Ernie S.
Diamond Member
The Easter bunny is a fraud. Can I get socks?We briefly interrupt this thread for an important public service announcement:
And now back to our regularly scheduled postings. . . .
You're all set for socks?
He's what????
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USMB Coffee Shop IV
- Thread starter Foxfyre
- Start date
- Thread starter
- #15,902
The Easter bunny is a fraud. Can I get socks?We briefly interrupt this thread for an important public service announcement:
And now back to our regularly scheduled postings. . . .
He's what????
It's okay sweetie. Ernie is just being an Easter bunny Grinch.
Reminds me though when our kids were little we followed a long standing family tradition of having the kids put their newly lost baby teeth under their pillow at night and the next morning the tooth fairy would have miraculously transformed that tooth into a quarter. Except that Hombre (my hubby) and I too often forgot our tooth fairy duties. I still remember our disgusted young son coming down for breakfast and scowling: "We have the most fink tooth fairy around here. . . ." (We always assured him that the fairy sometimes gets behind schedule and should be there tonight. . . )
Spare_change
Gold Member
- Jun 27, 2011
- 8,690
- 1,293
- 280
The Easter bunny is a fraud. Can I get socks?We briefly interrupt this thread for an important public service announcement:
And now back to our regularly scheduled postings. . . .
He's what????
It's okay sweetie. Ernie is just being an Easter bunny Grinch.
Reminds me though when our kids were little we followed a long standing family tradition of having the kids put their newly lost baby teeth under their pillow at night and the next morning the tooth fairy would have miraculously transformed that tooth into a quarter. Except that Hombre (my hubby) and I too often forgot our tooth fairy duties. I still remember our disgusted young son coming down for breakfast and scowling: "We have the most fink tooth fairy around here. . . ." (We always assured him that the fairy sometimes gets behind schedule and should be there tonight. . . )
Shhhhh .... I'm huntin' bunny wabbit grinches.
Nosmo King
Gold Member
Every so often I like to dock at the safe harbor of the Coffee Shop. Today is one of those days. Some of our brothers and sisters posting out there on the vast sea of USMB are getting tiresome and boring. So, I drop anchor here just to wash some of the crazy off.
But, my reputation here in the Coffee Shop is one of story teller, bard and general bullshitter. As my Christmas vacation begins in a little better than twenty four hours from now, I should bank the fires of that reputation by relating a Christmas tale.
My church, Trinity Presbyterian, has a grand social scene and a reassuring and uplifting theology that always salves my soul. But the building itself has all the warmth, spirituality and conviviality of an air raid shelter. It is constructed of concrete block, cast concrete floors and devoid of wood other than the stark maple pews and the cases the organ pipes are enclosed in. All those wooden bits were inspired, apparently, by a Nordic sauna. The windows in the sanctuary are clear glass about two feet wide and three stories tall. They mimic the slots archers might ward off a siege from in a medieval castle. The lighting is actually vitrified sewer pipes suspended from the cast concrete ceiling fitted out with incandescent bulbs.
Of course, our old church, built in the 1880s was the warm, welcoming sanctuary most humans would find comforting and warm. But in the early 1960s, the elders of the church thought a new, modern church would better serve our need. They sought out an 'award winning' architect for a design that would make a statement and accommodate the growing 'baby boom' congregation. In my opinion, that 'award winning' architect probably got Cs and Ds in school.
But there it is. A flat roof that leaks like a sieve, a boiler that cannot warm the interior beyond 50 degrees and an echo chamber that would make a great recording studio for Do-Wop groups.
In this space, we hold a Christmas Eve service. The service is grand. The sewer pipe lights are dimmed, the church is still and the Children's Choir enters the sanctuary. The kids are aged between six and twelve. They are dressed in dark green velvet robes with a bright white collar framing their angelic faces. Each one carries a lighted taper with one of those paper discs attached to catch any dripping wax. The candlelight makes their faces glow and they all know they are the stars of the Christmas show. They smile the smile of the innocent and sing with all the gusto a grade schooler can generate. They are singing Adeste Fidelis (Oh! Come all ye Faithful).
After the children take their place behind the stark maple choir screen, the Youth Choir promenades down the aisle. These are kids in High School, draped in crimson velvet robes. They also carry a candle, and a tune! "Oh Come All ye faithful, Joyful and triumphant! Oh! Come ye, oh come ye to Bethlehem". They file into the choir loft and sing along with the preceding children.
Next comes the Adult Choir after practicing since Halloween. Golden velvet robes, a bright white collar and again carrying lighted candles, the adult choir's harmonies and voices have blended into a transcendent jubilee celebrating those who might 'Come and adore Him! Born the King of Angels! Oh! Come let us adore Him! Oh! Come let us adore Him! Oh! Come let us adore Him! Christ, the Lord!"
Finally the minister, regaled in brilliant red vestments carries the Bible at the end of the procession of choirs. He reads from the Book of Matthew about how shepherds tending their flocks were visited by a herald Angel proclaiming "Peace on Earth! Goodwill toward Men!"
At the end of each verse, the choirs respond in song. "Oh! Come let us adore Him! Christ the Lord"
Well, one Christmas years ago, all this call and response was too much for one of the more precocious seven year olds in the congregation. After four or five verses, followed by the choir's response to "Come let us adore Him!" the little boy shouted out "One more time!"
Christmas is for the children and that little boy, the son of one of my dearest friends, took control of Christmas for himself.
But, my reputation here in the Coffee Shop is one of story teller, bard and general bullshitter. As my Christmas vacation begins in a little better than twenty four hours from now, I should bank the fires of that reputation by relating a Christmas tale.
My church, Trinity Presbyterian, has a grand social scene and a reassuring and uplifting theology that always salves my soul. But the building itself has all the warmth, spirituality and conviviality of an air raid shelter. It is constructed of concrete block, cast concrete floors and devoid of wood other than the stark maple pews and the cases the organ pipes are enclosed in. All those wooden bits were inspired, apparently, by a Nordic sauna. The windows in the sanctuary are clear glass about two feet wide and three stories tall. They mimic the slots archers might ward off a siege from in a medieval castle. The lighting is actually vitrified sewer pipes suspended from the cast concrete ceiling fitted out with incandescent bulbs.
Of course, our old church, built in the 1880s was the warm, welcoming sanctuary most humans would find comforting and warm. But in the early 1960s, the elders of the church thought a new, modern church would better serve our need. They sought out an 'award winning' architect for a design that would make a statement and accommodate the growing 'baby boom' congregation. In my opinion, that 'award winning' architect probably got Cs and Ds in school.
But there it is. A flat roof that leaks like a sieve, a boiler that cannot warm the interior beyond 50 degrees and an echo chamber that would make a great recording studio for Do-Wop groups.
In this space, we hold a Christmas Eve service. The service is grand. The sewer pipe lights are dimmed, the church is still and the Children's Choir enters the sanctuary. The kids are aged between six and twelve. They are dressed in dark green velvet robes with a bright white collar framing their angelic faces. Each one carries a lighted taper with one of those paper discs attached to catch any dripping wax. The candlelight makes their faces glow and they all know they are the stars of the Christmas show. They smile the smile of the innocent and sing with all the gusto a grade schooler can generate. They are singing Adeste Fidelis (Oh! Come all ye Faithful).
After the children take their place behind the stark maple choir screen, the Youth Choir promenades down the aisle. These are kids in High School, draped in crimson velvet robes. They also carry a candle, and a tune! "Oh Come All ye faithful, Joyful and triumphant! Oh! Come ye, oh come ye to Bethlehem". They file into the choir loft and sing along with the preceding children.
Next comes the Adult Choir after practicing since Halloween. Golden velvet robes, a bright white collar and again carrying lighted candles, the adult choir's harmonies and voices have blended into a transcendent jubilee celebrating those who might 'Come and adore Him! Born the King of Angels! Oh! Come let us adore Him! Oh! Come let us adore Him! Oh! Come let us adore Him! Christ, the Lord!"
Finally the minister, regaled in brilliant red vestments carries the Bible at the end of the procession of choirs. He reads from the Book of Matthew about how shepherds tending their flocks were visited by a herald Angel proclaiming "Peace on Earth! Goodwill toward Men!"
At the end of each verse, the choirs respond in song. "Oh! Come let us adore Him! Christ the Lord"
Well, one Christmas years ago, all this call and response was too much for one of the more precocious seven year olds in the congregation. After four or five verses, followed by the choir's response to "Come let us adore Him!" the little boy shouted out "One more time!"
Christmas is for the children and that little boy, the son of one of my dearest friends, took control of Christmas for himself.
Nosmo King
Gold Member
Every so often I like to dock at the safe harbor of the Coffee Shop. Today is one of those days. Some of our brothers and sisters posting out there on the vast sea of USMB are getting tiresome and boring. So, I drop anchor here just to wash some of the crazy off.
But, my reputation here in the Coffee Shop is one of story teller, bard and general bullshitter. As my Christmas vacation begins in a little better than twenty four hours from now, I should bank the fires of that reputation by relating a Christmas tale.
My church, Trinity Presbyterian, has a grand social scene and a reassuring and uplifting theology that always salves my soul. But the building itself has all the warmth, spirituality and conviviality of an air raid shelter. It is constructed of concrete block, cast concrete floors and devoid of wood other than the stark maple pews and the cases the organ pipes are enclosed in. All those wooden bits were inspired, apparently, by a Nordic sauna. The windows in the sanctuary are clear glass about two feet wide and three stories tall. They mimic the slots archers might ward off a siege from in a medieval castle. The lighting is actually vitrified sewer pipes suspended from the cast concrete ceiling fitted out with incandescent bulbs.
Of course, our old church, built in the 1880s was the warm, welcoming sanctuary most humans would find comforting and warm. But in the early 1960s, the elders of the church thought a new, modern church would better serve our need. They sought out an 'award winning' architect for a design that would make a statement and accommodate the growing 'baby boom' congregation. In my opinion, that 'award winning' architect probably got Cs and Ds in school.
But there it is. A flat roof that leaks like a sieve, a boiler that cannot warm the interior beyond 50 degrees and an echo chamber that would make a great recording studio for Do-Wop groups.
In this space, we hold a Christmas Eve service. The service is grand. The sewer pipe lights are dimmed, the church is still and the Children's Choir enters the sanctuary. The kids are aged between six and twelve. They are dressed in dark green velvet robes with a bright white collar framing their angelic faces. Each one carries a lighted taper with one of those paper discs attached to catch any dripping wax. The candlelight makes their faces glow and they all know they are the stars of the Christmas show. They smile the smile of the innocent and sing with all the gusto a grade schooler can generate. They are singing Adeste Fidelis (Oh! Come all ye Faithful).
After the children take their place behind the stark maple choir screen, the Youth Choir promenades down the aisle. These are kids in High School, draped in crimson velvet robes. They also carry a candle, and a tune! "Oh Come All ye faithful, Joyful and triumphant! Oh! Come ye, oh come ye to Bethlehem". They file into the choir loft and sing along with the preceding children.
Next comes the Adult Choir after practicing since Halloween. Golden velvet robes, a bright white collar and again carrying lighted candles, the adult choir's harmonies and voices have blended into a transcendent jubilee celebrating those who might 'Come and adore Him! Born the King of Angels! Oh! Come let us adore Him! Oh! Come let us adore Him! Oh! Come let us adore Him! Christ, the Lord!"
Finally the minister, regaled in brilliant red vestments carries the Bible at the end of the procession of choirs. He reads from the Book of Matthew about how shepherds tending their flocks were visited by a herald Angel proclaiming "Peace on Earth! Goodwill toward Men!"
At the end of each verse, the choirs respond in song. "Oh! Come let us adore Him! Christ the Lord"
Well, one Christmas years ago, all this call and response was too much for one of the more precocious seven year olds in the congregation. After four or five verses, followed by the choir's response to "Come let us adore Him!" the little boy shouted out "One more time!"
Christmas is for the children and that little boy, the son of one of my dearest friends, took control of Christmas for himself.
But, my reputation here in the Coffee Shop is one of story teller, bard and general bullshitter. As my Christmas vacation begins in a little better than twenty four hours from now, I should bank the fires of that reputation by relating a Christmas tale.
My church, Trinity Presbyterian, has a grand social scene and a reassuring and uplifting theology that always salves my soul. But the building itself has all the warmth, spirituality and conviviality of an air raid shelter. It is constructed of concrete block, cast concrete floors and devoid of wood other than the stark maple pews and the cases the organ pipes are enclosed in. All those wooden bits were inspired, apparently, by a Nordic sauna. The windows in the sanctuary are clear glass about two feet wide and three stories tall. They mimic the slots archers might ward off a siege from in a medieval castle. The lighting is actually vitrified sewer pipes suspended from the cast concrete ceiling fitted out with incandescent bulbs.
Of course, our old church, built in the 1880s was the warm, welcoming sanctuary most humans would find comforting and warm. But in the early 1960s, the elders of the church thought a new, modern church would better serve our need. They sought out an 'award winning' architect for a design that would make a statement and accommodate the growing 'baby boom' congregation. In my opinion, that 'award winning' architect probably got Cs and Ds in school.
But there it is. A flat roof that leaks like a sieve, a boiler that cannot warm the interior beyond 50 degrees and an echo chamber that would make a great recording studio for Do-Wop groups.
In this space, we hold a Christmas Eve service. The service is grand. The sewer pipe lights are dimmed, the church is still and the Children's Choir enters the sanctuary. The kids are aged between six and twelve. They are dressed in dark green velvet robes with a bright white collar framing their angelic faces. Each one carries a lighted taper with one of those paper discs attached to catch any dripping wax. The candlelight makes their faces glow and they all know they are the stars of the Christmas show. They smile the smile of the innocent and sing with all the gusto a grade schooler can generate. They are singing Adeste Fidelis (Oh! Come all ye Faithful).
After the children take their place behind the stark maple choir screen, the Youth Choir promenades down the aisle. These are kids in High School, draped in crimson velvet robes. They also carry a candle, and a tune! "Oh Come All ye faithful, Joyful and triumphant! Oh! Come ye, oh come ye to Bethlehem". They file into the choir loft and sing along with the preceding children.
Next comes the Adult Choir after practicing since Halloween. Golden velvet robes, a bright white collar and again carrying lighted candles, the adult choir's harmonies and voices have blended into a transcendent jubilee celebrating those who might 'Come and adore Him! Born the King of Angels! Oh! Come let us adore Him! Oh! Come let us adore Him! Oh! Come let us adore Him! Christ, the Lord!"
Finally the minister, regaled in brilliant red vestments carries the Bible at the end of the procession of choirs. He reads from the Book of Matthew about how shepherds tending their flocks were visited by a herald Angel proclaiming "Peace on Earth! Goodwill toward Men!"
At the end of each verse, the choirs respond in song. "Oh! Come let us adore Him! Christ the Lord"
Well, one Christmas years ago, all this call and response was too much for one of the more precocious seven year olds in the congregation. After four or five verses, followed by the choir's response to "Come let us adore Him!" the little boy shouted out "One more time!"
Christmas is for the children and that little boy, the son of one of my dearest friends, took control of Christmas for himself.
- Thread starter
- #15,906
Every so often I like to dock at the safe harbor of the Coffee Shop. Today is one of those days. Some of our brothers and sisters posting out there on the vast sea of USMB are getting tiresome and boring. So, I drop anchor here just to wash some of the crazy off.
But, my reputation here in the Coffee Shop is one of story teller, bard and general bullshitter. As my Christmas vacation begins in a little better than twenty four hours from now, I should bank the fires of that reputation by relating a Christmas tale.
My church, Trinity Presbyterian, has a grand social scene and a reassuring and uplifting theology that always salves my soul. But the building itself has all the warmth, spirituality and conviviality of an air raid shelter. It is constructed of concrete block, cast concrete floors and devoid of wood other than the stark maple pews and the cases the organ pipes are enclosed in. All those wooden bits were inspired, apparently, by a Nordic sauna. The windows in the sanctuary are clear glass about two feet wide and three stories tall. They mimic the slots archers might ward off a siege from in a medieval castle. The lighting is actually vitrified sewer pipes suspended from the cast concrete ceiling fitted out with incandescent bulbs.
Of course, our old church, built in the 1880s was the warm, welcoming sanctuary most humans would find comforting and warm. But in the early 1960s, the elders of the church thought a new, modern church would better serve our need. They sought out an 'award winning' architect for a design that would make a statement and accommodate the growing 'baby boom' congregation. In my opinion, that 'award winning' architect probably got Cs and Ds in school.
But there it is. A flat roof that leaks like a sieve, a boiler that cannot warm the interior beyond 50 degrees and an echo chamber that would make a great recording studio for Do-Wop groups.
In this space, we hold a Christmas Eve service. The service is grand. The sewer pipe lights are dimmed, the church is still and the Children's Choir enters the sanctuary. The kids are aged between six and twelve. They are dressed in dark green velvet robes with a bright white collar framing their angelic faces. Each one carries a lighted taper with one of those paper discs attached to catch any dripping wax. The candlelight makes their faces glow and they all know they are the stars of the Christmas show. They smile the smile of the innocent and sing with all the gusto a grade schooler can generate. They are singing Adeste Fidelis (Oh! Come all ye Faithful).
After the children take their place behind the stark maple choir screen, the Youth Choir promenades down the aisle. These are kids in High School, draped in crimson velvet robes. They also carry a candle, and a tune! "Oh Come All ye faithful, Joyful and triumphant! Oh! Come ye, oh come ye to Bethlehem". They file into the choir loft and sing along with the preceding children.
Next comes the Adult Choir after practicing since Halloween. Golden velvet robes, a bright white collar and again carrying lighted candles, the adult choir's harmonies and voices have blended into a transcendent jubilee celebrating those who might 'Come and adore Him! Born the King of Angels! Oh! Come let us adore Him! Oh! Come let us adore Him! Oh! Come let us adore Him! Christ, the Lord!"
Finally the minister, regaled in brilliant red vestments carries the Bible at the end of the procession of choirs. He reads from the Book of Matthew about how shepherds tending their flocks were visited by a herald Angel proclaiming "Peace on Earth! Goodwill toward Men!"
At the end of each verse, the choirs respond in song. "Oh! Come let us adore Him! Christ the Lord"
Well, one Christmas years ago, all this call and response was too much for one of the more precocious seven year olds in the congregation. After four or five verses, followed by the choir's response to "Come let us adore Him!" the little boy shouted out "One more time!"
Christmas is for the children and that little boy, the son of one of my dearest friends, took control of Christmas for himself.
I love that Nosmo, and Merry Christmas.
You reminded me of my most favorite Christmas story which is Barbara Robinson's "The Best Christmas Pageant Ever" when the Herdman kids took control of Christmas in a very special way. If any of you have somehow missed that small book, actually a short story, I highly recommend it for a good laugh and lift this season.
- Feb 12, 2007
- 59,439
- 24,106
- 2,290
Je l'adore!!!!!! I want one! Do you know who made this lil beauty?
Under the sea of course...
... I thought it was an excellent choice for you boedicca.
As a mermaid I must aver,
I thoroughly examined her.
And she's not only merely faboo,
she's really most sincerely faboo.
LOL. That's a side of you I have not seen before.
Oh, c'mon! I've only been using a Mermaid Avatar for closing in on 8 years!
- Feb 12, 2007
- 59,439
- 24,106
- 2,290
Je l'adore!!!!!! I want one! Do you know who made this lil beauty?
Under the sea of course...
... I thought it was an excellent choice for you boedicca.
As a mermaid I must aver,
I thoroughly examined her.
And she's not only merely faboo,
she's really most sincerely faboo.
They have all kinds of mermaid ornaments at amazon boedicca.
I have not found that exact one though sorry.
Amazon.com mermaid tree ornaments
Thank you - but it's a bit like offering cocktails to an alcoholic! Must not shop...too much.
- Thread starter
- #15,909
Je l'adore!!!!!! I want one! Do you know who made this lil beauty?
Under the sea of course...
... I thought it was an excellent choice for you boedicca.
As a mermaid I must aver,
I thoroughly examined her.
And she's not only merely faboo,
she's really most sincerely faboo.
LOL. That's a side of you I have not seen before.
Oh, c'mon! I've only been using a Mermaid Avatar for closing in on 8 years!
I was commenting on your description of it, not the avatar itself.
- Feb 12, 2007
- 59,439
- 24,106
- 2,290
Je l'adore!!!!!! I want one! Do you know who made this lil beauty?
Under the sea of course...
... I thought it was an excellent choice for you boedicca.
As a mermaid I must aver,
I thoroughly examined her.
And she's not only merely faboo,
she's really most sincerely faboo.
LOL. That's a side of you I have not seen before.
Oh, c'mon! I've only been using a Mermaid Avatar for closing in on 8 years!
I was commenting on your description of it, not the avatar itself.
I was inspired to riff on the Wizard of Oz!
- Thread starter
- #15,911
Ernie S.
Diamond Member
Actually, I figured since if you don't believe in Santa you get underwear, I'd try for socks. I'm good on undies, bur half my socks have holes.The Easter bunny is a fraud. Can I get socks?We briefly interrupt this thread for an important public service announcement:
And now back to our regularly scheduled postings. . . .
He's what????
It's okay sweetie. Ernie is just being an Easter bunny Grinch.
Reminds me though when our kids were little we followed a long standing family tradition of having the kids put their newly lost baby teeth under their pillow at night and the next morning the tooth fairy would have miraculously transformed that tooth into a quarter. Except that Hombre (my hubby) and I too often forgot our tooth fairy duties. I still remember our disgusted young son coming down for breakfast and scowling: "We have the most fink tooth fairy around here. . . ." (We always assured him that the fairy sometimes gets behind schedule and should be there tonight. . . )
Spoonman
Gold Member
- Jul 15, 2010
- 18,163
- 7,661
- 330
I've got a bunch. let me finish dinner and i'll post a fewso I'm watching white Christmas trying to get the Christmas spirit
Aw. Well I hope it works. Everybody needs a little Christmas spirit. And that's a really good one.
Good to see you Spoonie. We've been missing all those great photos.
Spoonman
Gold Member
- Jul 15, 2010
- 18,163
- 7,661
- 330
put a piece of mistletoe on that and I'm all yours
- Thread starter
- #15,915
Actually, I figured since if you don't believe in Santa you get underwear, I'd try for socks. I'm good on undies, bur half my socks have holes.The Easter bunny is a fraud. Can I get socks?We briefly interrupt this thread for an important public service announcement:
And now back to our regularly scheduled postings. . . .
He's what????
It's okay sweetie. Ernie is just being an Easter bunny Grinch.
Reminds me though when our kids were little we followed a long standing family tradition of having the kids put their newly lost baby teeth under their pillow at night and the next morning the tooth fairy would have miraculously transformed that tooth into a quarter. Except that Hombre (my hubby) and I too often forgot our tooth fairy duties. I still remember our disgusted young son coming down for breakfast and scowling: "We have the most fink tooth fairy around here. . . ." (We always assured him that the fairy sometimes gets behind schedule and should be there tonight. . . )
I'm picky about both my underwear and my socks. But if I got a gift of the kind I would buy for myself, I wouldn't mind at all.
Sherry
You're not the boss of me
Sherry
You're not the boss of me
- Thread starter
- #15,920
But, but....they don't match!
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