Best wishes to you and yours as you ring in the New Year

Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,

   The flying cloud, the frosty light:

   The year is dying in the night;

Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

Ring out the old, ring in the new,

Ring, happy bells, across the snow:

   The year is going, let him go;

Ring out the false, ring in the true.

Ring out the grief that saps the mind

For those that here we see no more;

   Ring out the feud of rich and poor,

Ring in redress to all mankind.

Ring out a slowly dying cause,

   And ancient forms of party strife;

   Ring in the nobler modes of life,

With sweeter manners, purer laws.

Ring out the want, the care, the sin,

   The faithless coldness of the times;

   Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes

But ring the fuller minstrel in.

Ring out false pride in place and blood,

   The civic slander and the spite;

   Ring in the love of truth and right,

Ring in the common love of good.

Ring out old shapes of foul disease;

   Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;

   Ring out the thousand wars of old,

Ring in the thousand years of peace.

These lines, taken from Alfred, Lord Tennyson's 'Ring Out, Wild Bells',  a part of the elegy 'In Memoriam' written for Arthur Henry Hallam, seem fitting to mark the turning of this year into the next.

May the New Year bring health, wealth and happiness to each one of you and your families.

Cheers,
Jennifer

Happy Christmas to you and yours!

May all the joys of the season come to you and your family on this Christmas Day, 

and may the world enjoy a peaceful and happy new year.

The Christmas of the little red sewing machine

The memory of this Christmas takes me far back in time, back to a Christmas when I was old enough to remember some of the details, but not old enough to truly appreciate what it meant for my parents to have a Christmas for us that year. When you are a little child you never imagine what life is like for your parents, what kinds of struggles they face; you believe your mother and father can deal with anything.

Although I did not realize it at the time, the Christmas of the little red sewing machine was one of great struggle for my parents.  My mother was grieving the loss of her father earlier that year, and the loss of a baby to miscarriage that September.  The company for which my father worked had closed down, so for a time my dad was left without a job.  Although these things happened, my brother and I were unaware of the true state of affairs.

My parents were always good savers, so they used the money set aside to take care of our family until Dad found another job. Although my parents didn't use a lot of money for Christmas that year, they made sure we had a memorable one.  My mom usually makes several traditional Irish Christmas puddings each year, but that year Mom made only one, and it was much smaller than usual.  Dad brought home a smaller Christmas tree, and we decorated it with just a few of the decorations we always used, such as the little feathered birds that I loved to clip on the ends of the tree branches.

The real change took place starting on Christmas Eve.  Before that night, on Christmas Eve, we had always been allowed to choose a single present to open just before we went to bed, but instead of a present, for each of us there was a new pair of soft flannel pajamas on our pillow, and new slippers on the floor next to our beds.  I remember being excited about the appearance of the pajamas and slippers because we had never done this before.  After we dressed in our new pajamas, we said our prayers, and Mom tucked us into bed.

In the morning there were no presents under the tree, instead there was to be a "Present Hunt".  We searched around the house as Mom and Dad gave us clues to lead us to a present, telling us whether we were getting "warmer" or "colder", as we searched for the gifts.  I remember the sounds of a lot of laughter and silliness during the search.

Two presents were given to me on that Christmas day.  One present was a little box of lace handkerchiefs, embroidered in bright red and green, the other was my little red sewing machine.  There was no pretty paper around them, no ribbons or bows to untie, just these small special gifts as they were.  I still remember exactly where I found the sewing machine.  It was tucked behind the tall white door which led into our living room.  I was so excited when I found it that I held it in the air and danced around with it.  It's funny the things you remember about such times.  If I close my eyes now I can exactly recollect the bright red colour and the coolness of the metal of that little machine, as though it was right here in front of me.  I remember the delicate sheerness of those handkerchiefs, as I draped one over my hand; they seemed so fragile that I was afraid to damage them.

My mom prefers not to think about that Christmas; it is difficult for her to recollect the struggles of that year, and the fear of uncertainty, and associate it with any feelings of happiness.  For me, good memories of that Christmas remain, because the greatest gifts I received on that day were the feelings of joy, comfort and security that my parents imparted to us.  Those feelings were better than any gift money can buy.  Even though my brother and I were quite young, somehow we understood how much it meant to our parents for us to be happy on that day, and we were, we truly were.

©Copyright J.Geraghty-Gorman 2011.

Advent Calendar of Christmas Memories: Manifesting Santa Claus

Thank you Graphics Fairy!

My mom told me a story about the Christmas my brother began to doubt the existence of Santa Claus.  Mom doesn't recall at what age his skepticism set in, but she does remember 'threatening' my brother with some unspecified punishment if he said anything about his doubts to me, his little sister.  My brother is a good egg, and he never said a word to me about his feeling that Santa was a creature of dubious origin.  I believe it is in part due to my brother that I still believe in Santa Claus.

Don't worry, I haven't lost my rational mind (not entirely).  There is honestly a teeny weeny part of me who still wishes for the whole landing on the roof and coming down the chimney thing, but only once, just to see it.  After that I would worry about the chimney flue, and making sure it was open, and that there was no fire in the fireplace.  Eventually it would just be too stressful.  I'd have to give Santa a front door key and the alarm code.

Nah! Overall a bad idea.

Instead, I believe in manifestations of Santa Claus.  There is a kindness and a selflessness in old St. Nick which finds its way into people, not only at Christmas, but throughout the year.  Over the years I have come across many people who have manifested Santa Claus in my life.  I am very grateful for each and every one.

Here are a few of those who are:

Definitely manifesting Santa.

When I was 11 years old, while on my way to the library downtown, I was hit by a car.  A homeless man and a woman who was passing by with her daughter lifted me off of the road and waited with me until the ambulance showed up.  I was badly injured, bleeding heavily from my mouth, and in shock.  According to the woman, when the man noticed I was shivering he took off his coat, put it over me, and turned my head to the side so that I wouldn’t choke on the blood.  When they loaded me into the ambulance, I still had the coat over me, but by then it was covered with blood.

Afterward, my parents put an announcement in the newspaper because they wanted to meet the man who had so generously helped me, to thank him and to replace his coat, but they were unable to find any trace of him.  Every year around Christmas time I think about this man who had very little himself, but acted out of such kindness and selflessness to help me.   In my mind he was definitely manifesting Santa Claus.

Although every day acts of kindness are not so dramatic as this instance, I find the following also to be

Definitely Manifesting Santa:

Family members and friends the world over who make my day, and my week, when they tell me they like something I've written in this blog.  (BTW this is not a hint.)

The people who follow this blog, and those who comment, make my day, and my week by making me feel as though my blog matters.

Fellow family history/genealogy bloggers who put themselves out there and share their research and their stories, their successes and their frustrations.  They are a giant well of inspiration that will never run dry.

A certain leader of the GeneaBloggers community, Thomas, who inspires us, helps us, teaches us, and puts our posts on blog rolls so that more people can see them.

Definitely manifesting Santa.

The 'Christmas people' who collect toys, clothing, and food for the local food bank and city wide charities.

The Archivists at Cathal Brugha Military Archives who have gone above and beyond the call of duty to help me with my research.

The elderly man at Glasnevin Cemetery who stopped to help me find my grandfather's unmarked grave, just because.

The Santa at the Eaton Centre who made my day when he smiled and waved as I passed by.

The stranger who smiled and held the door for me, just to be nice.

The guy on the highway who might have been happy to just fly past me, but instead slowed down to let me merge into the lane.

They are out there everywhere,  just waiting to do something kind, most of the time without even giving it a second thought.

Definitely Manifesting Santa.

I am very fortunate because my most special manifestation of Santa Claus, my husband Matthew, wakes up beside me every day, loves me, encourages me, challenges me and supports me in my work.   Each and every day I thank my lucky stars to have him in my life.

Who manifests Santa Claus in your life?

Graphic courtesy of The Graphics Fairy.

Copyright©J.Geraghty-Gorman 2011.

The Famine Memorial, Custom House Quay, Dublin, Ireland

Filled with the spirit of gratitude for all that I have in my own life, I approached this installation by artist Rowan Gillespie.  As the world passes by, with people going about their daily business, it can be easy to forget how so many Irish struggled just to survive, and the fact that so many of them did not.  In the midst of morning traffic, a strange sort of quiet descended on this small part of the Custom House Quay where the figures stand, in memory of all those Irish who lost their lives to the Great Famine, An Gorta Mór, of 1845-1852, and I realized the loss is an unfathomable one.

The Irish Quarterly Review of 1854 offered the following commentary on the great number of starving Irish walking along the Liffey to board the famine ships at the quays:

"A procession fraught with most striking and most melancholy interest, wending its painful and mournful way along the whole line of the river to where the beautiful pile of the Custom house is indistinguishable in the far distance."

Although An Gorta Mór is probably the best known of the 'great' famines, the Irish suffered through two other periods of widespread famine, the famine of 1740-41, and the famine of 1879, known as An Gorta Beag.  In addition to this, throughout Ireland during many periods there were food shortages, particularly in the west country.  The medallion on the grounds of this installation reminds us of our responsibility to ensure that human beings the world over never again suffer in this way. It reads:

Wherever

Men and Women

are condemned to live in

poverty, human rights are violated.

To come together to ensure that these

rights are respected is our solemn duty.

Click on photographs to view larger version.
All photographs Copyright©J.Geraghty-Gorman 2011.