Rod's Ingle's annual FREE a cappella Christmas gift!

Warm holiday greetings everyone!

It’s that time of year again, time for some more a cappella Christmas cheer! 

I'm so honored to be able to spread some Christmas love via music with my friends!

If you’ve already received this gift through social media or other means, I apologize. Just trying to be sure no one gets left out! So, warm up those ear buds or bluetooth speakers and spike the eggnog!

Click Read More for the Youtube for this year’s present.

Or you can travel back in time and listen to Christmas arrangements from the past.

They are all here on my youtube channel. Feel free to subscribe or just drop by for a listen.

https://www.youtube.com/@musicology47/playlists

Enjoy and have a very Merry Christmas!!

God Bless!

~Rod

Santa Claus Images History

Santa Claus Images History

Lorraine Boissoneault   December 19, 2018

A Civil War Cartoonist Created the Modern Image of Santa Claus as Union Propaganda

Thomas Nast is legendary for his political cartoons, but he’s also responsible for the jolly St. Nick we know today

You could call it the face that launched a thousand Christmas letters. Appearing on January 3, 1863, in the illustrated magazine Harper’s Weekly, two images cemented the nation’s obsession with a jolly old elf. The first drawing shows Santa distributing presents in a Union Army camp.

Lest any reader question Santa’s allegiance in the Civil War, he wears a jacket patterned with stars and pants colored in stripes. In his hands, he holds a puppet toy with a rope around its neck, its features like those of Confederate president Jefferson Davis.

A second illustration features Santa in his sleigh, then going down a chimney, all in the periphery. At the center, divided into separate circles, are a woman praying on her knees and a soldier leaning against a tree. “

In these two drawings, Christmas became a Union holiday and Santa a Union local deity,” writes Adam Gopnik in a 1997 issue of the New Yorker. “It gave Christmas to the North—gave to the Union cause an aura of domestic sentiment, and even sentimentality.”

The artist responsible for this coup? A Bavarian immigrant named Thomas Nast, political cartoonist extraordinaire and the person who “did as much as any one man to preserve the Union and bring the war to an end,” according to General Ulysses Grant. But like so many inventors, Nast benefitted from the work of his fellow visionaries in creating the rotund, resplendent figure of Santa Claus. He was a man with the right talents in the right place at the perfect time.

Prior to the early 1800s, Christmas was a religious holiday, plain and simple. Several forces in conjunction transformed it into the commercial fête that we celebrate today. The wealth generated by the Industrial Revolution created a middle class that could afford to buy presents, and factories meant mass-produced goods.

Examples of the holiday began to appear in popular literature, from Clement Clarke Moore’s 1823 poem “A Visit from St. Nicholas” (more commonly known by its first verse, “Twas the night before Christmas”) to Charles Dickens’ book A Christmas Carol, published in 1843. By the mid-1800s, Christmas began to look much more as it does today.  

 To continue reading, please go to the original article here:

https://www.smithsonianmag.com/history/civil-war-cartoonist-created-modern-image-santa-claus-union-propaganda-180971074/

At a Gas Station on a Cold Christmas Eve...............

A NEW CHRISTMAS STORY . . .This story is better than any greeting card.

The old man sat in his gas station on a cold Christmas Eve. He hadn't been
anywhere in years since his wife had passed away. It was just another day to
him. He didn't hate Christmas, just couldn't find a reason to celebrate.

He was sitting there looking at the snow that had been falling for the last
hour and wondering what it was all about when the door opened and a homeless
man stepped through.

Instead of throwing the man out, Old George as he was known by his
customers, told the man to come and sit by the heater and warm up. "Thank
you, but I don't mean to intrude," said the stranger. "I see you're busy,
I'll just go."

"Not without something hot in your belly." George said.

He turned and opened a wide mouth Thermos and handed it to the stranger.
"It ain't much, but it's hot and tasty. Stew ... Made it myself. When you're
done, there's coffee and it's fresh."

Just at that moment he heard the "ding" of the driveway bell. "Excuse me,
be right back," George said. There in the driveway was an old '53 Chevy.
Steam was rolling out of the front. The driver was panicked. "Mister can you
help me!" said the driver, with a deep Spanish accent. "My wife is with
child and my car is broken." George opened the hood. It was bad. The block
looked cracked from the cold, the car was dead.

"You ain't going in this thing," George said as he turned away.

"But Mister, please help ..." The door of the office closed behind George
as he went inside. He went to the office wall and got the keys to his old
truck, and went back outside. He walked around the building, opened the
garage, started the truck and drove it around to where the couple was
waiting. "Here, take my truck," he said. "She ain't the best thing you ever
looked at, but she runs real good."

George helped put the woman in the truck and watched as it sped off into
the night. He turned and walked back inside the office. "Glad I gave 'em the
truck, their tires were shot too. That 'ol truck has brand new ." George
thought he was talking to the stranger, but the man had gone. The Thermos
was on the desk, empty, with a used coffee cup beside it. "Well, at least he
got something in his belly," George thought.

George went back outside to see if the old Chevy would start. It
cranked slowly, but it started. He pulled it into the garage where the
truck had been. He thought he would tinker with it for something to do.
Christmas Eve meant no customers. He discovered the the block hadn't
cracked, it was just the bottom hose on the radiator. "Well, shoot, I can
fix this," he said to himself. So he put a new one on.

"Those tires ain't gonna get 'em through the winter either." He took the
snow treads off of his wife's old Lincoln. They were like new and he wasn't
going to drive the car anyway.

As he was working, he heard shots being fired. He ran outside and beside a
police car an officer lay on the cold ground. Bleeding from the left
shoulder, the officer moaned, "Please help me."

George helped the officer inside as he remembered the training he had
received in the Army as a medic. He knew the wound needed attention.
"Pressure to stop the bleeding," he thought. The uniform company had been
there that morning and had left clean shop towels. He used those and duct
tape to bind the wound. "Hey, they say duct tape can fix anythin'," he said,
trying to make the policeman feel at ease.

"Something for pain," George thought. All he had was the pills he used for
his back. "These ought to work." He put some water in a cup and gave the
policeman the pills. "You hang in there, I'm going to get you an ambulance."

The phone was dead. "Maybe I can get one of your buddies on that there
talk box out in your car." He went out only to find that a bullet had gone
into the dashboard destroying the two way radio.

He went back in to find the policeman sitting up. "Thanks," said the
officer. "You could have left me there. The guy that shot me is still in the
area."

George sat down beside him, "I would never leave an injured man in the
Army and I ain't gonna leave you." George pulled back the bandage to check
for bleeding. "Looks worse than what it is. Bullet passed right through 'ya.
Good thing it missed the important stuff though. I think with time your
gonna be right as rain."

George got up and poured a cup of coffee. "How do you take it?" he asked.

"None for me," said the officer.

"Oh, yer gonna drink this. Best in the city. Too bad I ain't got no
donuts." The officer laughed and winced at the same time.

The front door of the office flew open. In burst a young man with a gun.
"Give me all your cash! Do it now!" the young man yelled. His hand was
shaking and George could tell that he had never done anything like this
before.

"That's the guy that shot me!" exclaimed the officer.

"Son, why are you doing this?" asked George, "You need to put the cannon
away. Somebody else might get hurt."

The young man was confused. "Shut up old man, or I'll shoot you, too. Now
give me the cash!"

The cop was reaching for his gun. "Put that thing away," George said to
the cop, "we got one too many in here now."

He turned his attention to the young man. "Son, it's Christmas Eve. If you
need money, well then, here. It ain't much but it's all I got. Now put that
pea shooter away."

George pulled $150 out of his pocket and handed it to the young man,
reaching for the barrel of the gun at the same time. The young man released
his grip on the gun, fell to his knees and began to cry. "I'm not very good
at this am I? All I wanted was to buy something for my wife and son," he
went on. "I've lost my job, my rent is due, my car got repossessed last
week."

George handed the gun to the cop. "Son, we all get in a bit of squeeze now
and then. The road gets hard sometimes, but we make it through the best we
can."

He got the young man to his feet, and sat him down on a chair across from
the cop. "Sometimes we do stupid things." George handed the young man a cup
of coffee. "Bein' stupid is one of the things that makes us human. Comin' in
here with a gun ain't the answer. Now sit there and get warm and we'll sort
this thing out."

The young man had stopped crying. He looked over to the cop. "Sorry I shot
you. It just went off. I'm sorry officer."

"Shut up and drink your coffee " the cop said.

George could hear the sounds of sirens outside. A police car and an
ambulance skidded to a halt. Two cops came through the door, guns drawn.
"Chuck! You ok?" one of the cops asked the wounded officer.

"Not bad for a guy who took a bullet. How did you find me?"

"GPS locator in the car. Best thing since sliced bread. Who did this?" the
other cop asked as he approached the young man.

Chuck answered him, "I don't know. The guy ran off into the dark. Just
dropped his gun and ran."

George and the young man both looked puzzled at each other.
"That guy work here?" the wounded cop continued.

"Yep," George said, "just hired him this morning. Boy lost his job."

The paramedics came in and loaded Chuck onto the stretcher. The young man
leaned over the wounded cop and whispered, "Why?"

Chuck just said, "Merry Christmas boy ... and you too, George, and thanks
for everything."

"Well, looks like you got one doozy of a break there. That ought to solve
some of your problems."

George went into the back room and came out with a box. He pulled out a
ring box. "Here you go, something for the little woman. I don't think Martha
would mind. She said it would come in handy some day."

The young man looked inside to see the biggest diamond ring he ever saw.
"I can't take this," said the young man. "It means something to you."

"And now it means something to you," replied George. "I got my memories.
That's all I need."

George reached into the box again. An airplane, a car and a truck appeared
next. They were toys that the oil company had left for him to sell. "Here's
something for that little man of yours."

The young man began to cry again as he handed back the $150 that the old
man had handed him earlier.

"And what are you supposed to buy Christmas dinner with? You keep that
too," George said. "Now git home to your family."

The young man turned with tears streaming down his face. "I'll be here in
the morning for work, if that job offer is still good."

"Nope. I'm closed Christmas day," George said. "See ya the day after."

George turned around to find that the stranger had returned. "Where'd you
come from? I thought you left?"

"I have been here. I have always been here," said the stranger. "You say
you don't celebrate Christmas. Why?"

"Well, after my wife passed away, I just couldn't see what all the bother
was. Puttin' up a tree and all seemed a waste of a good pine tree. Bakin'
cookies like I used to with Martha just wasn't the same by myself and
besides I was gettin' a little chubby."

The stranger put his hand on George's shoulder. "But you do celebrate the
holiday, George. You gave me food and drink and warmed me when I was cold
and hungry. The woman with child will bear a son and he will become a great
doctor.

The policeman you helped will go on to save 19 people from being killed by
terrorists. The young man who tried to rob you will make you a rich man and
not take any for himself. "That is the spirit of the season and you keep it
as good as any man."

George was taken aback by all this stranger had said. "And how do you know
all this?" asked the old man.

"Trust me, George. I have the inside track on this sort of thing. And when
your days are done you will be with Martha again."

The stranger moved toward the door. "If you will excuse me, George, I have
to go now. I have to go home where there is a big celebration planned."

George watched as the old leather jacket and the torn pants that the
stranger was wearing turned into a white robe. A golden light began to fill
the room.

"You see, George ... it's My birthday. Merry Christmas."

George fell to his knees and replied, "Happy Birthday, Lord Jesus"

MERRY CHRISTMAS AND GOD BLESS!

Christmas "Bits and Pieces" Posted by Mot at TNT

Mot:  This Special Event Happened on 'Christmas 1915'........

Christmas 1915 World War One.

Legend has it that on Christmas Day 1915, soldiers from both sides of the trenches in World War One met up in No-Man's-Land for a game of football. ...

Bertie Felstead recalled that the Germans probably were already out of their trench before the British got out.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JG3l-OBdcPI

Christmas Truce of World War I -- Joyeux Noel

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-cSrqRdlFeo

Mot:  .. LOL - the Things Folks Come Up With!! ~~~

Mot:  ....... oooh Nooooo - Not again! ~~~~~

Mot: ......... Special Moments Caught Forever!! ~~~

Mot .. WHITE CHRISTMAS ~~~~~  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2QW65Amj0vM

Mot:  ~~~ Home Free - O' Holy Night ~~~ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CO6OZIY-lYw

How Many Gifts Should a Child Get for Christmas?

How Many Gifts Should a Child Get for Christmas?

By One Frugal Girl

How many gifts should you give your kids for Christmas? Is there a magic number of presents? The perfect amount that makes kids feel happy, satisfied, and grateful?

In most instances, I think four is enough. After choosing something they want, something they need, something to wear, and something to read, you’ve got your kids covered.

But not everyone agrees with this approach. After reading about my four-gift rule for Christmas, a long-time reader told me she didn’t like my gift-giving advice.

“Limiting the number of gifts takes the fun out of Christmas,” she said. “Christmas should be filled with stacks of presents and happy children ripping into wrapping paper.”

Will Limiting Gifts Ruin Christmas?

I love when readers voice their opinions, so I dove into the insightful list of thoughts and questions.

Can Christmas be Christmas without lots of presents?

Can the holidays feel magical with fewer gifts?

And most importantly:

Won’t limiting gifts ruin Christmas?

Christmas Magic Doesn’t Exist in Boxes

I understand her misgivings because I once felt them myself.

For years, I convinced myself that Christmas lived in big boxes; the bigger the box, the better! But, in truth, it’s not the quantity or size of gifts that makes Christmas magical.

Thank back on your childhood. How many unique gifts do you remember? I bet most years are a blur. But do you remember decorating the house, searching for Christmas lights, eating Christmas dinner, or the warm feeling of sitting around the tree with your family?

Growing up, Christmas was the one day of the year when we woke up early and gathered together. My dad cooked pancakes while we watched from the kitchen table. We slathered those pancakes with butter and syrup and giggled at his Swedish Chef impersonation.

Magic didn’t come from the mountain of gifts I can no longer remember. It came from a stress-free morning, sitting in our pajamas and enjoying each other’s company. When I think back to the cozy holidays of my youth, it’s not the gifts I remember. It’s the sound of my dad’s laughter.

How Many Christmas Gifts Per Child?

How many gifts should a child get for Christmas? There are all sorts of rules for gift-giving. The three-gift rule, the four-gift rule, the seven-gift rule, and even the ten-gift rule, but for me, the ideal amount is the number of presents my children will use and appreciate.

To continue reading, please go to the original article here:

https://www.onefrugalgirl.com/how-many-christmas-gifts-per-child/

"Christmas 1881" Posted by Mot at TNT

TNT:

Mot:  Christmas 1881

Pa never had much compassion for the lazy or those who squandered their
means and then never had enough for the necessities. But for those who were
genuinely in need, his heart was as big as all outdoors. It was from him
that I learned the greatest joy in life comes from giving, not from receiving.
 
It was Christmas Eve, 1881. I was fifteen years old and feeling like the
world had caved in on me because there just hadn't been enough money to buy
me the rifle that I'd wanted for Christmas. We did the chores early that
night for some reason. I just figured Pa wanted a little extra time so we
could read in the Bible.

After supper was over I took my boots off and stretched out in front of the
fireplace and waited for Pa to get down the old Bible. I was still feeling
sorry for myself and, to be honest, I wasn't in much of a mood to read
Scriptures. But Pa didn't get the Bible, instead he bundled up again and
went outside.

I couldn't figure it out because we had already done all the
chores. I didn't worry about it long though, I was too busy wallowing in
self-pity.
 
Soon Pa came back in. It was a cold clear night out and there was ice in
his beard. "Come on, Matt," he said. "Bundle up good, it's cold out
tonight." I was really upset then. Not only wasn't I getting the rifle for
Christmas, now Pa was dragging me out in the cold, and for no earthly reason
that I could see.

We'd already done all the chores, and I couldn't think of
anything else that needed doing, especially not on a night like this. But I
knew Pa was not very patient at one dragging one's feet when he'd told them
to do something, so I got up and put my boots back on and got my cap, coat,
and mittens. Ma gave me a mysterious smile as I opened the door to leave
the house. Something was up, but I didn't know what.
 
Outside, I became even more dismayed. There in front of the house was the
work team, already hitched to the big sled. Whatever it was we were going
to do wasn't going to be a short, quick, little job. I could tell. We
never hitched up this sled unless we were going to haul a big load. Pa was
already up on the seat, reins in hand. I reluctantly climbed up beside him.
The cold was already biting at me. I wasn't happy.
 
When I was on, Pa pulled the sled around the house and stopped in front of
the woodshed. He got off and I followed. "I think we'll put on the high
sideboards," he said. "Here, help me." The high sideboards! It had been a
bigger job than I wanted to do with just the low sideboards on, but whatever
it was we were going to do would be a lot bigger with the high side boards on.
 
After we had exchanged the sideboards, Pa went into the woodshed and came
out with an armload of wood - the wood I'd spent all summer hauling down
from the mountain, and then all fall sawing into blocks and splitting. What
was he doing?

Finally I said something. "Pa," I asked, "what are you
doing?" "You been by the Widow Jensen's lately?" he asked. The Widow
Jensen lived about two miles down the road. Her husband had died a year or
so before and left her with three children, the oldest being eight. Sure,
I'd been by, but so what?
 
Yeah," I said, "Why?"
 
"I rode by just today," Pa said. "Little Jakey was out digging around in
the woodpile trying to find a few chips. They're out of wood, Matt." That
was all he said and then he turned and went back into the woodshed for
another armload of wood. I followed him. We loaded the sled so high that I
began to wonder if the horses would be able to pull it.
 
Finally, Pa called a halt to our loading, then we went to the smoke house
and Pa took down a big ham and a side of bacon. He handed them to me and
told me to put them in the sled and wait. When he returned he was carrying
a sack of flour over his right shoulder and a smaller sack of something in
his left hand. "What's in the little sack?" I asked. Shoes, they're out of shoes.

Little Jakey just had gunny sacks wrapped around his feet when he
was out in the woodpile this morning. I got the children a little candy
too. It just wouldn't be Christmas without a little candy."
 
We rode the two miles to Widow Jensen's pretty much in silence. I tried to
think through what Pa was doing. We didn't have much by worldly standards.
Of course, we did have a big woodpile, though most of what was left now was
still in the form of logs that I would have to saw into blocks and split
before we could use it.

We also had meat and flour, so we could spare that,
but I knew we didn't have any money, so why was Pa buying them shoes and
candy? Really, why was he doing any of this? Widow Jensen had closer
neighbors than us; it shouldn't have been our concern.
 
We came in from the blind side of the Jensen house and unloaded the wood as
quietly as possible, then we took the meat and flour and shoes to the door.
We knocked. The door opened a crack and a timid voice said, "Who is it?"
"Lucas Miles, Ma'am, and my son, Matt... could we come in for a bit?"
 
Widow Jensen opened the door and let us in. She had a blanket wrapped
around her shoulders. The children were wrapped in another and were sitting
in front of the fireplace by a very small fire that hardly gave off any heat
at all. Widow Jensen fumbled with a match and finally lit the lamp.
 
"We brought you a few things, Ma'am," Pa said and set down the sack of
flour. I put the meat on the table. Then Pa handed her the sack that had
the shoes in it. She opened it hesitantly and took the shoes out, one pair
at a time.

There was a pair for her and one for each of the children -
sturdy shoes, the best... shoes that would last. I watched her carefully.
She bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling and then tears filled her
eyes and started running down her cheeks. She looked up at Pa like she
wanted to say something, but it wouldn't come out.
 
"We brought a load of wood too, Ma'am," Pa said. He turned to me and said,
"Matt, go bring in enough to last awhile. Let's get that fire up to size
and heat this place up."
 
I wasn't the same person when I went back out to bring in the wood. I had
a big lump in my throat and as much as I hate to admit it, there were tears
in my eyes too. In my mind I kept seeing those three kids huddled around
the fireplace and their mother standing there with tears running down her
cheeks with so much gratitude in her heart that she couldn't speak.

My heart swelled within me and a joy that I'd never known before, filled my
soul. I had given at Christmas many times before, but never when it had
made so much difference. I could see we were literally saving the lives of
these people.
 
I soon had the fire blazing and everyone's spirits soared. The kids
started giggling when Pa handed them each a piece of candy and Widow Jensen
looked on with a smile that probably hadn't crossed her face for a long
time. She finally turned to us. "God bless you," she said. "I know the
Lord has sent you. The children and I have been praying that he would send
one of his angels to spare us."
 
In spite of myself, the lump returned to my throat and the tears welled up
in my eyes again. I'd never thought of Pa in those exact terms before, but
after Widow Jensen mentioned it, I could see that it was probably true. I
was sure that a better man than Pa had never walked the earth. I started
remembering all the times he had gone out of his way for Ma and me, and many
others. The list seemed endless as I thought on it.
 
Pa insisted that everyone try on the shoes before we left. I was amazed
when they all fit, and I wondered how he had known what sizes to get. Then
I guessed that if he was on an errand for the Lord, that the Lord would make
sure he got the right sizes.
 
Tears were running down Widow Jensen's face again when we stood up to
leave. Pa took each of the kids in his big arms and gave them a hug. ... They
clung to him and didn't want us to go. I could see that they missed their
Pa, and I was glad that I still had mine.
 
At the door Pa turned to Widow Jensen and said, "The Mrs. wanted me to
invite you and the children over for Christmas dinner tomorrow. The turkey
will be more than the three of us can eat, and a man can get cantankerous if
he has to eat turkey for too many meals. We'll be by to get you about
eleven. It'll be nice to have some little ones around again. Matt, here,
hasn't been little for quite a spell." I was the youngest... my two
brothers and two sisters had all married and had moved away.
 
Widow Jensen nodded and said, "Thank you, Brother Miles. I don't have to
say, may the Lord bless you, I know for certain that He will."

Out on the sled I felt a warmth that came from deep within and I didn't
even notice the cold. When we had gone a ways, Pa turned to me and said,
"Matt, I want you to know something. Your Ma and me have been tucking a
little money away here and there all year so we could buy that rifle for
you, but we didn't have quite enough.

Then yesterday a man who owed me a little money from years back came by to make things square. Your Ma and me were real excited, thinking that now we could get you that rifle, and I started into town this morning to do just that, but on the way I saw little Jakey out scratching in the woodpile with his feet wrapped in those gunny sacks and I knew what I had to do. Son, I spent the money for shoes and a
little candy for those children. I hope you understand."
 
I understood alright... and my eyes became wet with tears again. I
understood very well, and I was so glad Pa had done it. Now the rifle
seemed very low on my list of priorities. Pa had given me a lot more. He
had given me the look on Widow Jensen's face and the radiant smiles of her
three children.
 
For the rest of my life, whenever I saw any of the Jensens, or split a
block of wood, I remembered, and remembering brought back that same joy I
felt riding home beside Pa that night. Pa had given me much more than a
rifle that night, he had given me the best Christmas of my life.
 
Don't be too busy today... share this inspiring message. Merry Christmas
and God bless you!

"Adventure With Grandma" Posted by Mot at TNT

Mot:  If we all could only teach our grandchildren this gift...

I remember my first Christmas adventure with Grandma. I was just a kid.

I remember tearing across town on my bike to visit her on the day my big sister dropped the bomb: "There is no Santa Claus," she jeered. "Even dummies know that!" My Grandma was not the gushy kind, never had been. I fled to her that day because I knew she would be straight with me. I knew Grandma always told the truth, and I knew that the truth always went down a whole lot easier when swallowed with one of her "world-famous" cinnamon buns.

I knew they were world-famous, because Grandma said so. It had to be true. Grandma was home, and the buns were still warm. Between bites, I told her everything. She was ready for me. "No Santa Claus?" she snorted...."Ridiculous! Don't believe it. That rumor has been going around for years, and it makes me mad, plain mad!! Now, put on your coat, and let's go." 

"Go? Go where, Grandma?" I asked. I hadn't even finished my second world-famous cinnamon bun.

"Where" turned out to be Kerby's General Store, the one store in town that had a little bit of just about everything. As we walked through its doors, Grandma handed me ten dollars. That was a bundle in those days. "Take this money," she said, "and buy something for someone who needs it. I'll wait for you in the car."

Then she turned and walked out of Kerby's.  I was only eight years old. I'd often gone shopping with my mother, but never had I shopped for anything all by myself. The store seemed big and crowded, full of people scrambling to finish their Christmas shopping.  For a few moments I just stood there, confused, clutching that ten-dollar bill, wondering what to buy, and who on earth to buy it for. 

I thought of everybody I knew: my family, my friends, my neighbors, the kids at school, the people who went to my church. I was just about thought out, when I suddenly thought of Bobby Decker. He was a kid with bad breath and messy hair, and he sat right behind me in Mrs. Pollock's grade-two class. Bobby Decker didn't have a coat. I knew that because he never went out to recess during the winter. His mother always wrote a note, telling the teacher that he had a cough, but all we kids knew that Bobby Decker didn't have a cough; he didn't have a good coat.

I fingered the ten-dollar bill with growing excitement. I would buy Bobby Decker a coat!  I settled on a red corduroy one that had a hood to it. It looked real warm, and he would like that.  "Is this a Christmas present for someone?" the lady behind the counter asked kindly, as I laid my ten dollars down. "Yes, ma'am," I replied shyly. "It's for Bobby."  The nice lady smiled at me, as I told her about how Bobby really needed a good winter coat. I didn't get any change, but she put the coat in a bag, smiled again, and wished me a Merry Christmas.

That evening, Grandma helped me wrap the coat (a little tag fell out of the coat, and Grandma tucked it in her Bible) in Christmas paper and ribbons and wrote, "To Bobby, "From Santa Claus" on it. 

Grandma said that Santa always insisted on secrecy. Then she drove me over to Bobby Decker's house, explaining as we went that I was now and forever officially, one of Santa's helpers. 

Grandma parked down the street from Bobby's house, and she and I crept noiselessly and hid in the bushes by his front walk. Then Grandma gave me a nudge. "All right, Santa Claus," she whispered, "get going." 

I took a deep breath, dashed for his front door, threw the present down on his step, pounded his door and flew back to the safety of the bushes and Grandma.  Together we waited breathlessly in the darkness for the front door to open. Finally it did, and there stood Bobby. 

Fifty years haven't dimmed the thrill of those moments spent shivering, beside my Grandma, in Bobby Decker's bushes. That night, I realized that those awful rumors about Santa Claus were just what Grandma said they were -- ridiculous. Santa was alive and well, and we were on his team.

I still have the Bible, with the coat tag tucked inside: $19.95.

May you always have LOVE to share, HEALTH to spare and FRIENDS that care... And may you always believe in the magic of Santa Claus! 

Mot:  ~~~ Home Free - O' Holy Night ~~~ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CO6OZIY-lYw

"The Story of Rudolph" Posted by Mot at TNT

Mot:  Story of Rudolph

A man named Bob May, depressed and brokenhearted, stared out his drafty apartment window into the chilling December night.

His 4-year-old daughter Barbara sat on his lap quietly sobbing. Bobs wife, Evelyn, was dying of cancer.

Little Barbara couldn't understand why her mommy could never come home. Barbara looked up into her dad's eyes and asked, "Why isn't Mommy just like everybody else's Mommy?" Bob's jaw tightened and his eyes welled with tears.

Her question brought waves of grief, but also of anger. It had been the story of Bob's life. Life always had to be different for Bob. Small when he was a kid, Bob was often bullied by other boys. He was too little at the time to compete in sports. He was often called names he'd rather not remember.

From childhood, Bob was different and never seemed to fit in. Bob did complete college, married his loving wife and was grateful to get his job as a copywriter at Montgomery Ward during the Great Depression. Then he was blessed with his little girl. But it was all short-lived. Evelyn's bout with cancer stripped them of all their savings and now Bob and his daughter were forced to live in a two-room apartment in the Chicago slums. Evelyn died just days before Christmas in 1938.

Bob struggled to give hope to his child, for whom he couldn't even afford to buy a Christmas gift. But if he couldn't buy a gift, he was determined a make one - a storybook! Bob created an animal character in his own mind and told the animal's story to little Barbara to give her comfort and hope.

Again and again Bob told the story, embellishing it more with each telling. Who was the character? What was the story all about? The story Bob May created was his own autobiography in fable form. The character he created was a misfit outcast like he was. What was the name of the character? A little reindeer named Rudolph, with a big shiny nose. Bob finished the book just in time to give it to his little girl on Christmas Day. But the story doesn't end there.

The general manager of Montgomery Ward caught wind of the little storybook and offered Bob May a nominal fee to purchase the rights to print the book. Wards went on to print, ‘Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer’ and distribute it to children visiting Santa Claus in their stores. By 1946 Wards had printed and distributed more than six million copies of Rudolph. That same year, a major publisher wanted to purchase the rights from Wards to print an updated version of the book.

In an unprecedented gesture of kindness, the CEO of Wards returned all rights back to Bob May. The book became a best seller. Many toy and marketing deals followed and Bob May, now remarried with a growing family, became wealthy from the story he created to comfort his grieving daughter. But the story doesn’t end there either.

Bob's brother-in-law, Johnny Marks, made a song adaptation to Rudolph. Though the song was turned down by such popular vocalists as Bing Crosby and Dinah Shore, it was recorded by the singing cowboy, Gene Autry. ‘Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer’ was released in 1949 and became a phenomenal success, selling more records than any other Christmas song, with the exception of ‘White Christmas.’

The gift of love that Bob May created for his daughter so long ago kept on returning back to bless him again and again. And Bob May learned the lesson, just like his dear friend Rudolph, that being different isn't so bad. In fact, being different may be a blessing.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=44bL90HP0Ys

"Letter in a Wallet" Posted by Mot at TNT

Mot:  ~~~~~~~ “Letter in the Wallet,” .............

As I walked home one freezing day, I stumbled on a wallet someone had lost in the street. I picked it up and looked inside to find some identification so I could call the owner. But the wallet contained only three dollars and a crumpled letter that looked as if it had been in there for years.

The envelope was worn and the only thing that was legible on it was the return address. I started to open the letter, hoping to find some clue. Then I saw the dateline--1924. The letter had been written almost sixty years ago.

It was written in a beautiful feminine handwriting on powder blue stationery with a little flower in the left-hand corner. It was a "Dear John" letter that told the recipient, whose name appeared to be Michael, that the writer could not see him any more because her mother forbade it. Even so, she wrote that she would always love him. It was signed, Hannah.

It was a beautiful letter, but there was no way except for the name Michael, that the owner could be identified. Maybe if I called information, the operator could find a phone listing for the address on the envelope.

"Operator," I began, "this is an unusual request. I'm trying to find the owner of a wallet that I found. Is there anyway you can tell me if there is a phone number for an address that was on an envelope in the wallet? 

She suggested I speak with her supervisor, who hesitated for a moment then said, "Well, there is a phone listing at that address, but I can't give you the number." She said, as a courtesy, she would call that number, explain my story and would ask them if they wanted her to connect me. I waited a few minutes and then she was back on the line. "I have a party who will speak with you."

I asked the woman on the other end of the line if she knew anyone by the name of Hannah. She gasped, "Oh! We bought this house from a family who had a daughter named Hannah. But that was 30 years ago!"

"Would you know where that family could be located now?" I asked.

"I remember that Hannah had to place her mother in a nursing home some years ago," the woman said. "Maybe if you got in touch with them they might be able to track down the daughter."

She gave me the name of the nursing home and I called the number. They told me the old lady had passed away some years ago but they did have a phone number for where they thought the daughter might be living. I thanked them and phoned. The woman who answered explained that Hannah herself was now living in a nursing home.

This whole thing was stupid, I thought to myself. Why was I making such a big deal over finding the owner of a wallet that had only three dollars and a letter that was almost 60 years old?

Nevertheless, I called the nursing home in which Hannah was supposed to be living and the man who answered the phone told me, "Yes, Hannah is staying with us. "

Even though it was already 10 p.m., I asked if I could come by to see her. "Well," he said hesitatingly, "if you want to take a chance, she might be in the day room watching television."

I thanked him and drove over to the nursing home. The night nurse and a guard greeted me at the door. We went up to the third floor of the large building. In the day room, the nurse introduced me to Hannah. 

She was a sweet, silver-haired old timer with a warm smile and a twinkle in her eye. I told her about finding the wallet and showed her the letter. The second she saw the powder blue envelope with that little flower on the left, she took a deep breath and said, "Young man, this letter was the last contact I ever had with Michael."

She looked away for a moment deep in thought and then said Softly, "I loved him very much. But I was only 16 at the time and my mother felt I was too young. Oh, he was so handsome. He looked like Sean Connery, the actor."

"Yes," she continued. "Michael Goldstein was a wonderful person. If you should find him, tell him I think of him often. And," she hesitated for a moment, almost biting her lip, "tell him I still love him. You know," she said smiling as tears began to well up in her eyes, "I never did marry. I guess no one ever matched up to Michael..."

I thanked Hannah and said goodbye. I took the elevator to the first floor and as I stood by the door, the guard there asked, "Was the old lady able to help you?"

I told him she had given me a lead. "At least I have a last name. But I think I'll let it go for a while. I spent almost the whole day trying to find the owner of this wallet."

I had taken out the wallet, which was a simple brown leather case with red lacing on the side. When the guard saw it, he said, "Hey, wait a minute! That's Mr. Goldstein's wallet. I'd know it anywhere with that bright red lacing. He's always losing that wallet. I must have found it in the halls at least three times."

"Who's Mr. Goldstein?" I asked as my hand began to shake.

"He's one of the old timers on the 8th floor. That's Mike Goldstein's wallet for sure. He must have lost it on one of his walks." I thanked the guard and quickly ran back to the nurse's office. I told her what the guard had said. We went back to the elevator and got on. I prayed that Mr. Goldstein would be up.

On the eighth floor, the floor nurse said, "I think he's still in the day room. He likes to read at night. He's a darling old man."

We went to the only room that had any lights on and there was a man reading a book. The nurse went over to him and asked if he had lost his wallet. Mr. Goldstein looked up with surprise, put his hand in his back pocket and said, "Oh, it is missing!"

"This kind gentleman found a wallet and we wondered if it could be yours?"

I handed Mr. Goldstein the wallet and the second he saw it, he smiled with relief and said, "Yes, that's it! It must have dropped out of my pocket this afternoon. I want to give you a reward."

"No, thank you," I said. "But I have to tell you something. I read the letter in the hope of finding out who owned the wallet."

The smile on his face suddenly disappeared. "You read that letter?"

"Not only did I read it, I think I know where Hannah is."

He suddenly grew pale. "Hannah? You know where she is? How is she? Is she still as pretty as she was? Please, please tell me," he begged.

"She's fine...just as pretty as when you knew her." I said softly.

The old man smiled with anticipation and asked, "Could you tell me where she is? I want to call her tomorrow." He grabbed my hand and said, "You know something, mister, I was so in love with that girl that when that letter came, my life literally ended. I never married. I guess I've always loved her."

"Mr. Goldstein," I said, "Come with me."

We took the elevator down to the third floor. The hallways were darkened and only one or two little night-lights lit our way to the day room where Hannah was sitting alone watching the television. The nurse walked over to her.

"Hannah," she said softly, pointing to Michael, who was waiting with me in the doorway. "Do you know this man?"

She adjusted her glasses, looked for a moment, but didn't say a word.

Michael said softly, almost in a whisper, "Hannah, it's Michael. Do you remember me?"

She gasped, "Michael! I don't believe it! Michael! It's you! My Michael!"

He walked slowly towards her and they embraced. The nurse and I left with tears streaming down our faces.

"See," I said. "See how the Good Lord works! If it's meant to be, it will be."

About three weeks later I got a call at my office from the nursing home. "Can you break away on Sunday to attend a wedding? Michael and Hannah are going to tie the knot!"

It was a beautiful wedding with all the people at the nursing home dressed up to join in the celebration. Hannah wore a light beige dress and looked beautiful. Michael wore a dark blue suit and stood tall.

They made me their best man. The hospital gave them their own room and if you ever wanted to see a 76-year-old bride and a 79-year-old groom acting like two teenagers, you had to see this couple.

A perfect ending for a love affair that had lasted nearly 60 years.

“Letter in the Wallet,” written by Arnold Fine (1985)

Happy Thanksgiving from Dinar Recaps

All of us at Dinar Recaps wishes all our readers a Happy Thanksgiving. Stay safe and healthy.

Note: we will not be doing a 10pm ET email Newsletter on Thursday.

Our 6pm Newsletter will likely be sent around 7pm (ET).

Please check our BLOG PAGE throughout the day for any new posts.

4 Common Thanksgiving Myths And The Real Facts Behind Them

VERIFY: 4 Common Thanksgiving Myths And The Real Facts Behind Them

Author: VERIFY, Terry Spry Jr.

The VERIFY team separated fact from fiction on 4 popular Thanksgiving myths including who started the turkey pardoning tradition and how Black Friday got its name.

Thanksgiving is almost here and with the annual festivities also comes years upon years of myths that have developed around one of the biggest holidays of the year for Americans. The myths, misconceptions and legends around Thanksgiving predate the internet, yet have persisted in the digital world all the same. Here are four common Thanksgiving myths, all of which are false, and the truth behind the holiday weekend’s various stories.

MYTH: Thanksgiving has been celebrated every year since the nation’s founding

According to the National Archives, George Washington issued a proclamation that named Thursday, November 26, 1789 as a "Day of Publick Thanksgivin".

At that point, however, Thanksgiving wasn’t codified into law as an annual holiday. It was up to the sitting president to declare a day of “Thanksgiving and Prayer” and set the day and month for the holiday. And there were some years where no such day was declared.

For example, Thomas Jefferson opted against it while president. Monticello says Jefferson was against it because of his beliefs in separating religion from the government. Back then, Thanksgiving days were more religious-focused holidays.

Thanksgiving was established as one of the first four federal holidays in 1870, when Congress passed the Holiday Act. That law established Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s Day and Independence Day as holidays, but Thanksgiving was the only one where the president had the discretion to set the date each year.

By that time, Thanksgiving already had an informal date. Abraham Lincoln’s 1863 proclamation set Thanksgiving as the last Thursday in November and subsequent presidents had followed that precedent.

However, Thanksgiving would have fallen on the last day of the month in 1939, so Franklin Roosevelt moved it to the month’s second-to-last Thursday because he worried a shortened Christmas season would dampen the nation’s recovery from the Great Depression. Some states defied the president’s move and made it state law that Thanksgiving was the last Thursday and so Congress sought to set a fixed date for the holiday to combat the confusion. A law was passed in 1941 that set Thanksgiving as the fourth Thursday of November.

MYTH: Presidential turkey pardoning began with Abraham Lincoln or Harry Truman

To continue reading, please go to the original article here:

https://www.wcnc.com/article/news/verify/verify-tackling-common-thanksgiving-myths/507-e580ed91-8abc-47e0-8ffa-2b93a357bbeb