Christmas Letter 2020

Christmas Greetings, Friends,

To call this year a difficult one would be not only an understatement but certainly pointing out the obvious as well. There's not a lot of events to relate under the heading of “things I did this year”. What did transpire was a streak of productivity that is nothing short of remarkable – and I'm the first to recognize that I dare not take total credit for it. As I'm fond of saying regarding this outpouring – the Spirit has been busy. Since April 1^st, as of December 9^th, I've written, and posted on Facebook, 44 brand new songs. It is without a doubt the most prolific streak I've ever had. It also has been a saving grace for me. Being able to write songs as a response to the current craziness of the world has made a huge difference in how I've survived. As a result of my songwriting I've been able to maintain some sense of purpose, to view my songs as my way of trying to add something positive to the mix. And in some cases, maybe even minister to people through them. In addition, it's been a bonus, having an immediate audience for them which has fed the desire to write more and so the writing has fed the posting and the posting has fed the writing, etc.

I thought I'd share a piece this year that I posted as a recitation on Facebook a few weeks ago. It is my way of sharing a longing to see the best of the season taking center stage, as opposed to the chaos and darkness that is trying to usurp all the goodness of what Christmas represents.

Speaking of such, I actually had a kind of “aha” moment the other night when I was out with some friends – quite a rarity these days – at a pizza place. While I was waiting for them show up the piped in music played the Andy Williams hit, “Most Wonderful Time of the Year”. In a knee jerk sort of fashion my thoughts went to thinking “what joke” that is this year. Then … I stopped and reconsidered my reaction. True, this Christmas doesn't feel that wonderful but the season itself still is. All that's good about Christmas is still just as good even if it's kind of buried this year. A baby's birth, a birth that changed the world is still worth celebrating, isn't it? I would say yes it is.

So in the spirit of all that, here is this year's contribution.

If I Could be Santa Claus

If I could be Santa Claus

Now I don't mean dress up like Him

Put on the suit, the beard, the cap

And just pretend to be

No I mean if I could somehow

Bridge the make believe gap

Between dreams and reality

Not question how such things can happen

Just simply let myself get caught up

In a world where

I could live the fantasy

If I could be

Santa Claus

I know toys can't always

Fix a broken heart

But it's a start

And I promise you

I would do my very best

To do my part

So every single child

Who had a Christmas wish

Who, believing filled out

Their very own Christmas list

Would discover beneath their tree

A present straight from me

No one would be forgotten

No one would be forsaken

Come Christmas morn

As the new day dawned

Every hopeful child would awaken

To know that I'd been there

That Santa loved them

Santa cared

No tears but only smiles

For every child

In this troubled world

Plenty to eat on Christmas day

For every boy and every girl

There would be so much joy and laughter

The angels would be singing

Harking all their heralds

'Till the Heavens would be ringing

And of course, I'd pay attention

I wouldn't dare forget

I'd be quick to mention

Whose birthday it really is

Not my holiday, but His

If I could be Santa Claus

I promise you this

As I delivered every present

I'd remember the greatest gift

Came from up above

A tiny baby in a manger

Wrapped up

Like a Christmas surprise

Because of Our Father's boundless love

If I could be Santa Claus

Though I am just a man

I'd try and understand

What it means to give of yourself

So that each and every little one

Would know they are loved

And I'd smile as watched

Their hearts filling up

For on this day

Christmas day

Every child would

Have more than enough

What a miraculous blessing

That would be for me

If I really and truly

Could be

Santa Claus

George Gagliardi, December, 2020

Untitled .. For Now

I'm not an “ism”, or an “ist” or an “ite”

Sometimes I might be in the middle

On the left or on the right

Some may on occasion extol me

Others try to pigeon-hole me

And tell me that “the Bible

Told me so”

They've figured out

What I'm about

What they don't know

They assume somehow

Well, I'm not a category or cause

Or a commodity

I'm a man

As simple and as confounding as any other

If you must insist on labels

Put 'em on cans

Don't put 'em on me

Don't put 'em on people

For when you do

Before too long you'll discover

You took the easy way out

Not takin' time to listen or pay attention

Or understand or go walkin' in their shoes

Let me ask you, friend ...

Have you been where I have been?

Seen what I have seen?

Learned what I have learned

Spent the time I spent

Playin' pick and choose

By findin' what to keep

And what to lose?

No, you haven't but neither have I

Been there to wipe away the tears that you cry

When you sat there lonely

When you had to say good-bye

Or been there to answer you

When you wondered how long or why

Nobody that walks this earth is either a this or a that

Just a Republican, Just a Democrat

The sooner we all get a hold of

And learn to respect

Thatwe're all walking contradictions

Much more than charts and diagrams

No indeed, we're much more complex

So let be me and I'll let you be you

Like Paul said, “Let It Be”

That's the least that we can do

Love your neighbor as themselves

Don't say they've got to be

Somebody else

Allow them to be

As free as you as wanna be

For Christ's sake

(And I mean it in the truest sense )

Then and only then

Can we begin to celebrate His love

For all humanity

George Gagliardi, July 2020

From a Prodigal --- Forty Years Later

By George Gagliardi

  Hi, I’m Benjamin but my pals call me Benny. You probably know me better by a nickname I acquired several years ago -- the Prodigal Son. Jesus even told a story about me. That was about twenty years ago now. I thought maybe I might take a few moments to give you my perspective on the story, not trying to change it at all but maybe “flesh” it out a bit more. And I most certainly am not wanting to put a spin on it – truth is truth, my Dad taught me that, one of the few lessons I learned early on that actually stuck.

  So there I am, 20 years old, bursting at the seams. Dying to see what the rest of the world is like. Because I know what my world here is like, in two words – boring and dull. And I start thinking about how I can leave, that maybe there’s a way to talk Dad into letting me have my share of my inheritance now. Who knows how long I’ll live but I’m alive now and chomping at the bit to get out of this place so why not ask him. As for my brother, Zack, he seems to be content living here, working the farm, doing the chores, living a simple country life. For him that’s fine, but not for me, I want more out of life than that.

  One day I decide I’ve had it and “come hell or high water” I’m going to escape this farm and everything about it. I’m nervous when it comes to talking to Dad about my inheritance but I figure it’s not a big deal, after all I’m entitled to it. Didn’t he say I would be getting it when he died? So why not let me have it now.

  (Now let me interrupt my own narrative to point out my first bad move long before I’d even packed my suitcase – Being entitled. I was a spoiled kid who didn’t have a clue about how well I had it. I felt I deserved to have what I wanted now. This was a huge mistake on my part.)

  Well, if you remember the story, Dad gave me what I asked for – not because I deserved it but because he realized how unhappy I was. To his credit he wasn’t angry with me but I could readily see the disappointment in his eyes as he gave me my share. Me, I wasn’t unaware of his feelings but I was so excited to finally have a way to get away that I shoved those feelings out of the way in favor of leaving for new adventures.

  Next stop – the far country. – or in this case, LA.

  I won’t give you all the gory details of the rise and fall of a virginal, young, naïve farm boy with money living in the Big City – but the key word here is naive. At first I experienced the freedom I had been yearning for. I did almost anything I wanted to do – you name it and I did it. No one said I couldn’t or shouldn’t. As for the voice of Dad in my head saying no – I just ignored that. Then the money ran out, along with my so-called friends. Then it got ugly and I got desperate. I was about a step away from being homeless, cleaning out the toilets at a seedy bar for a free meal a day, when I began to think that maybe I should swallow what was left of my pride and go back home. Guys that worked for my Dad had it a hell of a lot better than I did. The more I thought about it the more sense it made. Then one night the bar got held up and I had gun pointed at me. Luckily I didn’t get shot. The guy just took the money and left.

  Man, that did it. I knew I wanted to get out of LA as quickly as possible. The next morning I got a lift as far out of LA as I could get and started to hitchhike back home.

  On the way back I had plenty of time to think about what I would say to my Dad when I saw him. It was short but sincere. “I’m sorry Dad, I messed up big time, I don’t blame you if you’re still upset with me. I’m not asking for the privileges of a son but maybe if you could let me work for you, I’d do my best to be a really good worker.”

  I must have said that to myself over a hundred times while I was out there on the road waiting for a ride. Eventually I found myself on the rural road a mile and a half from the homestead. It was the longest road I had ever walked. I was so full of dread and fear that I almost turned around. But I didn’t and I’m so glad I didn’t.

  I had my head down staring at the gravel road that led up to our farm when I heard my name being shouted “Benjamin, Benjamin. Is that you son?” I looked up and here came dad running full tilt right at me. I stopped but he kept on running and almost knocked me over. Gave me a great big bear hug – and my dad is a big, strapping guy so when he hugs you know you’ve been hugged – and was crying. So I started to say my speech “I’m so sorry Dad, I messed up …”

  He wouldn’t let me finish. “Not now. We don’t need to talk about that now. You’re home, you’re alright. That’s all that matters.” And I wept, felt his strong arms around me and hugged him back. I can promise you I have never felt more loved in my entire life than I did in that moment.

Some of the farm hands came running out to say hello and Dad told them to spread the word that we were going to have a party that night in honor of my return. I was speechless, to say the least.

Had a great time that night – laughing, seeing old friends, chowing down on Grandma’s fried chicken, recounting tales about my time in LA, (only the rated PG parts, of course) and generally basking in the joy of being home again. Home.

  Sorry to say Zack didn’t want to come to the party. I suspect he was pretty upset about Dad making such a big fuss over my being back. I figured he would have just shown up to smirk and say “I told you so.” – Zack’s like that. Too bad, really. I would have liked to told him how much I had learned. Mostly, how foolish I had been to think I knew more than our Dad when it came to what the world is really like.

  Here I am now, wiser I would hope, but honest enough to admit a few things.

  First off --when things were good in LA I was having great time and thought no more about going home than going to the Moon. It was only when the money ran out that I finally had to face the choices I had made and consequences of those choices.

  Second thing would be this, I learned things about myself, about people and relating to others – what really matters and what doesn’t. And honestly, I’m not sure I would have learned them if I’d stayed home – maybe so, maybe not. So do I advocate everyone should be as hair-brained and as reckless as I was? Nope. But I do say this, some people have to wander away to the “far country” in order to truly appreciate what it means to be at “home’ with who they are and who they’re meant to be. Hard lessons to be sure but valuable lessons all the same. Thank the Lord there’s Grace for those of us who do get lost in the “far country” and need to come home and that includes all of us.

What's in a Name?

What's in a Name?

By George Gagliardi

“Hey, Stan ole boy, ready to go? Time to expose all your dirty thoughts.”

Stanbrick Bumble, chief researcher for The Project, looked up, looked annoyed and went back to peering through the scanscopium. Damn, the luck, leave it to his loud mouth pal to interrupt him. And just when he was so close to being closer than he'd been all week to discovering …

“Stan, you can't put it off, you know. Best go and get it over with.”

Bumble heaved a disgusted sigh. “Brunswick, I do wish you …

“Not Brunswick. I've changed it again.”

“Again?”

“Yes, his friend replied, a satisfied smirk on his cherubic face. “I'm now to be called Horseshoe Muck.”

“Very well, I shall call you Horseshoe Muck.” He paused. “And just how long will you keep this one?”

“Oh, I don't know. Until I get tired of it, I guess.”

Bumble removed his regulation Magna-Carbohyde work gloves, placed them carefully on the table, got up from his chair and donned his lime green, company issued lab coat. He hated to wear it while he was actually working, it was two sizes too big.

Fine, he thought. If his dim-witted pal wants to change his name every hour, why should I care? What did it matter? He'd been taught years ago that names were unimportant. That was Lesson #5 in the Great Book of 10 Lessons – the first of many required readings from The Corporation. Lesson #4 was never forget your designated registry code (his was HA!2QBniptu?) and Lesson #5 was names are unimportant. If you had any questions about any of the Lessons you only had to refer to Lesson #1 – “The Corporation makes the rules and the rules are always right.” Very simple, easy to follow. Nothing to get perterbed about or to become unsatisfied with. Bumble liked things simple. Life flowed much better when things were simple – although he did think this weekly trip to the Brain Unit Testing Oxytron, BUTOX for short, seemed to come at the most inconvenient times. Oh, bother, best go and get it over with.

He and Horseshoe walked down the drab, narrow hallway and waited in line. One by one, each man and woman climbed into the skylifter and was transported up to the cold, impersonal room where BUTOX was waiting. At last it was Bumble's turn. He rode up to the top level, entered the room and after stating his name, sat down in front of the mammoth machine. He knew the routine by heart. First you removed your glasses, then you pressed your face into a soft, spongy kind of substance which helped cradle your head. As you did this BUTOX read your thoughts for the past week and examined them to determine if your brain was operating at an appropriate level. In other words, were your thoughts productive or did you spend too much time thinking about those things that The Corporation deemed wasteful.

Different colors indicated different levels, with blue being the lowest and orange being the highest. If you were at level orange you were considered a credit to the system and given what The Corporation insisted on calling “Brown Nose” points – Bumble assumed that was because the spongy substance from the BOTOX left just a tiny smudge on the tip of one's nose, if you pressed too hard.

He was proud to say that he generally tested on the orange level. Moreover he couldn't understand why his pal insisted on bringing up the fact that he earned way too many “brown nose points” – as if it were something he should be ashamed of. No matter. He was pleased that The Corporation was pleased with his record

He was mulling this over, feeling very proud of himself as he and Horseshoe walked back to their respective labs. Horseshoe spoke up.

“Well, I guess you tested in orange again, didn't you mister “Brown Nose” king.”

Bumble smiled. “Yes, I did. And you?” Knowing well his pal would have tested much lower.

“Just barely made the blue level – as if you're surprised.”

Bumble stopped and turned toward his errant pal, a stern look on his face. “I keep telling you not to spend so much time in the Holio-Archives. They are there to be used striclty for research and not entertainment.” They continued walking.

“Oh, but Stan, you should see what I've found out about the Old World. It would curl your hair, that is if you had any. For instance there's a section on how females ...”

Bumble raised his hand. “I don't want to hear it, I don't want to hear it”. He arrived at his lab door.

“If you want to waste your time and continue to stay at the level you are, that's your decision. After all The Corporation made it clear in Lesson #7, 'You are only responsible to yourself and The Corporation, no one else.' I was merely pointing out that I believe your wasting your life – I only say this because we're friends and would like to see you excel while you're here.

Besides, my name changing under achiever, I would think you would want to give due consideration to the fact that The Coporation has been known to make adjustments if needed – people do get sent to other sectors. True, you may be Zero Minus and, yes, I'm well aware that's the highest rating you can have. Even so you'd be wise to watch your extravagant behavior. That's all I'm going to say. He paused before opening the lab door.

“One other thing … if you persist in these mindless explorations – I would advise you not to do anything stupid or reckless”. He cautiously looked both ways and then spoke softly. “Remember what happened to Mackelbait?”

Then he went inside and closed the door, took off his lab and sat down. Now why on earth did I say that.

Outside his friend smiled a small smile, remarking to no one in particular, “Stan, old buddy, if you only knew. If you only knew.” Then he sauntered down the hall whistling some ancient children's song – one he'd discovered while prowling through the Holio-Archives. It had something to do with the Big Bad Wolf.

Theo Love

Theo Love and the Frightened Canary

By George Gagliardi

It was Monday, late afternoon, about twilight. The sun was like a big orange ball, lazily but deliberately performing his daily disappearing act. There was a kind of nice, warm, amber blanket covering the city as the shadows made dark, jigsaw-puzzle patterns on the grey, stone faces of the skyscrapers.

Looking out my third-story window I could see the bright red blinkin’ neon “Repent or Die” sign high atop the Temple of Perpetual Guilt (and 24-hour bookstore).

Quite an operation, that place. I could tell you stories … and every one of them true.

You’d be surprised how many people wind up there. Why?

Because it gives them a chance to feel bad so they can feel good about feelin’ bad so they can feel good again … at least until their next visit.

You figure it out – but then again I’m not surprised by much in this crazy world, especially when it comes to religion. I’ve seen ’em come and I’ve seen ’em go, and let me tell you, people will do just about anything to discover the answer – whatever that means.

How do I know so much? It’s my business to know – I’m Theo Love, spiritual troubleshooter.

Like I said, nothing shakes me for very long, so when this lovely, lean blonde glided into my office, I took it in stride.

She took it in about two or three strides, but then I have a small office.

Let me describe her to you. She had a set of physical blueprints that would prompt Solomon to rewrite his song or at least add a sequel. One look at her up close and my brain was playin’ hopscotch with my libido. My sex drive was in fourth gear, and …

Well, you get the idea, don’t you?

After I stopped salivating and managed to slow my heartbeat down to normal, we talked a while. The more we talked, the more it became clear what was wrong. The girl was in trouble, “Big” trouble.

Seems someone was slowly but surely tryin’ to pull the plug on her self-image and he was usin’ the oldest trick in the book – The Put Up and Shut Up Scam.

Pretty simple, really. Some guy with a pickled set of presuppositions and a misguided mission convinces his victim that she’s bound by God to put up with his particular brand of spiritual mumbo-jumbo. Then gradually he gets her to begin believin’ that her place in matters of leadership is to simply shut up.

Poor kid, my heart went out to her, and I promised I’d do whatever I could to help her out. I meant it too.

She gave me a name, Rev. Billy Bob Coldheart. It wasn’t much of a lead, but at least it was a place to start.

As she got up to leave, I took her hand, looked deep into those beautiful “baby blues” and in my best Sir Galahad manner told her not to worry, that I’d take care of everything.

She was walkin’ out the door when I said it. Nothin’ planned, just a crazy kind of phrase that came to mind in that moment –

“He’s lookin’ at you, kid.” I’m not sure, but I think maybe she smiled … and so did I.

If Only We Had Known

 Isaac -- It was tax time in Bethlehem

We were busy as we had ever been

Naomi --Folks came from miles around

Descended on our quiet town

 Both  -- Not a single place, not a single room 

Could be found

Not even at our little crowded inn

I --They showed up at our door

Ragged, cold and poor

 N --I could see the girl, barely past her teens

Was with child and just about due

  I -- I felt bad for them, we both did

But what were we to do

There was no place to put them

There simply was no room

 Both --And we stood there, not quite willing to shut the door

Bewildered and confused

 I --Then mama said to me,

N --“What about the stable?”

I --“The stable? That dirty, smelly place”

N --“Well, it’s better than leaving them on the street”

I --I thought for a moment, “I guess you’re right

I have to agree, though it’s just a step above the street

If you ask me

N --“You kids wait here 

I’ll go fetch a blanket so at least you’ll have a bed”

 I --And I’ll put down some hay to soften the ground

It’s the least I can do so at least you can lay down

 N --And while you’re at it, clean out that trough

This mother may need it

 I --Clean out the trough, where the animal feed, it …

Then she gave me that look (Kathy give him that look)

Okay, okay, I’ll do what you ask

Together we got busy to see to our tasks

Both --Now let’s pause for a moment

For those who would judge us

I --“You should have saved a room for them”

 N --Assuming that we knew

Both --But we truly did know

We didn’t have a clue

So let us ask you friend

What would you have done,

If it was up to you?

(Sung)

If only we had known

They’d be coming to our inn

We would have done our very best

To treat them as our welcomed guest

The royal treatment, nothing less

We would have saved a room for them

If only we had seen

What the shepherds saw that night

Choirs of angels, dazzling lights

A glorious, breath taking sight

Just like some kind of wonderful heavenly dream

But we didn’t know, we could not see

We did not realize

This birth would be a Holy birth

The Blessed One, The promised King,

The Lord of life,

God’s tiny precious Son

Still we did what we could

We offered them a place

It’s wasn’t much at all

We’re both ashamed to say

But deep within our hearts

We believe, we pray

God understands

We were willing to care

And though a stable was no place for him

He truly honored us and blessed us

On that starry, magical, mid-winter night

In a manger there

O Holy Night

George Gagliardi, December, 2019

Easter 2019

Friends,

 Here is something a bit different for this Easter. I guess you could say it’s unapologetically religious because … well it is. I decided to go the route of creating a lyric that resembles some of the old gospel songs – hence the title. The reason – I felt led to write it that way. Now it’s true, for those of you who know me, that usually I’ll bend over backwards to avoid anything that sounds too churchy, lest it be dismissed as being just that. But you know, even some non-believers enjoy Hank Williams “I Saw the Light” so I figured I was on safe ground with this one. Now the music is not written yet but imagine the up beat sound of something like “I’ll Fly Away”. Anyway, hope you like it.

A New “Ole Time” Gospel Song—“I Believe It”

 We talk about resurrection

 ‘Bout comin’ back to life

 ‘Bout greetin’ a grand and glorious mornin’ 

  After a long and lonely, bitter night

  We talk about resurrection

 ‘Bout a man who was crucified

  And how God just raised him up again

  Our Savior, Jesus Christ

Chorus

And I believe it, man I believe it

Ask me why, I won’t hesitate

I believe it ‘cause of faith

I believe it, yes I believe it

I’d try and prove if I could

But even then wouldn’t do no good

Unless you truly understood

Some things are too true not to be good news

For those who need it

And we all need it

And I believe it, yes, I believe it

Bridge

I’m the first to say that to some this seems like a fairy tale

An act of wishful thinking, more or less

But I’ve seen God take a life that was dead

And turn that life around

‘Cause resurrection is what He does the best

Chorus

And I believe it, man I believe it

Ask me why, I won’t hesitate

I believe it ‘cause of faith

I believe it, yes I believe it

I’d try and prove if I could

But even then wouldn’t do no good

Unless you truly understood

Some things are too true not to be good news

For those who need it

And we all need it

And I believe it, yes, I believe it

George Gagliardi

Happy Easter, 2019

Ye Olde Annual Christmas Epistle … From Me

 I’d have to say that this year has been far from uneventful – maybe one event too many when it comes to health and such but two stints in my heart later and I’m still functioning. doing my musical routines, etc. Now I’m not back to 100% but thanks to 36 weeks of rehab, I’m on the mend.

    Still writing songs, playing piano, guitar, banjo (and a little bit of tenor sax – very little), working with some great Dallas musicians and volunteering three times a week at Presby Hospital (now known as Texas Health Resources Hospital). I liked Presby better, it was shorter to say. Wonder-filled times in that place -- happy to be able to play piano for the folks there.

 As for as Big News, let’s see … apart from health issues, I mean. Did a lot of traveling in the Fall – Grand Rapids to see Art Prize then in November a trip to Indianapolis to see my long time pal, Ashli Cartwright-Peak; later than month I was in Denver to have my annual Thanksgiving visit with Janice’ Moore and this month I’m off to New England to celebrate Christmas with The Duckett clan. And of course there’s my work with Kiddz on Stage I did in Winnsboro back in July and my work with Spotlight Players (formerly Jesters) here in Dallas. So I have plenty to keep me out of trouble – not that it does – but I have a truly rich, full life with tons of blessings to be thankful for – including you my dear friends. Now let’s move onward to this year’s musing.

Merry Christmas, World

  All right everybody who wants to emphasize death and destruction, heartache and heartbreak plus misery and general unhappiness at Christmas time raise your hand. … Me neither. Oh there might be some out there but not too many of you, those who read my meanderings year after year, would qualify for that group. Fact is most of us don’t want to “go there”--  as  people are inclined to say these days. Of course we don’t have to “go there”, mainly because that sort of news is here, it’s all around us, everyday.  We have had our fair share of Bad News for the year. Enough already.

   Well I’ve got Good News for you – it’s called Christmas. And it’s all about Good News. Now I will hasten to add that I intentionally look forward to being reminded of the promise and possibility of the season. Hence the following bit of rhythm and rhyme.

Where did Hollywood get the idea

That Christmas time is a perfect time

For celebrating goodness?

What made them decide that happy endings

Would be prime ingredients for a hit flick?

That people getting together and loving each other

Like an idealized family

Would sell tickets and melt hearts and

Make us warm and fuzzy down deep

They’ve learned to package magic and miracles

Whether in Bedford Falls or on 34^th Street

While some can’t abide such so called treacle

Indeed there’s a whole lot of people

Like me, who think peddling hope

And the idea that dreams can come true

Is one of the nicer notions to present to the world

But where on earth did they get that idea?

Where on earth?  How about Bethlehem?

Isn’t there something touching, you might even say “feel good” about that story

When you truly stop and ignore all the nay-sayers

All the folks who say,”Man, that sort of make believe is way out of style”

When you get past all that, doesn’t the story still bring an almost childlike smile to our face …

A baby, a manger, Angels singing Gloria

Shepherds in the fields, Wise men with treasures

Even Hollywood can’t top that for an epic event

And don’t forget the bright shining star overhead

The one that led the seekers to find the Christ child

That’s the stuff of miracles and if I may permitted so say so

Magical moments to hold close on a cold winter night

When darkness is far too real

And there seems to be very little light

But at least enough to light our way

To take a step and then another

Believing as best we can

Trying to understand who we are

Remembering once more

That once upon time

There was a birth and it was no fairy tale

It was a night of magic and miracles

So big, so fantastic even Cecil B.

Couldn’t have captured it

Yet so unassuming, so fraught with something as simple and tender

As a young couple’s love for their newborn

And the most miraculous of all

Here was God’s way of saying to all of us --

“I Give you the most precious gift

Anyone has ever given

Here is my beloved son, Jesus …

Merry Christmas, World”

Merry Christmas and all the best to you

George Gagliardi, December, 2018

Easter 2018

Easter 2018

  I’m sure I’m not the only who noticed that Easter and April Fool’s day fall on the same day this year. So in the spirit of the two days coming together, as it were, I’ve concocted something a bit different for this year’s contribution. It’s part whimsy, part nonsense and maybe a part … worth pondering. I’ve entitled this bit of  “word – processing” “Interview with The Easter Bunny” or “Session at Pete’s Hutch”. (With a nod to Henry Mancini)

               Scene – A well appointed study, with all the accoutrements that befits a successful individual -- Nothing shabby about these surroundings, to be sure. My interview subject is seated behind the large, impressive solid mahogany desk. Well dressed in his casual best, smoking a pipe, very much at home in this setting – almost reminding one of a kind of  … (wait for it) “Playboy” bunny, if you will. (Or maybe not.)

         

         Mr.Gee – So, Mister Cottontail or would you rather I address you as the Easter Bunny.

         Peter – You can just call me Pete – no need for formalities when I’m not out on a gig.

        Mr.Gee – Okay, Pete. Tell me, what’s it like to be the Easter Bunny. To have kids all excited about seeing you come around every year – maybe even leave an Easter egg or two.

         Peter – I’ll tell you, the kids are the best part of the job. (Pause) Well that and all the benefits I get from folks like Hallmark, Whitman candies, Hershey – you know the ones that I endorse year after year. I didn’t buy this hutch with a bushel full of carrots, I’ll tell you that.

         Mr.Gee – Yes, I can see you’ve done quite well for yourself.

         Peter – Yes, but not nearly as well as my cousin, Eric. Man, he struck it rich when they decided to use him as the mascot for a certain magazine. But let’s not talk about that. (Leans down to whisper) After all I’m sure some of your readers might care to “go there”. Know I mean?

           Mr.Gee – Yes, Pete, I do. And I appreciate your sensitivity to such things. Speaking of sensitivity, I need to bring up something that hope is not a sore spot.

          Peter – A sore spot?

          Me --  Well I’m talking about the rivalry between you and you know who?

          Peter – You mean Bugs?

          Me – No, I’m not talking about Bugs Bunny. I was referring to … um, Jesus.

         Peter (Reacts) Jesus Christ? You think we’re rivals, do you? Well, pal let me set you straight on that right now. WE ARE NOT RIVALS.

         Me – Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you though I did warn you it might be a sore spot.

          Peter – Oh, I’m not sore. I’m just dumbfounded how anyone could consider us, would consider us rivals. I’m at best a fun distraction for kids mostly – playful, entertaining and some might say I’m cute. But Jesus … (long pause) Jesus is much more than that. (Leans back in his chair) Listen most of the guys that know me would say I’m not much of religious type but come on, you’ve got to give credit where credit is due. Jesus did something no else had ever done before, will ever do or can ever do.

         Me – You’re talking about coming back from the dead.

         Peter – Exactly. No one but no one has every done that before – because no one else can.

         Me – Well, Mr. Cotton … I mean, Pete, how is it that you’re as prominent in some people’s mind as Jesus is when it comes to Easter.

         Pete Okay, I’ll try and answer that as briefly as I can since I don’t want to bore you with history – I don’t have time for that anyway but here’s a crash course in the origins  of how I came to be associated with Easter.     

            It started back in ancient times with a pagan holiday and folks paying tribute to the goddess of spring. They felt led to set aside a season to celebrate this time when new growth happened- in other words a time to celebrate fertility. Well we rabbits have been identified with that sort of thing for while now and so it was only natural later on that they chose to use my tribe as a symbol. Later after church decided to use that same pagan day to recognize the resurrection of Jesus my ancestors sort came along as part of the package. And we’ve been a part of that particular season ever since.

          Mr. Gee – Yes, I know that the same sort of scenario has been played out when it comes to Christmas.

           Peter – Same thing. Pagan holiday, that’s a big deal, the church comes along and says let’s choose that day to celebrate the birth of Jesus. Saint Nicholas becomes identified with the season and the birth of Jesus winds up getting lost in all the hoopla. Mr. C and I have spent many evening talking about this. But hey, it’s a money maker (shrugs his shoulders) whatcaha gonna do. Folks seem to have a way of making the significant insignificant and vice versa. Of course I can’t complain, I’ve done alright by it.

          Mr. Gee – Indeed you have. Anything else you’d like to add?

           Peter – Only this – I’m all about pretending. All about imagination and fantasy – about wishful thinking, as it were. Jesus is not about any of that. To get the two of us mixed up is … Hare-brained (winks) if you know what I mean.

          Mr. Gee – I do. Thanks for your time, Pete.

           Peter – You’re welcome.

             Soon it will be Easter Sunday – Resurrection or Foolishness? You get a very clearly defined opportunity to emphasize one or the other this Sunday—which may well be like a kind of living parable, I think. This kind of dividing line puts me in mind of an old quote I remember, which seems appropo’ this year and it goes something like this “I’m a fool for Christ, who’s fool are you?” I’d say that sort of goes along with Dylan’s song “You Gotta Serve Somebody”. Indeed we do. Resurrection – faith or fairytale. It’s always up to us to decide.

          

Happy Easter

                                                          

George Gagliardi

Christmas 2017

  This past year has been good, overall, but there’s been one too many trips to the ER for my taste. But thank God, literally, I’m still here and those issues apparently are resolved – stay tuned for further developments. (Like I could do something about it!)

    There’s been a lot of music, merriment and adventures with plenty of travel opportunities in the mix for me since the last Christmas epistle. The players in this saga I call my life are much the same as last year but of course there are some who are no longer here to visit with – I miss them, I miss being able to call them up for a “chat and chew” and I miss them being here in my life.

 Not inclined to go into a lot of specifics about the who and where, etc of these past twelve months  but suffice it to say my life continues to be a journey of blessings and challenges – of joys and sorrows – in other words being fully alive to all that there is to this business of living. I hope you can say the same.

  Here’s this year’s contribution …

Are You Missing Christmas?

   The setting – Christmas Eve, Somewhere USA, a busy shopping mall, and there just outside the revolving doors of a department store a young man strums his guitar. He’s in his mid to late 30’s, bearded, long hair but far from scruffy – a kind of throwback to the hippies of the late 60’s. He starts to sing …

Let me ask you a question

Now take your time with your reply

Are you missing Christmas?

Have you let it pass you by?

  About that time a middle aged man, carrying two bulging shopping bags comes out of the store. He’s almost to the curb when one of the bags splits open, spilling all the wrapped gifts on the sidewalk.

  “Those expletive, expletive, expletive (fill in the curse words of your choice) bags aren’t worth a flying expletive. If they’re gonna sell you all this crap then they should make bags sturdy enough to hold it”. Stooping to pick up the gifts he continues to grimace and mutter.

   Having put down his guitar, the young man walks over to the disgruntled shopper, “Can I help you with those?”

    The man looks up with a scowl but upon seeing the sincere smile simply says, “Yeah, why not. I can’t quite manage this by myself. Guess I’ll have to go back into the exple …” Something stops him from continuing his tirade. Later on he would wonder what it was.

   “Oh, you don’t have to do that, unless you want to. I can help you carry these to your car.”

     Suspicion starts to creep into the shopper’s eyes. And he thinks “Uh, oh, better watch out this could be some kind of con or a set up or a … Then upon looking harder at this young hippie he reconsiders his objections. “Hell, he says to himself, I’m an ex-Marine I could take this kid down if I had to. Might as well take help where I can get it”.

   “Okay, I can use an extra pair of hands. I have to warn you though the car is miles away. It was the only parking place I could find”.

  The young man grins , “Not to worry, I’ve been standing in this one place so long, I can use the exercise.”

   So they start out across the crowded parking lot, dodging holiday drivers, frantically trying to get some last minute shopping done. There’s not much conversation on the way. Finally they approach the shopper’s SUV.

   “Well, here we are. I warned you it was a long way over here.”

    “That’s okay.” As he hands the last of the gifts to the shopper, he speaks “Do you mind if I ask you a question?”

      The shopper looks at him and thinks -- “Oh, no, here it comes he’s going to ask for money. Well, he did help me with my stuff so I guess a couple of bucks won’t hurt. After all it is Christmas”.

    “Go ahead, ask away”.

      “Are you missing Christmas?”

       “What?” He paused. “If you mean would I miss Christmas if it went away then the answer is no. I’ve had it with all the hustle and bustle – trying to find a parking place, spending money I don’t have on gifts people don’t appreciate or need. And for what – just because it’s what we’re supposed to do every year?  Same stupid sappy Christmas songs, same craze to have a sale on everything to get people to come out. Worse than all that is that it now starts the day after Hallowe’en, or so it seems to me. Me, miss Christmas? – not much I wouldn’t”.

    The young man looked at the shopper with sadness in his eyes. “I guess I have my answer though I’m always hoping to hear something different but I rarely do.”

     The shopper walked around to get into the driver’s seat. “Now let me ask you a question. Why did you want to know?”

     He lowered his eyes and shook his head. “I keep hoping people will remember whose birthday it is and what the holiday is supposed to be about.”

     The shopper, paused before he spoke … “Well, I’m not really a very religious man but then again neither are many of my friends. I think that part of Christmas disappeared a long time ago. It’s all about shopping and Santa Claus and all that.” He took a long look into the face of the young man.

“Why should you care whose birthday it is?”

  He walked over to the where the shopper stood and without ceremony simply held his face in his hands and said “Because it’s mine.” And with that brief declaration he vanished.

   Stunned, this foul-mouthed, middle-aged ex-Marine got into his car and in a kind of almost drunken stupor drove home. What had just happened? What did it mean? Who was that young man, was he …? He let the thought trail off because the answer was too preposterous to consider. And yet …

    This encounter really happened and from now on, at least at Christmas time, he would remember it – and maybe even remember whose birthday it is.

     A fanciful tale, to be sure, but the question is real for all of us “Are We Missing Christmas?” Only your heart and mine, know the answer to that.

 

Happy Birthday Jesus (or if you prefer, Merry Christmas)

George Gagliardi, December, 2017