Christmas was on a Sunday

I had no sense that 1978 would be MUCH better.

rogergreen-lesliegreenIt’s rather peculiar, I suppose, that I almost never go to church on Christmas Day, whereas I almost ALWAYS sing at church on Christmas Eve.

I did go at least once in the past ten years – I know the time frame because our current pastors were there. It is the one service you can go to in your pajamas, if one were to have a mind to.

Christmas is on a Sunday this year.

1960: Christmas was on a Sunday. I don’t recall what time my sister Leslie, who was 6, and I, who was 7, were allowed to wake up our parents. Baby sister Marcia was only two and we wouldn’t wake her up until she got up on her own.

I DO know that as we got older, the time got later and later before we could open the presents. (That’s Leslie and me in the pic, probably a couple of years earlier.)

1966: Christmas was on a Sunday. I delivered the paper six evenings a week, back in the olden days when there WERE afternoon papers, and then on Sunday morning, back in Binghamton, NY.

My father, who NEVER helped me with my route, because it was MY job, not his – not that I ever asked him – got up (or maybe stayed up) to help me deliver that thick newspaper to my customers on Clinton Street, Front Street and McDonald Avenue. That meant a lot to me, but I doubt that I ever said so.

1977: Christmas was a Sunday. I was probably crashing on the sofa of friends of mine in Schenectady, near Albany. That whole year was difficult, and I lived in New Paltz, NY; Charlotte, NC; Binghamton; Jamaica, Queens, NYC; back to New Paltz; and finally in the Electric City (GE was huge there at the time). It was undoubtedly the worst year of my life, even though I made some friends that year I still have. I had no sense that 1978 would be MUCH better.

1988: Christmas was a Sunday. I had left FantaCo, the comic book store less than two months earlier, burned out. Probably in a relationship crisis.

1994: Christmas was a Sunday. I had started my current job on October 19 of that year. But I was very DEFINITELY in a relationship crisis.

2005: Christmas was a Sunday. The Daughter was born the year before, the Wife and I were in our current house, in our current church. Life is pretty good.
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Berlioz: the shepherds farewell from the oratorio L` enfance du Christ”

Coverville 1152: A Very Coverville Christmas 2016

A Comic Book Christmas Carol

Music Throwback Saturday: Bethlehemian Rhapsody

Because the wise men come, wise men go, angels high, shepherds low.
This is how God’s love shows.
It’s a wondrous story to me, to me.

bethlehemianSurely, you are familiar with the Queen song Bohemian Rhapsody. Well, apparently unrelated to what would have been Freddie Mercury’s 70th birthday year, my church’s youth leader directed a version of something called Bethlehemian Rhapsody, about the birth of Jesus earlier this month.

There are a few examples of these online, always involving puppets. But the version the church kids did was a live-action bit, with The Daughter playing Mary. The adult choir soloists also sang with the kids. They did a boffo job.

The lyrics start:

Is this the real birth?
Is it nativity?
Caught in a census
in the town of his ancestry.

Open your eyes, look up to the skies and see.
He’s just a poor boy foretold by prophecy.
Because the wise men come, wise men go, angels high, shepherds low.
This is how God’s love shows.
It’s a wondrous story to me, to me.

This is not to be confused by a different Bethlehemian Rhapsody, involving David and Goliath, sung by the group ApologetiX, with the lyrics here.

Listen to Bethlehemian Rhapsody (primarily the Jesus version):
here or here or here
here (video and lyrics)
here – lyrics of Jesus version, plus video of both the Jesus and David & Goliath versions
the ApologetiX David and Goliath version

Compare with Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen:
here and here, including those lyrics

The amazing power of Santa Claus

Chuck Miller, the guy in the plaid shirt, organized the event,


More than once, someone, almost always unknown to me, has referred to me as Santa Claus. Big man, white beard; I get it.

Interestingly, it’s usually done by women, especially young women, and it’s almost always said in December. I might have the same beard length in March, but it never engenders a St. Nick comment.

I was at my allergist back at Corporate (frickin’) Woods, where I used to work. Well, I know the bus schedule for the #737. I left the building in plenty of time to catch the 9:45 a.m. bus, but either it arrived early, or didn’t come at all. This means walking out of CW, because there’s not another bus downtown for four hours. I trudge up the hill- beware of the speeding cars going down since there’s no sidewalk and the grass is covered with snow and ice.

As I’m finally on the mostly straightaway of Albany Shaker Road, this woman, driving the opposite way from where I’m going, stops and wants to know if I’d like a ride. It was cold out, and I had maybe a mile to walk on roads with no sidewalks, so I said yes.

She was a photographer for children, sometimes with Santa Claus. She just couldn’t bear to see Santa walking, so she turned around, gave me a ride down Albany-Shaker, and just after she makes the right turn on Northern Boulevard, I see the #182 bus that would take me downtown, and she gets me to the stop, near the WTEN-TV station, just before the bus gets there.

The power of Santa Claus.

Oh, this is a picture, taken two days later, at the home of retired newsman Ken Screven, the guy front and center, with a couple of Ken’s friends, Denise and Arnelle, and a coterie of Times Union bloggers, including Chuck Miller, the guy in the plaid shirt who organized the event, Aaron Bush, Judi England, and Walter Ayres. Unfortunately, Michael Rivest had departed before the camera came out.

Movie review: Manchester by the Sea

Writer/director Kenneth Lonergan had the same roles in one of my favorite films of the past 20 years, You Can Count On Me.

Manchester by the Sea is a very good movie, but the story is sad, though not unrelentingly so. Occasionally, it’s even mildly funny.

Lee Chandler (the excellent Casey Affleck) is a maintenance man in the Boston area, working on four apartment buildings with difficult tenants. He gets word that his brother Joe (Kyle Chandler) is having trouble with his heart, again, and Lee rushes up to the hospital to see him. Too late.

Much to his surprise, Lee finds out that his older brother has made him the sole guardian of Joe’s son Patrick (Lucas Hedges). He’s required to return to the title locale to care for his 16-year-old nephew. In doing so, ghosts of his past while growing up in the community, especially his ex-wife Randi (Michelle Williams), come to the fore. Lee and Patrick negotiate their relationship without Joe, the common thread.

The saddest part of the film takes place while one of the two most heart-wrenching pieces of music in the entire classical canon is playing.

Grief is a peculiar thing. Often, others want you to “get over it” sooner than you are able to do so, and that is, for me, the underlying theme of the film. When the movie ended, a pair of women who were sitting behind us at the Spectrum expressed disappointment that the end wasn’t more tidily happy. I thought it was much like life IS.

The most impressive element of the filmmaking is that the story goes back and forth in time, and I’m almost always aware of when we are in the narrative, no small feat. Kudos to writer/director Kenneth Lonergan, who had the same roles in one of my favorite films of the past 20 years, You Can Count On Me (2000). The acting was excellent throughout, although Matthew Broderick, in a small role as Patrick’s mom’s finance, always looks like Matthew Broderick to me.

I should note that, according to IMBD, Manchester by the Sea contains at least 125 profanities, with the f-bomb quite popular. The film is a bit more popular with the critics (97% positive on Rotten Tomatoes) than with fans (85% positive). At 135 minutes, it IS a long movie, but the guy in my row who checked his device at least thrice had me wanting to seize it from his hand and smash it to the floor, but I didn’t.

A Yuletide tradition: Ask Roger Anything

I’ve been surprised that seldom does anyone ask me anything particularly uncomfortable. Uncomfortable is OK.

I have written in my blog EVERY DAY for – what is it now? – 11 and two-thirds years, roughly. I always say I write for myself, and that IS true. But it IS nice that someone actually reads what I write.

I was at breakfast with my pastors and a bunch of the Bible guys. I was talking about something to one of my pastors, the one with the light Virginia accent, and she said, “Oh, I read that in your blog!” And I said to myself that this pleased me.

So I guess I’m NOT so pure of heart as to be happy writing a daily blog that no one reads. One of the best things I figured out was how to post my blogs automatically to Twitter and Facebook, and that one act has made my blog accessible to a lot more people.

Do you know what else makes me happy? When someone like Arthur appropriates something from my blog in his. Earlier this month, the AmeriNZ guy did it ’s ‘Ask Arthur’ time again thing. This engaged me at a level beyond what I would have expected. It’s some sort of validation. And I thinkKNOW that sometimes I need that more than others. Right now, I seem to need it a lot.

And speaking of need, I NEED you to Ask Roger Anything. I’ve been surprised that seldom does anyone ask me anything particularly uncomfortable. Uncomfortable is OK. I mean that you may ask me ANYTHING at all and I promise to respond, generally within a month.

I will answer your queries to the best of my ability, though know that memory is an imperfect beast. I practically GUARANTEE a bit of obfuscation, because you know you want me to.

You can leave your comments below. If you prefer to remain anonymous, that’s fine; you should e-mail me at rogerogreen (AT) gmail (DOT) com, or end me an IM on Facebook (make sure it’s THIS Roger Green, the one with the duck) and note that you want to remain unmentioned; otherwise, I’ll assume you want to be cited.

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