Take That - Greatest Day (Official Video)

My second favorite song for the New Year. (Click on the Watch on YouTube link.)

Barry Manilow: It's Just Another New Years Eve

My favorite song for New Years Eve.

HSCC 2011.25: Luke & John

And now for the final day of the Harbor Street Christmas Celebration 2011, we share the beginnings of Christmas. Thank you for coming by.
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Luke 2:1 And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus, that all the world should be taxed.
2:2 (And this taxing was first made when Cyrenius was governor of Syria.)
2:3 And all went to be taxed, every one into his own city.
2:4 And Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judaea, unto the city of David, which is called Bethlehem; (because he was of the house and lineage of David:)
2:5 To be taxed with Mary his espoused wife, being great with Child.
2:6 And so it was, that, while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered.
2:7 And she brought forth her firstborn Son, and wrapped Him in swaddling clothes, and laid Him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn.
2:8 And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night.
2:9 And, lo, the angel of the LORD came upon them, and the glory of the LORD shone round about them: and they were sore afraid.
2:10 And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.
2:11 For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the LORD.
2:12 And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the Babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.
2:13 And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying,
2:14 Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.
2:15 And it came to pass, as the angels were gone away from them into Heaven, the shepherds said one to another, Let us now go even unto Bethlehem, and see this thing which is come to pass, which the LORD hath made known unto us.
2:16 And they came with haste, and found Mary, and Joseph, and the Babe lying in a manger.
2:17 And when they had seen it, they made known abroad the saying which was told them concerning this Child.
2:18 And all they that heard it wondered at those things which were told them by the shepherds.
2:19 But Mary kept all these things, and pondered them in her heart.
2:20 And the shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things that they had heard and seen, as it was told unto them.
2:21 And when eight days were accomplished for the circumcising of the Child, His Name was called JESUS, which was so named of the angel before He was conceived in the womb.

Matthew 2:1 Now when Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea in the days of Herod the king, behold, there came wise men from the east to Jerusalem,
2:2 saying, Where is he that is born King of the Jews? for we have seen his star in the east, and are come to worship him.
2:3 When Herod the king had heard these things, he was troubled, and all Jerusalem with him.
2:4 And when he had gathered all the chief priests and scribes of the people together, he demanded of them where Christ should be born.
2:5 And they said unto him, In Bethlehem of Judea: for thus it is written by the prophet,
2:6 And thou Bethlehem, in the land of Judah, art not the least among the princes of Judah:
for out of thee shall come a Governor, that shall rule my people Israel.
2:7 Then Herod, when he had privily called the wise men, inquired of them diligently what time the star appeared.
2:8 And he sent them to Bethlehem, and said, Go and search diligently for the young child; and when ye have found him, bring me word again, that I may come and worship him also.
2:9 When they had heard the king, they departed; and, lo, the star, which they saw in the east, went before them, till it came and stood over where the young child was.
2:10 When they saw the star, they rejoiced with exceeding great joy.
2:11 And when they were come into the house, they saw the young child with Mary his mother, and fell down, and worshipped him: and when they had opened their treasures, they presented unto him gifts; gold, and frankincense, and myrrh.
***
I hope you have a safe, happy, and healthy Christmas filled with God's love for us and the love of your family and friends. Have a wonderful day.

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HSCC 2011.24: The Slave's Tale

For Christmas Eve and the 24th day of the Harbor Street Christmas Celebration 2011, we share our last tale from Bethlehem this year.

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Tales from Bethlehem:

The Slave's Tale

By Stephen B. Bagley

         My name is Gaulus, and I am a slave. But this story is not about slavery. Nor is its subject escape, although I did not wish to be a slave. I wanted to live my own life.

         I was not a common slave. I could write, and I knew my numbers. In fact, knowing my numbers was how I became a slave. When I was a young man, I was found guilty of embezzlement from my employer, a Roman senator. The court punished me by stripping me of my citizenship and selling me into slavery. My parents were not wealthy or powerful. They could only watch as my life was auctioned away. Woe unto me.

        That was twenty-five years ago. I had lived longer as a slave than I did as a citizen. Sometimes that other life and those other dreams seem to have belonged to a stranger. On bad nights, they burned within me and reminded me what I could have been. But this story is not about what I lost.

        My master was Lucius Aemilius Paullus. He was a good master as masters go, beating me rarely and seeing that I was fed at least once a day. He was also, according to himself, a handsome man, a statement to which I must agree since he had only a few pox scars, a blotchy complexion, the odor of a rotting carcass, and at least eight teeth. We lived in Rome, where he was a merchant in used furniture, but we were traveling back from his late wife’s friend’s cousin’s sister’s son’s wedding when we were forced to stop in a dirty little town in Judah.

        This town, this Bethlehem, overflowed with people then. The great Caesar Augustus had decreed that everyone should return to their place of birth so that they could be counted. And taxed since that was the true purpose of the census. (That was one advantage of being a slave; I paid no taxes. Rather I was property upon which Paullus had to pay taxes. I trust you will not think ill of me to learn tax time always afforded me a certain amount of satisfaction.)

        We were forced to stop because Paullus had eaten bad fish sauce from a stall on the road and became sick with much heaving from the stomach. Since he had an ample stomach, the heaving was ample, also. It was a simple illness, however, and one he would soon recover from. He had both the constitution — and grace — of an ox.

        Fortunately we were able to get a room at one of Bethlehem’s inns. Keloe’s Inn it was called. My master took the largest room available. His personal slave Audius attended to him. His bodyguards Spurius and Gnaeus drank themselves into a stupor and made clumsy advances on the serving girls who were adept in avoiding them. I wandered the inn and the town and attempted to stay out of everyone’s sight less I be forced to work.

        Jews were everywhere. Ordinarily, I contented myself with the thought that, although I was a slave, at least I wasn’t a Jew. The Jews held themselves apart and did not worship the approved  gods. They had their own god whom they did not share, and they were always revolting. I mean, they revolted against the government. They waited for a king who would lead them to victory against their oppressors. These so-called messiahs sprang up like weeds, but each one was cut down by the Roman army.

        People wondered why the Jews continued to resist. It would be easier if they worshipped Roman gods and followed Roman laws. Rome’s great strength lay in how it swallowed all it conquered. But the Jews refused to be a meal.

        That particular night, the sky had cleared and the wind had a sharp bite to it. I had my meal of a block of cheese, a small onion, and a slab of bread with a small cup of Keloe’s vile wine to wash it down with. I went outside and found a place to sit near a wall toward the back of the inn and near the stable.

        After I ate, I lingered there even though it was chilly. I was restless. Perhaps even excited. But I will not lie to you and say I knew what was coming. None of us knew.

        I huddled by the wall. When darkness was nearly complete, one of the inn’s servants, a boy named Gregor, led a man and a woman to the stable. The woman rode a small donkey. I smirked as I realized the innkeeper had sent them to bed in the stable. Then I saw the woman was with child. I felt somewhat ashamed of myself and wished I could help them.

        They entered the stable, and the boy hustled around helping them. A serving girl came out and spoke with the boy. It was obvious even to me that she had plans to marry him, but it did not seem to be obvious to him. I envied them for their youth and their freedom. Wretched was I and woe —

        I heard a baby cry. Even I, a wretched slave, smiled at that. New life. I hoped this babe would never suffer as I had. If only ...

        I heard them before I smelled them and smelled them before I saw them. Sheep. A flock of them. A large flock of them came around the corner of the inn. And kept coming. Several tall shepherds came forward and stood outside the stable, looking in. I wondered what habit this was. I thought about being a shepherd and how their lives were free. My life was truly horrible and —

        Suddenly I could see. No, not the sight of wisdom, but I could actually see. I stared at the heavens where a blaze of light dominated the night sky. A star made of golden light that flowed toward the earth. Toward this inn. Toward that stable.

        I stood. My first impulse was to flee. My second was to press forward toward the stable. No, it would be wiser to flee. But I passed by the stable boy and the serving girl who were talking to the shepherds. I should run now.

        I heard what the shepherds said. They were in the fields, watching their flocks. And an angel appeared and spoke to them. And it said, “Fear not: for behold, I bring you great tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you: Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.” And then the heavens were filled with angels. And the angels said, “Glory to God in highest and on earth peace, good will toward men.”

        But I kept walking. Light blazed from the star. I heard camels behind me as their hooves clopped up the street. I paused for a moment. The world turned around this place. I drew in a breath filled with the fragrance of hope and joy. Three men dressed in fine silk robes passed me and entered the stable. My legs trembled. I shivered. I tottered on the edge of a precipice. I took another step forward and walked into the stable and finally saw Him. In that moment — and for all time — I will be the most blessed of men.

        I told you what this story wasn’t about. Now I tell you what it is about. It’s about a babe in a manger who would be the king of my heart for the rest of my life. It’s about a slave who was given the gift of true freedom. It’s about hope.

Copyright 2011 by Stephen B. Bagley. All right reserved. Excerpted from Tales from Bethlehem. No copying in any form without express written permission from the author and publisher.

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See you tomorrow!

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HSCC 2011.23: Underwear jobs

And for today, the 23rd day of the Harbor Street Christmas Celebration 2011, we share ... well, it's hard to describe. You should just read it.
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Stuff envelopes while only wearing your underwear for $$$

By Stephen Bagley

         I’ve been looking at self-employment opportunities. There are all sorts of opportunities out there. You can stuff envelopes, sell timeshares, do phone sales (and in some cases actually sell phones), sell foreclosure information, etc. In all these diverse and mostly unbelievable offers, I found a common thread. They all seem to have a line somewhere in their brochures like this: “You can go to work in your underwear!”

         Now that made me curious. Other than people who work in Las Vegas, is there a large segment of society who go to work only in their underwear? And is that a goal a civilized society should be working for?

         I think going to work only in your underwear is a good example of casual Friday gone terribly wrong. Just the idea of seeing my former coworkers in their underwear is enough to give me the dancing heebie-jeebies. There’s a lot to be said for clothes. Particularly since they cover our flabby, pale, pimply, blemished, scarred, stretched, misshapen, and sometimes tattooed bodies.

         Speaking of tattoos, they're not right for me. I can barely manage to date the same woman for more than six months at a time before her sweet, endearing little quirks make me want to push her down the stairs; do you think I want a picture of a flaming skull on my chest for the rest of my life? (Just in case, that’s too subtle: I don’t.) And don't get me started about that guy who had the entire New Testament tattooed on his body. There are certain places Bible verses should not be, and armpits are among them.

         If you didn’t wear clothes to work, you’d have to fight about the thermostat setting all the time because your office would either be too cold or too hot for different people. You have to worry about sharp objects on your chair piercing your tender skin. And you might learn that hairy Ed in accounting wears Hello Kitty underpants, but did you really want to know that? I don’t think so.

         Some of the work-at-home brochures don't mention underwear, of course. Those say you can work at home in your sweatpants and/or pajamas. Once again, there’s that idea that wearing clothes is a bad thing. Apparently the work-at-home people are all closet nudists. Remember that kid who always seemed to lose his swimsuit on campouts? He’s working at home now.

         Admittedly, I’m not the person to ask about nudity. As has been pointed out more than once, I’m basically a prude. One friend once told me that he thought I had been born middle-aged. While there is some truth to that, I’d like to point out that, if I ever ran for President of the United States, the media would find little if anything racy to report and might be forced to focus on the real issues. Ha ha ha. Yeah, I laughed at the idea of a responsible media, too.

         There are at least two nudist camps in Oklahoma. You might be wondering how I know that — yes, you were. When I worked as editor for the OSU newspaper, two or three reporters would come to me and want to do a story about the camps. I’d always agree, but they never turned in a story. The camps value their privacy and don’t allow interviews or photographers.

         Being raised in the country, I know too much about ticks, chiggers, poison ivy, bees, hornets, rabid skunks, etc., to ever want to be naked outside. I think nudists are — and I hope I don’t offend any of my family, I really hope that — bonkers. But I’m a prude. And somewhat proud of it.

         The other selling point of the brochures is the money. Money, money, money. They say you can make thousands of dollars a week by using their secrets. You can change your life for the better. You can own a fancy car, a huge house, and take fantastic vacations. And all they need from you is your credit card number and expiration date.

         Oddly enough, they won’t let you use their secrets and then pay them. You have to pay them first. This seems to imply they don’t trust you, but who can blame them? It’s hard to trust someone who’s sitting around the house all day in their underwear.

Copyright 2011 by Stephen B. Bagley. Excerpted from Return of the Floozy. All rights reserved. No copying without express written permission from the author and publisher.

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See you tomorrow!

Oakleaf Harbor Christmas Cards now on sale!
Buy Floozy and Other Stories at Amazon.com
Buy Floozy and Other Stories at Barnes&Noble.com
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Buy Murder by Dewey Decimal at Amazon.com
Buy Murder by Dewey Decimal at Barnes&Noble.com
Buy Murder by Dewey Decimal at BooksAMillion.com
Buy Murder by Dewey Decimal at Lulu.com
Buy Murder by the Acre at Amazon.com
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Buy Floozy, MBTA & MBDD items and more at Oakleaf Harbor

HSCC 2011.22: A Donkey's Tale

For the 22nd day of the Harbor Street Christmas Celebration 2011, we share another tale of Bethlehem.
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Tales from Bethlehem
The Tale of Humble Donkey

       It’s good to be a donkey. We’re stronger than horses, faster than mules, more beautiful than both of them and many times more intelligent. And so humble! We are the most humble animals. I myself am proud of my awesome humility.
       I explained it to my friend Dolores, the horse, as we chewed on some straw in our shed in Nazareth. “Dolores,” I said. “My humility is overwhelming. I amaze myself sometimes.”
       Dolores cocked an ear. “I’m often amazed by you, too,” she said.
       Clem, the dog, laughed then for some reason. I often don’t understand what he’s laughing at, but he’s cheery if a bit dim, and I’ve learned to tolerate him. After all, not every creature can be a donkey.
       “Queenie, you have a lot to be humble about,” Clem said.
       I flicked my tail and tried to puzzle out what he meant. I think he was attempting to compliment me in his pitiful way. Yes, that had to be it. 
       “Thank you,” I said.
       In his joy of my acknowledgement of his compliment, he rolled on the stable ground in laughter. I do like bringing joy to the lesser animals.
       Just then Joachim and Anna came into the shed with their daughter Mary and a young man named Joseph. The chickens had told me that Joseph was betrothed to Mary, but the goat told Clem who told Delores who told me that there had been trouble when Mary returned from her visit to her cousin. Apparently — and don’t let anyone know you heard it from me because donkeys simply don’t gossip the way other creatures do — Mary was with child. Yes, that’s right, and hear this — it wasn’t Joseph’s child.
       I know it’s hard to understand, but parentage is very important to humans. I don’t know why, but I suspect it’s because they have only two legs and don’t have a tail. They have to compensate in some way.
       Joachim said, “You can take the horse.”
       “Oh no, Father,” Mary said. “You need her for the farm.”
       “Don’t argue with your father,” Anna told Mary. “Bethlehem is a long way, and you’re in no …” She paused, and her face reddened. “It’s a long way.”
       Mary looked at the ground.
       “It is as Mary has said,” the young man said, moving to stand by Mary. “You need the horse. We cannot take it on such a long journey. If it broke a leg or was set upon by wild animals, we would be hard-pressed to replace it.” 
       Mary looked up and shyly smiled.
       “Then please take the donkey, Joseph,” Joachim said. “It’s a poor excuse for a horse, but it can carry Mary. It’s old, stubborn, and doesn’t look like much, but if the wild animals get it, no one has lost anything valuable.”
       I looked around the stable, trying to catch a glimpse of the pitiful creature so described, but it must have been hiding behind my stall. They never could find it so that’s how I found myself on the road to Bethlehem.
       “Road,” however, is too kind a word for the trail on which we were forced to travel. Rocks the size of Dolores’s hindquarters forced us to take a meandering path. And there was no forage to speak of. I was lucky to grab a few mouthfuls of grass and a swallow of water. Not that anyone noticed how much I was suffering. No, that dolt Joseph only had eyes for his precious Mary. “Mary, are you comfortable? Mary, eat this. Mary, you should rest. Mary, how are you feeling?” Bray, bray, bray. But did he offer any concern to me? NO!
       And it was no joy carrying Mary, either. Oh, she was nice enough, quiet and sweet in her way, but she was near to her time so she was heavy, wearing me down. Finally, after too many days, I’d had enough. No more!
       We had stopped for the evening near a small stream. I fumed all through the night. I was not going to go another step, and if they thought I would, they had another think coming.
       The next morning, Joseph pulled on my halter. I rose, then settled my hindquarters back down. He pulled and pulled and pulled. I didn’t move. He found a limb and tried to lever me up. I calmly stood, took two steps, and sat back down. Even Mary found the look on his face comical. She giggled.
       Joseph glared at her. Then he began to laugh. They fell against each other, holding each other in helpless laughter.
       “Oh, Mary,” Joseph said. “What are we going to do now? I don’t think that donkey is going to move, not even if I beat on its sorry hide.”
       “I think I could walk a while,” Mary said. “If we went slowly. And surely we will soon meet others on the way.”
       They gathered up their belongings, pretending that they were going to leave me. Joseph even went so far as to remove my halter. He patted me on the side of my neck. “I guess you were just too old for this trip,” he said. “I wish we could wait for you to recover your strength, but I must get Mary to town before the baby comes.” He patted my neck again. “Beware the wild beasts.”
       They walked slowly away. I was wise to their tricks. Soon they would be back. I sat and watched them disappear over the hill. I became conscious of the sounds of the hillside, the birds calling, the rustle of the small rodents. I could no longer hear them. Surely they hadn’t left me?!
       I brayed in dismay and shock. What could they be thinking? Had the long days of travel totally addled their minds? I gasped. Of course! That was it. They had lost their minds! Two silly young people, lost in the wilderness, and I had abandoned them. I raced after them. Who knows what mischief they could get into? It was my responsibility to take care of them. It was clear now that I had been chosen to watch out over those two, to keep the poor dumb dears safe.
       It didn’t take me long to catch up to them. For some reason, they didn’t seem surprised to see me, but they did seem pleased. Naturally. After all, a donkey is the most pleasant ride, and for a woman close to her time, it’s the best there is.
       The next day, we joined a few other travelers. They were not welcoming, making a point to tell Joseph that we couldn’t share their fire. Their horses were particularly unkind, neighing loudly about Mary’s long ears and coarse coat. Fortunately she didn’t understand what they were saying. I ignored them. That is all you can do with the ignorant.
       Bethlehem was crowded with humans. The odors were quite unpleasant. As we went from one inn to another, it finally dawned on me that Joseph hadn’t made plans for a place to stay for us. Typical human. Not that I would want to stay in their inns. I glimpsed in the window of one and could barely see due to the smoke. And the straw on the floor was filthy. I wouldn’t set a hoof on it, much less let my dear Mary set a foot on it.
       Joseph was frantic, pleading with an innkeeper named Keloe for a place for Mary, but the innkeeper kept saying there was no room for them in the inn. I looked around and saw the stable. Perfect! The stable would be out of the wind and give Mary some privacy, except for the animals, of course, and what we don’t know about birthing isn’t worth knowing.
       But how to explain this to this lumpish innkeeper? Mary was still on my back so I stepped toward the stable. I looked back the innkeeper. He didn’t notice. I took a few more steps, pulling on the halter. Joseph tried to hold me back, his attention on the innkeeper.
       Mary gave a soft cry. I knew she was out of time, but the men kept arguing.
       I laid my ears back. Enough. My Mary wasn’t going to give birth on a dirty street. I headed for the stable. If Joseph didn’t let go, he was going to go with us.
       The innkeeper saw me pulling for the stable, and greed lit up his face. “You could stay in the stable,” he said, acting as if he had thought of it himself. Joseph agreed, being dragged along as I made my way. A stableboy showed up to lead us, not that I needed him.
       Soon we had Mary inside on clean soft straw. Exhausted, I found a place near a wall and laid down. A Roman soldier’s horse snorted. “Don’t be lying next to me, ugly donkey,” he said. 
       I looked at him in surprise. 
       “Yeah,” another horse snorted. “Not near me, either. Shouldn’t something as old as you be vulture food already?”
       The horses began to laugh. Although I knew they were wrong and that I was beautiful and ageless, big tears welled up in my eyes. I was so tired, and it had been such a long day. I lowered my head.
       Then a glow filled the stable. The horses stopped in mid-neigh. In the silence, a glorious Messenger appeared! His presence filled the stable. He was there to honor the babe, but he turned to me and touched my head lovingly. “Blessed are you, little donkey, for you have carried and will carry the King of Kings and Lord of Lords,” he said. He glanced at the horses and dismissed them as easily as that.
       Of course, you know the rest of the story and who was born that wonderful night, but now you know who carried His mother and then carried Him and His family into Egypt. I served Him all my life. I told you it was good to be a donkey.

Copyright 2011 by Stephen B. Bagley. All rights reserved. Excerpted from Tales from Bethlehem. No copying without express written permission.
**********************
See you tomorrow.

Oakleaf Harbor Christmas Cards now on sale!

Buy Floozy and Other Stories at Amazon.com
Buy Floozy and Other Stories at Barnes&Noble.com
Buy Floozy and Other Stories in paperback at Lulu.com
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Buy Murder by Dewey Decimal at Amazon.com
Buy Murder by Dewey Decimal at Barnes&Noble.com
Buy Murder by Dewey Decimal at BooksAMillion.com
Buy Murder by Dewey Decimal at Lulu.com
Buy Murder by the Acre at Amazon.com
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Buy Floozy, MBTA & MBDD items and more at Oakleaf Harbor

HSCC 2011.21: A Christmas Poem

Welcome to the 21st day of the Harbor Street Christmas Celebration 2011! Today we'll share that Christmas poem that most people know of and know some of.
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Twas the Night before Christmas
(AKA A Visit from St. Nicholas)

By Clement Clarke Moore

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St Nicholas soon would be there.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads.
And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer.

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!

"Now Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! On, Cupid! on, on Donner and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of Toys, and St Nicholas too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.
A bundle of Toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack.

His eyes-how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly!

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself!
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose!

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!" 
*********************
See you tomorrow.

Oakleaf Harbor Christmas Cards now on sale!
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HSCC 2011.20: The Empty Innkeeper

Welcome to the 20th day of the Harbor Street Christmas Celebration! Today we'll share another Tale of Bethlehem.
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Tales of Bethlehem:
The Tale of the Empty Innkeeper

By Stephen B. Bagley

       Let us talk, good Manius Cassius. It will make the leagues go faster as we travel. Let me tell you a story from my life. You may find it illuminating.
       My name is Keloe Diodorus. I am an innkeeper. I see you’ve heard of me. I’d like to think you’ve heard about my inn and how we treat travelers with the utmost care unless they don’t pay and then we break their knees. Ha, ha. Just kidding. We’ve never broken any knees because they sneak out before we can catch them. My good wife Sapphira suggested we tie everyone to their beds, but that idea didn’t seem to sit easy with anyone.
       Anyway, as I was saying, I’d like to think you’ve heard of Keloe’s Inn in Bethlehem. It’s not perfect, of course, and I have been accused of possessing an excessive zeal for cleanliness since I require my employees to bathe once a week whether they need it or not and we wash our dishes once a month or if flies become a problem. And we do NOT serve rat — although if we did, my cook Linos would dip it in a grain and honey batter and fry it in olive oil. Delicious! Not that I’ve had it before, of course. We don’t serve rat, having fortunately found a supplier of that rarest of creatures, four-legged chickens.
       But of course, you’ve not heard of my excellent Inn — just inside Bethlehem across from the Roman road, turn left at the marker stone, we’ll leave a lamp burning for you — no, what you’ve heard is that I made a young couple spend the night in my stable. What’s worse, as you’ve doubtlessly been told by people who wouldn’t know the truth if it bit them on their brazen bottoms, is that the woman was great with child, and she was forced by my heartless actions to have her child out among the animals. Well, I am here to set the record straight, I tell you!
       I remember that night well. We were crowded. Crowded to the rafters. See, Caesar Augustus had send out orders that everyone had to return to their hometown so that they could be counted and taxed. I have no idea why he required everyone to return to their hometown. I hear tell that it was because Rome was overflowing with everyone except Romans so Caesar and the Roman Senate thought they could empty the streets of the riffraff and have the steam houses and baths to themselves. Didn’t work, of course, since they hadn’t considered all the Romans who would be returning to Rome due to the decree, Romans who had picked up all sorts of barbarian ways. Typical of government to create a new problem while attempting to fix an old one.
       So we were crowded. Why, people were sleeping six to a bed and ten to a pallet. And they were paying through the nose — I mean, paying a competitive reasonable price. Our wine was flowing like water — not that it’s watered down. That’s another rumor spread by Nero. Nero owns the Seven Seas Inn in Bethlehem and likes to boast of his salad dressing. It is good, but otherwise, his food isn’t fit to serve to a sickly slave. You have to know the town was crowded when I tell you that even the Seven Seas was full up.
       We were busy, and to my regret, I had to turn people away. The bedrooms, the main room, the servants’ holes, everywhere we had people. I was bringing another amphora of wine to a table of particularly thirsty Greeks when Dora Ruth, one of our serving girls, yelled, “Keloe, there’s someone at the door. Wants a room. I says we ain’t got none, but he wants to talk to you.”
       “Tell him to go away!” I yelled back, but she had bustled back to the kitchen. As I threaded my way through the crowd, I tried to figure out one more place to put some people. And to my eternal credit, I considered the outhouse only for a moment. Or two. Not long.
       I went to the open door, intending to send whoever it was quickly on their way because I was too busy to bother with people who would not be crossing my palm with coin.
       “On your way,” I told the young man. “We have no room.”
       “Sir, please,” the man pleaded. “My wife ...” He motioned behind him, and I noticed her. A pretty young girl, clearly with child, sat wearily on a small, run-down donkey. 
       “No room,” I said again.
       “Surely there’s somewhere!” the man insisted.
       I pulled my stomach up. “There is no room. Go on down the road. Try Nero’s.” I eyed their clothes. “You look their type.”
       The donkey, probably hungry, brayed and headed toward our stable. Then I got a great idea. “You can stay in our stable if you’d like,” I said. “But at full price.”
       The man agreed gratefully and turned to his wife. 
       I yelled for the stable boy. “Gregor, take these people to the stable. We have no room here.”
       The dimwit boy rolled his eyes at me, but he did what he was told. I closed the door, nodding in satisfaction. My good wife Sapphira would be pleased with the extra coin. I spent the rest of the night, carrying wine back and forth, breaking up disagreements, and generally working myself to the very bone. 
       So you understand now that sending them to the stable was all I could do. There was no room in our inn. And much later I would realize there was no room in our hearts, either.
       The next day, after the couple had left, I learned all sorts of crazy things happened at the stable the night before. The baby was born, shepherds and their flocks showed up to worship him, and Magi from the East came galloping up on their camels. I was told angels appeared, and a huge star shone overhead. I can’t vouch for all of this, but I know the sheep and camels were there because they left evidence, if you know what I mean. 
       And there’s this: All those who saw the child had their lives changed. My stable boy and one of my serving girls, my cook, the shepherds, the Magi, all of them were changed.
       But not me. I never saw the child.
       No, I stayed inside serving my customers, fetching wine and roasted meats, praising the drunken Roman soldiers and the educated Greeks. My wife and I went to bed late that night, pleased with the coins we had earned, delighted with the good life they would purchase for us.
       The next day the couple departed, going on to the home of their relatives they told my stable boy. The man actually gave Gregor a gold coin! Where did he get gold? They looked so poor.
       My wife said I should be happy. We made money. That’s what counts, she said. And we do have money. Our inn has flourished during the thirty or so years since that night. I have many servants and slaves. I have everything this world can offer. But I am empty. I am hollow. My soul cries out for more.
       So today I am traveling with you and all these other pilgrims to hear the words of this new prophet. This Jesus who heals the sick and raises the dead and offers living water. I tell you, my friend, I am determined I will be empty no more.

Copyright 2011 by Stephen B. Bagley. All rights reserved. Excerpted from Tales from Bethlehem. All rights reserved. No copying without express written permission from the author and publisher.
********************
See you tomorrow!

Oakleaf Harbor Christmas Cards now on sale!
Buy Floozy and Other Stories at Amazon.com
Buy Floozy and Other Stories at Barnes&Noble.com
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Buy Murder by the Acre at Amazon.com
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HSCC 2011.19: Anti-Customer Service Tips

And now, for the 19th day of the Harbor Street Christmas Celebration 2011, we're going to share a few Customer Service Tips that will doubtlessly help you during these holiday shopping days if you work retail or in any other way interact with the public.

From The Anti-Customer Service Training Manual 

Customer Service Tip #13: Not only is the customer not always right, sometimes they are batweasel crazy. When this happens, take a deep breath and remember they're not worth you going to prison.

Customer Service Tip #56: It's not your customer's fault he/she is loathsome. That's what happens when first cousins marry. Be kind.

Customer Service Tip #87: I don't care what Willy in Receiving says; drinking when you're busy on your job is a bad thing. For one thing, you might get fired ... Wait, let me think about this some more.

Customer Service Tip #134: In most social circles, it's considered impolite to leap the service counter and snatch your customer baldheaded. Remember this, and you'll be welcome everywhere.

Customer Service Tip #159: If the customer has money and you'll do anything to get it, this means conventional wisdom is wrong: Customer service IS the oldest profession in the world.

Customer Service Tip #176: Bad breath and body odor will only drive away the most sensitive customers. It's not worth the risk of tooth decay and disease. So go ahead and brush your teeth and shower once in a while. Deodorant is, of course, optional.

Customer Service Tip #211: Bitterness is never attractive. Learn to fake sincerity, and your customers will love you until you turn on them like a mad badger and gnaw their legs off.

Customer Service Tip #236: Never tell a customer you're going to have him/her hunted down and killed in the street like a dog. It will upset them. No, let it be a total surprise when it happens.

Copyright 20011 by Stephen B. Bagley. Excerpted from The Anti-Customer Service Training Manual. All rights reserved.

*******************

See you tomorrow!

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Buy Floozy and Other Stories at Amazon.com
Buy Floozy and Other Stories at Barnes&Noble.com
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HSCC 2011.18: DANGER! DANGER!

For the 18th of the Harbor Street Christmas Celebration, we talk of the dangers of Christmas crafting ... with me.
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Danger During the Holidays!

By Stephen B. Bagley

      It was a few days before Christmas last year, and I was talking to Linda on the phone. "Do you want to come over and help me with my Christmas crafts?" I asked.
      "Good heavens, NO!" she shouted. "I'd rather strip naked and run through a rose garden that's been sprayed with lemon juice."
      "What time will you be here?" I asked.
      "I'd rather to be strapped to the speakers at a bagpipe concert," she said.
      "Is that yes or no?" I asked. "I don't understand."
      "You're not trying to," she said. "Rather than crafting with you, I'd sit through the presidental debates again! Sober!"
      "I'm beginning to get the odd feeling that you might perhaps be reluctant," I said. "Why is that?"
      "Because it's dangerous," she said. "People get hurt when you do crafts."
      I sighed. "Is Adam complaining about his eyebrows again?"
      "Stephen, they fell off!"
      "Actually, they peeled off," I said. "And I told him not to stand over the chemicals when we were etching glass. Well, I meant to tell him."
      "And about Cynthia?"
      "That was an accident," I said. "I had no idea enough paint fumes had accumulated to explode. But she'll be out of the bodycast in a couple of month. Personally, I think she's enjoying the rest despite her threats and the attempts to have me snuffed."
      "Yes, there's nothing more restful than having nurses turn you every hour and orderlies feed you through a straw," Linda said.
      "So you'll come over?" I asked.
      "Not that I'm agreeing, but what exactly are you going to be doing?"
      "Just papercraft," I said. "There's nothing dangerous in papercraft. We'll be tearing up paper and mixing the pieces with water and a few chemicals, most of which aren't toxic."
      "Well, I guess ... What do you mean most?! she snapped. "No, no, NO! Papercraft is out."
      "We could make Christmas candles," I said. "Those make good gifts."
      "Didn't you have a wax explosion a couple of months ago?" she asked.
      "No one was seriously hurt, and my kitchen has already been repaired," I said. "If I could find my cat, everything would be fine. I tried to follow the smoke trail she left, but the wind was high and I lost her around Oak Street."
      "No candles," she said firmly. "Don't you do wooden projects?"
      I used to," I said. "But the police took away my electric saw after that regrettable incident when I was trying to help those nuns repair a pew and I sneezed."
      "Oh, yeah, I forgot," she said. "Do you still get hate mail from Sister Mary Margaret?"
      "Just hate postcards now," I said. "I think she's getting over her anger. I hope so. It can't be good for her spiritual growth."
      "What about painting?" she suggested. "I mean, watercolor painting. Yeah, watercolors are safe. I couldn't get hurt doing watercolors."
      "Okay, we'll do that," I said happily. "Come on over."
      Later that night as we huddled under a blanket provided by the fire department, she glared at me. "How oh how did the watercolors catch fire?!" she asked.
      "Well, I thought they looked a little thick," I said. "So I thought I'd try thinning them with alcohol." 
      She didn't say anything. 
      "I think short hair is a good look for you," I said brightly.
      Fortunately they were able to pull her off me before she could finish choking me. Because she's a friend, I didn't press charges.

Copyright 2010 by Stephen B. Bagley. Excerpted from Floozy & Other Stories. All rights reserved. No copying without express prior written permission from the author and publisher.
******************

See you tomorrow!

Oakleaf Harbor Christmas Cards now on sale!
Buy Floozy and Other Stories at Amazon.com
Buy Floozy and Other Stories at Barnes&Noble.com
Buy Floozy and Other Stories in paperback at Lulu.com
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Buy Murder by Dewey Decimal at BooksAMillion.com
Buy Murder by Dewey Decimal at Lulu.com
Buy Murder by the Acre at Amazon.com
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Buy Murder by the Acre in soft cover at Lulu.com
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Buy Floozy, MBTA & MBDD items and more at Oakleaf Harbor