The Night Before Christmas 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 Mama 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 luster of midday to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer.
Whit 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 name.
"Now, Dasher! Now, Dancer! Now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! On, Cupid! On, Dunder and Blixem!
To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall!
Now dash away, dash away, dash away all!"
As dry leaves 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 bundles of toys was 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 bowl full 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 sprung 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!"

(original wording--"Account of a Visit from St. Nicholas" 12/23/1823 Troy Sentinel. This included the original Dutch names of Dunder and Blixem.  In a later version, Moore used Donder and Blitzen.--per the Note in the Marshall Cavendish Corporation Editon)

More Mysteries

I have to start with a new warning.  I have added a warning that there might be adult content on this blog because even though I add a great deal about students and young readers, many of my posts also include adult reading.  Some adults do not like their children reading about this stuff.  I don't use "bad words" or "offensive language".  I keep it as real as possible and draw from the language of the authors I write about.  Take what I say in context and no one should be offended.

That said--thanks, Mom for another great author!  Louise Penny writes mysteries, set in Canada.  According to Sarah Weinman (have to look up her credentials), Penny writes in the same style as Agatha Christie.  AC is one of my very favorite authors, so it's not unusual I've gotten to really like the Chief Inspector Gamache series.

Amazingly enough, a great many murders seem to take place in a very small and sleepy township in the middle of nowhere, Canada.  The town of Three Pines isn't even on maps!  You instantly form a relationship with many of the characters of the town--the Morrows, Olivier & Gabri, Ruth, Kay, and Myrna.  Of course, those from Montreal's Surete are just as memorable--Gamache, Beauvior, Lacoste, Nichol, Lemieux.  You never know what is going to happen either.  There are secrets not only in the town's past, but also in the past of Gamache.  CI Gamache is constantly in conflict with the higher powers of the Surete because of a decision he made in a previous case.  Penny refers to bits and pieces, but doesn't fully reveal what happened.  Even in the second book, A Fatal Grace, we only hear the end result of the case and why potentially Gamache could be on the chopping block.  In the meantime, we read about the current mysteries.

Penny has a way of leading you to different potential suspects with iron clad motives.  Only in the end, true to a Poirot-like reveal, Penny pulls away the wool to reveal the real clues and the real suspects.  In true modern fashion, she also creates a great deal of suspense and the possible, and sometimes actual, loss of innocents.  A good reader can follow the clues and help to solve the mysteries.  Just like Poirot, Gamache likes to exercise "the little grey cells".

James Patterson supports school libraries

Read all about it here!

James Patterson addressed a meeting of the American Association of School Librarians (AASL) November 6th in Charlotte NC. My favorite quote: "If we raise a generation of non-readers, we will be raising a generation of narrow-minded nincompoops." and "School libraries are not a luxury, they are a necessity."

Check out his website by clicking on the title above.

Children's Classics

So I'm a rebel. I like to read all sorts of books. I have gone through one of many tracts that people follow when reading through their lives. I followed the Nancy Drew-Laura Ingalls-Star Trek-Terry Brooks-JRR Tolkien-Classics path. I did not read Trixie Belden, much to my mother's dismay. I did read The Five Little Peppers which doesn't seem all that well known for some reason...

I find that when I mention a book from my childhood, it evokes certain responses. I just completed an assignment revolving around Little House on the Prairie (it's a banned book, ya know!). In mentioning it in my FB, I got a very typical response. The reader recalled the sheer delight of specific scenes (like maple syrup candy at Christmas time) and was looking forward to reading the books with her little girl. I like to go back in time and relive those memories. I had forgotten that Jack (the brindle bulldog) had to swim the river and was swept downstream. The Ingalls feared he was lost, yet he showed up two days later. Having pets it's horrifying to think what I would do if one of them was lost.

I've found new books in the last couple of years. Not just newly published, but older ones I missed. My parents never guided my reading, but they certainly didn't discourage it! I just never moved through the library in that manner or at that speed. Redwall is a great little book about a group of mice that need to defend their home and very lives against rats and other invaders. I don't care for books with animals (that fear and tranferrence to my animals again), but I did like this book. The animals do die--so parents beware! However, they die natural animal-like deaths. One is bitten by a snake. One falls from a tree. One is scooped up by an owl. One is crushed by a small rock fall. All normal. What is abnormal is they live in buildings (an abbey and barn) and act like humans (making tools and weapons).

Why do these books come back to us time and again? It brings back a sense of security and happiness. We were doing something acceptable and safe--reading. We were immersed in worlds similar and disimilar to our own. We had adventures and travels. I, for one, traveled the west and was a great pioneer. We came back home just in time for mom's supper and dad tucking us in at night. Like comfort food, these books fill us up and teach us new things again and again.