The Christmas Concert:

Drama, including song, was a required component of teaching in the country schools of the 20th Century. Each student's dramatic potential was put on display during the annual Christmas Concert.

It was all very exciting for the children. Some of the plays were quite entertaining and the carolling quite pleasant to hear. We all looked to be picked for starring roles. Having attended a recent showing of Gone With the Wind, the potential to become a future Clark Gable or a Vivian Leigh was easy for each of us to imagine.

Every country school house had a collection of 2X12-inch planks to be assembled for the stage and the correct number of sawhorses to hold them up high enough for the audience to view. Drapery was mostly bedsheets hung on wires strung wall-to-wall. They were contributed by local ladies. The audience consisted mostly of the children's families.

Santa arrived with a suitable degree of hoopla and ringing of bells at the conclusion of each concert. He carried a bag full of goodies and another with a toy or book, supplied by the school board, for each child. 

Santa was instructed to ask each child, "..and have you been a good boy/girl this year?" before handing over the loot.

Now, fast-forward a few years to when, having struck out as a threat to Clark Gable in the drama field, I began teaching school. The responsibility for producing something on Dec. 21 or thereabouts for the school district families to view and be entertained was now mine. This was a big deal for someone just out of Normal School, but I enjoyed it and did not too badly.

Round about my third year of teaching, the school board decided to stage the concert in the local meeting hall, which happened to be more central to the school district than the school itself. The hall belonged to a local church, but by then the members of the various congregations were no longer fighting, so it was okay.

The concert progressed swimmingly right through to the end. At this point I learned that the role of Santa Claus was going to be undertaken by the school board chairman, a shortish, stoutish, likeable guy who, as was his style, first got properly primed for the occasion.

They dressed him in the red suit, fur trim and all, and pulled the rubber Santa mask, then the height of make-up technology, over his head, taking care to align the rather smallish eye holes and mouth with somewhat limited success. Cast complete with whiskers and pointy hat, the mask muffled his merry Ho! Ho! Hos. Gripping the school bell in one hand, the gunny sack of goodies slung over his shoulder, he lurched forward. 

But not very far. He missed the end of the stage and went crashing to the floor with bells and boxes flying all over the place.

Huffing and puffing, he was helped to nearly vertical again by an over-size elf and a couple of trustees. They located the bell and re-aimed him at the stage full of kids, who were by now clumped into a tight, quivering mass as far back and out of reach as they could go without tumbling off the other end of the stage.

The vision of Santa, advancing somewhat unsteadily toward them, a-huffing and a- puffing mightily, was less than reassuring.  The collapse of Santa's head every time he huffed and ballooning to alarming size as he puffed was probably not quite what they expected. 

But they were not about to bolt for the exits. Their anticipation of what was in those bags kept them rooted to the spot. Only the beginners jumped off and ran to their mothers. 

They were coaxed back on stage in time to be asked, "And were you a good boy/girl this year?" and be handed a paper bag full of fruit, nuts and candy. The equally jolly elf was still able to read names on tags. He handed out brightly wrapped presents from the other sack.

When the two sacks were emptied and the school board people succeeded in guiding the pair off stage and safely out the back door, performers and audience bundled up and went home. It was time to relax and move on.

It was all over for the year. Clutching my bag of goodies, I got in my '50 Pontiac bustle-back sedan and drove home for the holidays.

Paris Discord?

Thousands of rioting Parisians now tend to view swiftly rising carbon taxes as a greater threat than Global Warming and Climate Change.

So, is it time to re-name the much ballyhooed Paris Accord the Paris Discord?

It hasn't deteriorated to that stage in Canada yet, but Justin Trudeau seems determined for it to happen here.

"Damn the torpedoes. Full speed ahead!!"

Fear mongering:

Is climate change for real?

Of course. As far as we know, there is no natural mechanism for this planet's climate to remain exactly the same all the time. Variations are normal. They have been recorded in detail over the last couple of thousand years, but no one panicked over it before the age of cell phones and hyper-communication.

Is the human infestation of planet Earth to blame for it? That's a perfectly ridiculous supposition. Only science sponsored by the propaganda arm of the United Nations or tax-hungry politicians would support this.

We pave over thousands of square miles of city scape, destroying natural runoff and soil absorption and scream climate change when a normal weather system dumps normal quantities of rain on it, causing flash floods that are hyped to apocalyptic proportions by the sensation-mongering media.

When we look at what's happening in the streets of Paris and other European capitals right now, it is possible for us to marvel at how smart the US electorate was to have elected leaders unlikely to be herded like sheep.

Hopefully, that is why they elected Donald Trump, who did not subscribe to the Paris Accord like the alleged 190-or-so "leaders" according to the media. 

Or maybe they were just lucky. Only time will tell.