So, for the day, a bit of this and that for your amusement.
An unknown reindeer. God bless dogs. Really.
If you’ve not yet had too much seasonal music, you can visit here, or here. There’s even this specialty station for those feeling the blues.
If you’re looking for something quieter, you can always reread A Christmas Carol. However, I really love the “Dulce Domum” chapter of The Wind in the Willows. Rat and Mole are hurrying home—to Rat’s home—on a freezing December night when Mole catches the scent of his own burrow. And it completely shatters him with longing and despair.
It takes Ratty a while to notice Mole’s anguish, but when he does, his response is all you could want from a friend.
“The Rat, astonished and dismayed at the violence of Mole's paroxysm of grief, did not dare to speak for a while. At last he said, very quietly and sympathetically, ‘What is it, old fellow? Whatever can be the matter? Tell us your trouble, and let me see what I can do.’”
Mole’s disjointed response is enough to give his pal the rough picture, and Rat leaps into action. They hunt down the old home, “Mole End”, & Ratty’s delight and energy propel Mole out of his depression and into joy.
“Encouraged by his inspiriting companion, the Mole roused himself and dusted and polished with energy and heartiness, while the Rat, running to and fro with armfuls of fuel, soon had a cheerful blaze roaring up the chimney. He hailed the Mole to come and warm himself; but Mole promptly had another fit of the blues, dropping down on a couch in dark despair and burying his face in his duster. ‘Rat,’ he moaned, ‘how about your supper, you poor, cold, hungry, weary animal? I've nothing to give you—nothing—not a crumb!’
“What a fellow you are for giving in!' said the Rat reproachfully. ‘Why, only just now I saw a sardine-opener on the kitchen dresser, quite distinctly; and everybody knows that means there are sardines about somewhere in the neighbourhood. Rouse yourself! pull yourself together, and come with me and forage.’
“They went and foraged accordingly, hunting through every cupboard and turning out every drawer. The result was not so very depressing after all, though of course it might have been better; a tin of sardines—a box of captain's biscuits, nearly full—and a German sausage encased in silver paper.
“‘There's a banquet for you!’ observed the Rat, as he arranged the table. ‘I know some animals who would give their ears to be sitting down to supper with us to-night!’
“‘No bread!’ groaned the Mole dolorously; ‘no butter, no----’
“‘No pate de foie gras, no champagne!’ continued the Rat, grinning. ‘And that reminds me—what’s that little door at the end of the passage? Your cellar, of course! Every luxury in this house! Just you wait a minute.’
“He made for the cellar-door, and presently reappeared, somewhat dusty, with a bottle of beer in each paw and another under each arm, ‘Self-indulgent beggar you seem to be, Mole,’ he observed. ‘Deny yourself nothing. This is really the jolliest little place I ever was in. Now, wherever did you pick up those prints? Make the place look so home-like, they do. No wonder you're so fond of it, Mole. Tell us all about it, and how you came to make it what it is.’”
The friends are just sitting down to dinner when they are serenaded by the caroling field mice, who are invited in for a feast and a bit of ad lib playacting. It’s warm and jolly & one of the best Christmas scenes in all of literature.
I’ll confess to feeling a bit like Mole lately. I’ll be rereading the chapter myself (online, because my very well-worn copy of Wind is still packed up in the Scarlet O’Hara room), a glass of champagne to hand and a fire warming my toes.
I wish you a holiday as full of happiness and friendship as the one at Mole End.
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