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“When I talk to audiences about the size and age of the cosmos, people often say, ‘It makes me feel so insignificant.’

“I answer, ‘The bigger and more impersonal the universe is, the more meaningful you are, because this vast, impersonal place needs something significant to fill it up.’

“We’ve abandoned the old belief that humanity is at the physical centre of the universe but must come back to believing we are at the centre of meaning.” Alan Dressler, astronomer, quoted by Gregg Easterbook in Beside Still Waters: Searching for Meaning in an Age of Doubt published by William Morrow, and quoted in the Points To Ponder column of the January 2000 issue of the Reader’s Digest.

I’d like to thank all those listeners who have written recently to this blog with their thoughts about the program. I talked with a listener on the phone quite some time back who said to me that she often invites me into her home on nights like this. The meeting place is the living room of her home that overlooks the water. After we hung up, I thought of all those people who have said similar things to me over the years. One woman liked to light candles, get into a warm bath and listen to the music and the words of love I speak of. (In that situation, you can believe me when I say that I discreetly cover my eyes.) Another woman told me that the radio show is in her home, her car, her dances and her dreams. How lovely it is to know that this program has a special place in the hearts and minds of so many people. Our meeting places might be different, but it is a shared experience that brings us all together. It is the need to know more about life and love and to remember Lovers and Other Strangers…

On tonight’s radio program we discuss the experience of place. Sometimes this ‘place’ that I speak of can only be found where it has been stored–in a corner of the mind. Maybe the distance is too great to ever really go back, or too many years have intervened. Maybe the distance consists of emotional miles. Time may have changed what we remember. Maybe we remember it seen through eyes that were once young. When observed through the eyes of an adult we see the same place but from a different perspective and are often disappointed. For example, a person might not have realized he or she was poor growing up, but from the vantage point of an adult it is glaringly obvious. Or we hope the person we left behind is still there, still waiting for us to make up our mind or to achieve our goals, to return and pick up the relationship where we left it. We are also afraid to take the chance that maybe they’ve had a change of mind and are no longer waiting patiently.

The experience of place…

“Isolation is aloneness that is forced upon you, like a punishment. Solitude is aloneness you choose and embrace. I think great things can come out of solitude, out of going to a place where all is quiet except for the beating of your heart.” Jeanne Marie Laskas from The Washington Post, quoted in the Points to Ponder column of the November 1998 issue of the Reader’s Digest.

***

Don Jackson

“The hiss was now becoming a roar - the whole world was a vast moving screen of snow - even now it said peace, said remoteness, it said cold, it said sleep.” An excerpt  from Silent Snow, Secret Snow by Conrad Aiken (1889-1973) published in 1932.

 Emily Dickinson wrote countless poems of incredible beauty, with a lyrical quality that I daresay has not been seen since she described her art, this way: “If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold I know no fire can ever warm me, I know that is poetry..” I hope some of the poems I feature during my radio show can warm the soul even during the coldest of nights.

Mark Sunlin wrote about the crow in the 1994  Almanac For Farmers and City Folk. He said that one morning in Minnesota, he and his dog braved a temperature of 20-degrees-below-zero. He looked up and saw a crow sitting on a tree that had to be close to one hundred feet high, braving the bitterly cold winds, and “cawing its defiance at the weather”. He goes on to write that crows seem little bothered by extremes in temperature. Human beings are not so equipped.

Throughout the winter my family spends a lot of time in hockey arenas. We travel through some of the worst weather to get to these out-of-the-way rinks, only to go inside where it’s just as cold, to watch my son play his games. If it’s a night game, and the skies are clear when we leave the arena, we are rewarded with a spectacular view of the heavens.

We look up into the cold night sky of winter and over the course of the season, we can track the movements of the stars and planets. You might not want to stand outside on extremely cold nights and stare up into the sky, but if you did, you might wonder what our ancestors believed about the heavens… and what about a creature on a planet orbitting a distant star.. Ever wonder what he or she might think looking up at a familiar star overhead? That star being our own sun? If it were true, the space might not seem such a cold, unforgivable place devoid of life..

***

Don Jackson

“Architecture is the alphabet of giants; it is the largest set of symbols ever made to meet the eyes of men.” A quote from G. K. Chesterton.

Winter carnivals will soon be underway. One of the many attractions certain to draw a crowd is the display of ice sculptures, those elaborate works of art carved from huge blocks of ice. Smaller versions have been featured as table centerpieces at banquets and galas, but those pale in comparison to the ones carved at these outdoor events. I’ve always been fascinated by the intricate work that goes into some of the designs and the creative vision of the artists.

I watched a special on TV some years back that featured the same idea only done in chocolate and sugar. The displays were fragile in the extreme. Just moving them from the work area to the display tables was an accomplishment in itself. The designers ran the risk of their intricate designs coming apart before the judges even had the opportunity to grade their creations.

The world boasts some amazing architecture carved in marble and stone, and also made from concrete, steel and glass. The Pyramids in Egypt and others of like design scattered around the globe, Stonehenge in England, and the modern monuments of skyscrapers and towers, have given humankind the opportunity to reach for the sky and leave a permanent imprint on the land. The artist, whose sculptures are made of ice and snow, though, has to rely on a photograph to capture the moment. A sudden change in weather and what took hours to plan and execute can disappear in a matter of moments.

The wind can create one of those fleeting landscape designs. The way it sculpts a fresh snowdrift into a thing of natural beauty. Depending on the backdrop and the weather, time is of the essence for those who admire a winter landscape. One moment the scene can be breathtaking only to be destroyed as the next gust makes a few slight alterations.

The true architects of snow are children. They look at a snowbank and see a fortress ready to be constructed. I remember the very first snow-fort I made for my children when they were very young. It was a crude design but my daughter embellished my efforts with a couple of outdoor chairs, a small table and some of her plastic dishes. It became a snow-house that made them anxious to visit every day until it, too, began to melt and fall apart. In later years, they took to creating their own snow-forts. I’ve always made sure to remind them about the dangers of tunneling through unstable mounds of snow.

That brings me to a line by Ralph Waldo Emerson: “The frolic architecture of snow.” Nature is pretty good at adding swirls and other designs to the falling snow. Of all the designs the wind makes as it howls around the eaves and piles drifts up against the side of the house, nothing is more graceful than a pristine snowfield glittering like diamonds, or one perfect snow angel that looks like it was meant to be there. A snow angel can seem part of the natural design of the falling snow.

The most spectacular architecture in snow has to be the snow angel.

When my children were much younger they enjoyed my efforts at building a snow-house but they were just as happy to fall back into the snow and make a little magic of their own. They found, just like we did, that you need an untouched patch of snow, preferably just after it stops snowing, in order to gain the utmost effect. You need a friend standing just off to the side, ready to help you up so that your snow angel looks like it is part of the natural snowscape.

I wonder who it was who came up with the first snow angel? It would have had to have been a child, or someone with the ageless heart of a child..

Do it just once and it is something you never forget. Remember the first time you demonstrated the technique to your children? They probably spent the rest of their time outdoors trying to get theirs ‘just right’. The day ended with snow angels all over the yard facing every direction.

It’s when we discover one solitary angel in an otherwise unbroken expanse of snow that we wonder at the natural beauty of such a simple design. The wonderful thing about it is this: you’re never too old to make snow angels.

…never too old to pass the magic along…

***

Don Jackson

Ingmar Bergman, quoted by Charles Marowitz in The New York Times Magazine, and featured in the Points To Ponder column of the October 1995 issue of the Reader’s Digest, said: “Old age is like climbing a mountain. The higher you get, the more breathless and tired you become. But your view becomes much more extensive.”

We lost a great man just the other day. Sir Edmund Hillary, who first conquered Mount Everest with Nepal’s Tenzing Norgay Sherpa, passed away at the age of 88. He reached the summit of the 8,848-metre mountain in the Himalayas at 11:30 a.m. on May 29 1953. I’d like to pass along my condolences to his family and friends in New Zealand. He was truly an inspiration.

Author Brian Cavanaugh wrote something about this great man some years back. He mentioned that Hillary was knighted for his efforts on the mountain. He also reminded me that in the book, High Adventure, we learn that “Hillary had to grow into his success.” This was not the first time he had tried to climb to the peak of Everest. He had tried, and failed, in 1952. Upon his return, a group in England invited him to speak to their members. He was greeted with a thunderous round of applause. As Cavanaugh wrote: “The audience was recognizing an attempt at greatness, but Edmund Hillary saw himself as a failure.” He made a fist at a photo of the mountain on the stage and said, “Mount Everest, you beat me the first time, but I’ll beat you the next time, because you’ve grown all you are going to grow…” He then went on to say, “…but I’m still growing.” He didn’t fade away after finally beating the mountain.  In 1957, he established Scott Base in Antarctica, and on January 3, 1958, led the first vehicles overland to the South Pole. In 1985, he was appointed New Zealand Ambassador to India, Nepal and Bangladesh. All through his life he pursued his other dreams and inspired even more people the world over. He spent the rest of his life in humanitarian work, as well. A true hero, and it all began when he faced a mountain head-on at age 33. William Blake wrote: “Great things are done when men and mountains meet…”

We were at my son’s hockey game tonight. It was my son’s turn to play the bench. He had already given me the birthday present I wanted with a win just the other night. Some of the parents on the team took the opportunity to wish me all the best. My response? ”From this point on, I start to count backwards.”

I read an article some years back about a woman who no longer counted the “years” but the “summers.” I think I’d like to begin that trend myself.

If you look at the birthdays in the newspaper today, you will see who I share a birthday with. It makes for interesting reading. I won’t say anymore–just take a look…

My mother died at age 89 a few years back. She had more energy than I had at the time. Pablo Casals, the great cellist, was asked why he still practised for five hours every day at age 85. His response? “Because I think I am getting better.” I think that’s why my mother tried so hard–every day she thought she was getting better at this thing called “living.” We could learn a lot from the both of them, and Sir Edmund Hillary, as well…

Look at all those ads on TV and in magazines. A youthful appearance must be what we’re looking for, because there are a lot of products on the market that boast that they can soften the evidence of the passage of time. My mother never worried about the passage of time…

Roger Rosenblatt from Modern Maturity, and again quoted in the Points To Ponder column of the August 1998 issue of the Reader’s Digest, said: “Age gracefully? I think not. Age ferociously instead. Seize everything valuable within reach. Question. Extend. Give. The face will follow. All the cosmetic surgeons in the world could never produce such a face.”

One of my favorite poems is by Yeats. “When you are old and grey and full of sleep, / And nodding by the fire, take down this book, / And slowly read, and dream of the soft look / Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

“How many loved your moments of glad grace, / And loved your beauty with love false or true, / But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, / And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

“And bending down beside the glowing bars, / Murmur, a little sadly, how love fled / And paced upon the mountains overhead / And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.”

***

Don Jackson

The concluding scene of the 1998 film Meet Joe Black is a powerful one, as the powerful character William Parrish, played by Anthony Hopkins, celebrates his last birthday. Brad Pitt’s Grim Reaper is set to accompany him over the rise and to the next life as the fireworks explode in the sky.

Earlier this week we celebrated the birthdate of J. R. Tolkien by revisiting his trilogy, The Lord Of The Rings. It’s interesting to note that we first meet the wizard Gandalf at Bilbo’s legendary birthday party. He arrives in a wagon filled with all kinds of fireworks of his own design. At the party it is a display that could only take place in a setting like Middle-earth. You might remember that it was Merry and Pippin who set them off prematurely. At one point, a huge dragon comes swooping down on the partygoers. Maybe you’ve been fortunate enough to have fireworks at your own birthday party. I would hazard a guess that they weren’t as elaborate as was the case in the beginning of the first film in the series. The elves were not at Bilbo’s party, but the fairies attended this next one…

“‘What shall we give,’ the fairies said, / Dancing by night round the cradle bed. / ‘Give her,’ said one with an emerald zone / ‘Give her of earth the sweetest things known– / Love that is watchful and tender and true, / Joy that is fresh every morn with the dew, / Grace of beauty and roses of health, / Sparkle of genius and splendor of wealth– / All that is sweet to the heart or the sight / All that doth render the earth most bright / Many a dazzling gift to tell / That the fairies love baby and love her well.’” The First Birthday Party written by an anonymous 19th-century writer and featured in the book, A Posy For Parents: The Victorian Nursery Companion: A Keepsake For Baby by Sarah Ban Breathnach.

I’ve always liked this description: “Fireflies, like trick birthday candles, keep reigniting just when you thought they’d gone out.” An excerpt from The New York Times. I also like this observation by William Mulock on his 95th birthday, and quoted in the Points To Ponder column of the May 2003 issue of the Reader’s Digest magazine. He said: “The first of May is still an enchanted day to me. The best of life is always further on. Its real lure is hidden behind the hills of time.” What a great outlook, no matter how many birthdays have come and gone. “Legendary investor Benjamin Graham who knew the value of time and money as well as anyone, said just before his 80th birthday that his idea of a well-spent day was one in which he did ’something foolish, something creative, and something generous.’” An excerpt from the 1994 edition of The Almanac For Farmers And City Folk.

January 1st has been known over the years as “Every Man’s Birthday.” Many countries add a year to people’s ages on that date automatically rather than wait for their individual birthdays. This according to The Globe and Mail’s Social Studies column from some years back.

My wife and I have birthdays coming up, and you will too, sometime this year. My wife and I were born in the heart of the coldest part of winter. We’ve often discussed this since our birthdays are so close together. Being born in the winter and taken home from the hospital in the freezing cold, we both believe that’s the reason why we’re not so enamored of the winter. We both prefer the high heat of summer.

It doesn’t matter how many birthdays have past, this year could be the start of something great…

“Alexander The Great ascended the throne at twenty and conquered the known world by thirty-three. Julius Caesar at a young age captured eight hundred cities, conquered three hundred nations, defeated three million men, became a great orator and one of the greatest of the greatest statesmen known. Washington was appointed adjutant general at nineteen, was sent at twenty-one as an ambassador to treat with the French, and won his first battle as a colonel at twenty-two. Lafayette was made general of the whole French army at the age of twenty. Charlemagne was master of France and of Germany at thirty. Galileo was but eighteen when he saw the principle of the pendulum in the swinging lamp in the cathedral at Pisa. Peel was in parliament before he was twenty-two and at twenty-four was Lord of the Treasury. Luther was but twenty-nine when he nailed his famous theses to the door of the cathedral at Wittenberg. Shakespeare wrote masterpieces at thirty-six.” This was written by Andersen M. Baten and featured in the collection, The Treasure Chest edited by Charles L. Wallis, and published in 1965 by Harper and Row, Publishers.

In response would be this, called Life Begins at Seventy from The Golden Book. This was also included in The Treasure Chest. “Between the ages of 70 and 83 Commodore Vanderbilt added about 100 millions of his fortune. Kant at 74 wrote his Anthropology, Metaphysics of Ethics, and Strife of the Faculties. Tintoretto at 74 painted the vast Paradise, a canvas 74 feet by 30. Verdi at 74 produced his masterpiece, Othello; at 80, Falstaff, and at 85, the famous Te Deum. Lamarck at 78 completed his great zoological work, The Natural History of the Invertebrates. Oliver Wendell Holmes at 79 wrote Over the Teacups. Cato at 80 began the study of Greek. Goethe at 80 completed Faust. Tennyson at 83 wrote ‘Crossing the Bar.’ Titian at 98 painted his historic picture of the Battle of Lepanto.”

And no matter how many candles have been blown out, we still enjoy our cake. “Some time in the 5th century B. C., Hecate became a moon goddess along with Artemis (Roman Diana). She also shared with Artemis the duties of protecting mothers and babies at birth. Cakes or loaves of bread were given as offerings to the goddess at the time of her birth. In one ritual of this kind the cake was surrounded by torches and placed in a gateway or at a fork in the road. This custom might possibly have been the origin of the modern birthday cake.” An excerpt from a very old edition of the Britannica.

“My heart is like a singing bird / Whose nest is in a watered shoot; / My heart is like an apple-tree / Whose boughs are bent with thick-set fruit; / My heart is like a rainbow shell / That paddles in a halcyon sea; / My heart is gladder than all these, / Because my love is come to me.

“Raise me a dais of silk and down; / Hang it with vair and purple dyes; / Carve it in doves and pomegranates, / And peacocks with a hundred eyes; / Work it in gold and silver grapes, / In leaves and silver fleur-de-lys; / Because the birthday of my life / Is come, my love is come to me.” A Birthday by Christina Rossetti.

A Happy Birthday to you this year!!

***

Don Jackson 

“Does the bird sing in the South? / Only the sea-bird cries, driven inland by the storm. / What sign of the spring of the year? / Only the death of the old: not a stir, not a shoot, not a breath. / Do the days begin to lengthen? / Longer and darker the day, shorter and colder the night. / Still and stifling the air: but a wind is stored up in the East. / The starved crow sits in the field, attentive; and in the wood / The owl rehearses the hollow note of death. / What signs of a bitter spring? / The wind stored up in the East. / What, at the time of the birth of Our Lord, at Christmastide, / Is there not peace upon earth, goodwill among men? / The peace of this world is always uncertain, unless men keep the peace of God. / And war among men defiles this world, but death in the Lord renews it, / And the world must be cleaned in the winter, or we shall have only / A sour spring, a parched summer, an empty harvest. / Between Christmas and Easter what work shall be done? / The ploughman shall go out in March and turn the  same earth / He has turned before, the bird shall sing the same song. / When the leaf is out on the tree, when the elder and may / Burst over the stream, and the air is clear and high, / And voices trill at windows, and children tumble in front of the door, / While work shall have been done, what wrong / Shall the fresh earth cover? We wait, and the time is  short / But waiting is long.” December 29, 1170, the chorus from Murder in the Cathedral by T. S. Eliot published by Faber & Faber Ltd.

I took advantage of the last of the warm weather yesterday to clean up a bit around my property. With the snow all but gone, except in the dark, shaded places where it looked “old and sullen” as one writer said, I took advantage of this brief thaw, this respite from winter, to survey the damage done by the season so far. I filled a yard-waste bag almost to the brim with pine cones and needles from the large evergreens, and the few remaining leaves released from under the melted snowbanks and blown about in yesterday’s tremendous winds. Those same winds had uprooted an arbor that serves as an entryway from the walkway along the side of our house to the backyard. The earth was soft enough to push the anchors back into the ground. The earth was as malleable as it is in spring.

While I was out there on my property, I observed the sleeping koi and goldfish in the deepest part of the pond. The water looked black and cold and, as in past years, I again wondered how they will survive the worst of winter that I know is just over the horizon. They sleep peacefully, blissfully unaware of the shrieking winds above their watery world.

I heard a rustling in the tall linden tree that looks so bare without its leaves. A plaintive call shattered the peaceful afternoon. I’m not sure what it was since the creature that made the sound was in the uppermost branches. As soon as I looked up, I heard the flapping of wings aloft, and whatever had made the sound was gone. It was all I needed to hear at that moment. It had been a good afternoon. It reminded me of this… It is called The Darkling Thrush by Thomas Hardy from Collected Poems of Thomas Hardy, published by The Macmillan Company of Canada Limited.

“I leant upon a coppice gate / When frost was spectre-gray, / And winter’s dregs made desolate / The weakening eye of day, / The tangled bine-stems scored the sky / Like strings of broken lyres, / And all mankind that haunted nigh / Had sought their household fires.

“The land’s sharp features seemed to be / The century’s corpse outleant, / His crypt the cloudy canopy, / The wind his death-lament. / The ancient pulse of germ and birth / Was shrunken, hard, and dry. / And every spirit upon earth / Seemed fervourless as I.

“At once a voice arose among / The bleak twigs overhead, / In a full-hearted evensong / Of joy illimited; / An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small, / In blast-beruffled plume, / Had chosen thus to fling his soul / Upon the growing gloom.

“So little cause for carollings / Of much ecstatic sound / Was written on terrestrial things / Afar or nigh around, / That I could think there trembled through / His happy good-night air / Some blessed hope, whereof he knew, / And I was unaware.”

***

Don Jackson

Herbert Shipman wrote The Power of Love. “Across the gateway of my heart / I wrote ‘no thoroughfare,’ / but love came laughing by, and cried / ‘I enter everywhere.’”

On tonight’s program we look back through the centuries for writings about love that have been left along the way for our scrutiny. Some of the most profound are ‘author unknown’. It may be that we will never come up with one, true definition that we all can agree with.

This was a writing that was sent to me via e-mail by a listener sometime back. It’s a writing that I always receive questions about. It is called About Love - author unknown.

“If you find yourself in love with someone who does not love you, be gentle with yourself. There is nothing wrong with you. Love just didn’t choose to rest in the other person’s heart. If you find someone else in love with you and you don’t love him/her, feel honoured that love cane and called at your door, but gently refuse the gift you cannot return. Do not take advantage, do not cause pain. How you deal with love is how you deal with you, and all our hearts feel the same pains and joys, even if your lives and ways are different. If you fall in love with another and he/she falls in love with you and then love chooses to leave, do not try to reclaim it or to assess blame. Let it go. There is a reason and a meaning. You will know in time. Remember that you don’t choose love. Love chooses you. All you can really do is accept it for all its mystery when it comes into your life. Feel the way it fills you to overflowing then reach out and give it away. Give it back to the person who brought it alive in you. Give it to others who deem it poor in spirit. Give it to the world around you in any way you can. This is where many lovers go wrong. Having been so long without love, they understand love only as a need. They see their hearts as empty places that will be filled by love, and they begin to look at love as something that flows to them rather than from them. The first blush of new love is filled to overflowing but as their love cools, they revert to seeing their love as need. They cease to be someone who generates love and instead become someone who seeks love. They forget that the secret of love is that it is a gift and that it can be made to grow only by giving it away. Remember this and keep it to your heart. Love has its own time, its own seasons and its own reason for coming and going. You cannot bribe it or coerce it, or reason it into staying. You can only embrace it when it arrives and give it away when it comes to you. But if it chooses to leave from your heart or from the heart of your lover, there is nothing you can do and there is nothing you should do. Love always has been and always will be a mystery. Be glad that it came to live for a moment in your life. If you keep your heart open, it will come again…”

Edmund Rostand said, “I love you more than yesterday, less than tomorrow.”

****

Don Jackson

“The longest muscle name is the Levator labii superioris alaeque nasi, and Elvis popularized it with his hip motions,” according to the column, Did You Know, featured in a past edition of The Toronto Sun.

Today would have marked Elvis Presley’s 73rd birthday. He was born in 1935 in Tupelo, Mississippi.

He was such a huge influence on music that I thought it appropriate to feature a few little-known facts in my blog today.

Apparently, the name ‘Elvis’ is not unique. Many men in the deep American south shared the name…Its roots can be traced as far back as the sixth century. According to Mental Floss magazine, and reported on in The Globe and Mail last year, it dates “to an Irish-born bishop named St. Elvis.”

He won a talent contest at the age of eight singing “Old Shep“. Early in his life he worked as an usher and as a truck driver.

The song Hound Dog took about 10 minutes to write. It was the flip-side of Don’t Be Cruel. Both songs spent 11 weeks at the top of the charts. The song Love Me Tender was adapted from the 1861 “Aura Lee” and was included in Elvis’ first movie in 1956. “Love me tender, Love me sweet, / Never let me go…”

According to the book, Celebrity Trivia: A Collection of Little-Known Facts About Well-Known People by Edward Lucaire, and published in 1980 by Warner Books, “Elvis was strongly influenced by his tour in the U.S. army. He knew General Douglas MacArthur’s farewell speech by heart and also knew every word and scene of the movie Patton.”

Early last year, Harry Mount in The Telegraph Review wrote: “There were 185 known Elvis Presley impersonators around when Elvis died in 1977; in 2005, there were 186,000.”

We all know the circumstances surrounding his death at age 42. “Elvis was buried in a 900-pound seamless copper casket”, according to the book, What a Way to Go: Fabulous Funerals of the Famous and Infamous by Adele Q. Brown. She also tell us that in life he was “notoriously nocturnal”. He was obviously a night person.

Throngs of fans still pass by the grave on the property of Graceland every year. CNN’s Larry King had the unique opportunity of being given a guided tour of Graceland recently. It gave viewers a glimpse of the private life of ‘The King of Rock and Roll’. There was one area that was off-limits to CNN’s cameras - Elvis’ bedroom, where he went to escape the pressures of stardom. It’s fitting that the family has decided to keep the ’sanctuary’ private.

****

Don Jackson

“Three rings for The Elven-Kings under the sky, / Seven for the Dwarf-Lords in their halls of stone, / Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die, / One for the Dark Lord on his Dark Throne.” An excerpt from the writing of J. R. R. Tolkien.

My companion writing tonight also features a group of travelers, and one who liked to do most of his traveling alone.

J. R. R. Tolkien was born January 3rd, 1892. That’s why my tribute on-air tonight between 9 and 11pm.

We first meet the wizard Gandalf at Bilbo’s legendary birthday party when he arrives with a wagon-load of all kinds of fireworks of his own making. In the opening sequence of The Lord of The Ringsis a fireworks display that could only take place in a setting like Middle Earth. You might remember that in the film it was Merry and Pippin who set some of them off prematurely. At one point, a huge pyrotechnic dragon comes swooping down on the partygoers.

You might also remember the scene, also right at the beginning of the trilogy, when Galdalf tosses Bilbo’s ring into the flames in the fireplace in the little Hobbit-hole in the Shire. It is then that the ring reveals the inscription that begins the quest to destroy it in the fires that helped forge the ring in the first place–the fires of Mordor.

Gandalf was a pivotal character in the trilogy as well as the book, The Hobbit. He always seemed to be the voice of reason, and he always seemed to run interference to keep the hobbits out of trouble.

When I lived in Montreal I named a much-loved dog, a boxer, Gandalf. He was regal, proud, and I really believe very wise in his own way…

If you saw the last film in the trilogy of The Lord Of The Rings, The Return Of The King, you might remember that Gandalf slept with both eyes open. He needed to keep a watchful eye on those mischievous hobbits who also had their fair share of sleepless nights.

Gandalf was a wizard that so many authors have tried to emulate in their own fantasy stories. Even Dumbledore in Harry Potterreminds me of the all-wise Gandalf. But Gandalf was an original. Even Merlin seems not quite as real in the old legends.

If you saw the recent film based on the Arthurian legends, then you saw a much different Merlin than has been portrayed in the legends of King Arthur. He was a wise man in the woods who knew the healing power of herbs and plants. I think if a “Merlin” ever existed, he was probably more of a healer than an alchemist or illusionist.

…And if he ever wore a ring, it was for effect rather than for power…

***

Don Jackson

“The daylight waned… We strained our eyes as far as they could see, but in vain… Then we met a shepherd… He asked whither we were bound so late in the day. We enquired anxiously had he seen the kings, and were they still a long way off. Oh, the joy when he replied that he had passed the kings not so very long since–soon we should meet them. Off we set running with all speed… Then, just as the sun disappeared behind a great dark cloud and the bravest among us began to flag–suddenly, behold them in sight!

“A joyful shout rang from every throat as the magnificence of the royal pageant dazzled our sight. A flash of splendour and gorgeous color shone in the rays of the setting sun, while the blazing torches showed the gleams of gold on crowns set with rubies and precious stones. The Kings! The Kings! See their crowns! See their mantles–their flags, amid the procession of camels and horses… [as] we beheld at last the three kings: Gaspard, with his crimson mantle… Balthazar, with his cloak of blue, and above and beyond all, the Moorish king.” An excerpt from the Provencal writer Frederic Mistral (1830-1914) translated by C. E. Maud, and featured in the book, The Winter Solstice: The Sacred Traditions Of Christmas by John Matthews, the first Quest edition co-published with Godsfield Press in 1998. Its ISBN is 0-8356-0769-0.

It is the weekend of the Epiphany, the time when we were told the journey of the Magi ended at a decrepit stable in Bethlehem.

“In Syria it is said that the youngest camel of the wise men was so tired when they reached the manger that he fell down. In sympathy, the infant Christ blessed him. Syrian children believe that this animal brings their gifts on Epiphany. They call him ‘The Camel of the Infant Jesus.’” An excerpt from the Reader’s Digest edition The Best Literature Of Christmas.

“A Spanish legend tells that the three kings cross Spain each year on their way to Bethlehem and leave gifts for children who have been good. On Epiphany Eve the children put out shoes filled with hay and carrots for the camels of the kings.” Another excerpt from the Reader’s Digest edition, The Best Literature Of Christmas.

“The door is on the latch tonight, / The hearth-fire is aglow, / I seem to hear soft passing feet– /The Christ Child in the snow.

“My heart is open wide tonight / For stranger, kith or kin; / I would not bar a single door / Where love might enter in.” Author Unknown, featured as a complement to the beautiful holiday paintings of Thomas Kinkade in the collection I’ll Be Home For Christmas, compiled by Anne Christian Buchanan and published in 1997 by Harvest House Publishers. Its ISBN is 1-56507-594-3.

“Legend has it that in ages past a child seeking shelter on a bitter winter’s night knocked at a forest hut. A woodcutter and his wife took in the child and fed him. Overnight, the boy turned into an angel–the Christ-child dressed in gold. As a reward for the couple’s kindness, the child broke a twig from a fir tree, and told them to plant it, promising that each Christmas it would bear fruit. And so it did, a crop of golden apples and silver nuts, the first Christmas tree.” An excerpt from the Reader’s Digest edition, Why In The World? All You Ever Wanted To Know About The World Around You But May Never Have Thought To Ask! published in 1994 by the Reader’s Digest, Australia. Its ISBN is 0-86438-473-4.

“There may have been more than three Wise Men. Early Christian paintings show four of them.” An excerpt from 40 Fascinating Festive Facts from the December 18th, 1990 issue of the Examiner.

John Matthews features an excerpt from the 17th-century writer Sir Thomas Browne. This was written in 1646. “…although we grant they were kings, yet we cannot assured they were three. For the scriptures make no mention of any number; and the number of their presents, Gold, Myrrh, and Frankincense, concludeth not the number of their person; for these were the commodities of their Country…” Matthews writes: “Whatever the truth of these figures, their importance remains undisputed. Recently they have been described as members of a secretive sect whose knowledge and understanding of the inner life of the world is far greater than we realize.”

Here is another tale from the Avon Calendar Of Roses 1984, published in 1983 by Ariel Press. It is A Legend of The Christmas Rose. “The three wise men were ancient astrologers seeking to unravel the mystery of the future through the movement of the stars, planets, and other heavenly bodies. The star that blazed in the East was the sign for which they had long awaited and hurriedly they packed precious gold, valuable frankincense, and fragrant myrrh as presents for the king they expected to find. As they drew near to Bethlehem they stopped and asked a young shepherdess if she could direct them to the place where the child was. The girl sent them to the stable, then wept because she had no gift to offer the wonderful new king. A passing angel saw her tears and suddenly where they had fallen a rose sprang up, glistening white against the parched hillside. The little girl quickly gathered the blossoms and ran after the wise men. When she shyly presented her miraculous gift to the Christ child he smiled and the petals of the roses turned pink.”

As a very famous writing declares, ” …and the desert shall rejoice and blossom as the rose…”

The writer O. Henry wrote a classic Christmas story called The Gift Of The Magi. A young wife cuts her long beautiful hair in order to be able to afford a platinum fob for her husband’s pocket watch. He, in turn, sold the pocket watch for her Christmas gift of expensive combs for her hair. There is a moral to O. Henry’s tale. He writes: “The magi, as you know, were wise men–who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the wisest. Of all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi.” O. Henry…

Edmund Vance Cooke wrote: “It’s not the weight of jewel or plate, / Or the fondle of silk or fur; / ‘Tis the spirit in which the gift is rich, / As the gifts of the Wise Ones were, / And we are not told whose gift was gold, / Or whose was the gift of myrrh.”

Finally this.. The Maid-Servant At The Inn by Dorothy Parker. It was included in The Portable Dorothy Parker, published by Viking Penguin, a division of Penguin Putnam Inc. The original copyright is 1928. “‘It’s queer,’ she said; ‘I see the light / As plain as I beheld it then, / All silver-like and calm and bright– / We’ve not had stars like that again!

“‘And she was such a gentle thing / To birth a baby in the cold, / The barn was dark and frightening– /This new one’s better than the old.

“‘I mind my eyes were full of tears, / For I was young, and quick distressed, / But she was less than me in years / That held a song against her breast.

“‘I never saw a sweeter child– / The little one, the darling one!– / I mind I told her, when he smiled / You’d know he was his mother’s son.

“‘It’s queer that I should see them so– / The time they came to Bethlehem / Was more than thirty years ago; / I’ve prayed that all is well with them.’”

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Don Jackson