity, has labeled the Democrats' claim that the Republicans voted to end Medicare as the Lie of the Year.

Huh?

Their defense is that the GOP plan is to take the current plan and replace it with a voucher plan so that seniors could buy private insurance. If the insurance costs more than the voucher is worth, well, too bad. But it would still be called "Medicare" so, according to Politifact, it's the same thing and therefore the Democrats saying it's the end of the program is a big fat lie.

John Cole has a pretty good analogy.

America turns off the lights, goes to bed, leaving their Mercedes in the driveway. While we sleep, the Republicans sneak into the car, drive it off, and sell it, but they keep the Mercedes hood ornament. They then split the proceeds between their rich buddies, and go out and find a Ford Pinto up on cinderblocks in a field, with the grass growing through the floorboard. They place that in the driveway, cleverly glue the Mercedes ornament onto the front of the Pinto, and sneak off into the night. The next morning, America and Democrats are screaming “What the hell happened to my car.” Republicans say “What are you talking about, there is your Mercedes right there, we just modernized it and fixed it up a bit for long-term financial stability,” and point at the Pinto.

Then, the rocket scientists at Politifact drive by to take a non-partisan look at things, see the Mercedes symbol on the front of the car, and tell us all we’re lying about the Republicans stealing our Mercedes.

Here's the funny thing... if Politifact read that excuse from a candidate or a political party, they'd probably rate it as Pants on Fire themselves.

HT to Steve Benen.
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