Auld lang syne is an old Scottish phrase meaning “old long-since” or “old long-ago.” It has famously survived in the form of Robert Burns' poem, sung each New Year's Eve to a tune that Burns is said to have transcribed from an old man's singing of it. Burns' version below is built from songs and poems of similar text dating back as far as an anonymous ballad in the Bannatyne Manuscript of 1568.
Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind? Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and auld lang syne?
Chorus: For auld lang syne, my dear, for auld lang syne, we’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet, for auld lang syne.
And surely ye’ll be your pint-stowp! And surely I’ll be mine! And we’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet, for auld lang syne.
We twa hae run about the braes, and pou’d the gowans fine; But we’ve wander’d mony a weary fit, sin’ auld lang syne.
We twa hae paidl’d in the burn, frae morning sun till dine; But seas between us braid hae roar’d sin’ auld lang syne.
And there’s a hand, my trusty fiere! And gies a hand o’ thine! And we’ll tak a right gude-willie-waught, for auld lang syne.
Another version, the first that contains a form of the 'auld lang syne' phrase, is attributed to the courtly poet Sir Robert Ayton (1570-1638):
Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And never thought upon, The flames of love extinguished, And freely past and gone? Is thy kind heart now grown so cold In that loving breast of thine, That thou canst never once reflect On old-long-syne.
With 2010 soon to be “auld lang syne”, Cassandra sends all best wishes to each of her dear followers for the coming new year.
“There is nothing quite so important in a book from a commercial standpoint, as the cover. People buy a book largely from the cover. If it is artistic and attractive, they are induced to look at the book, when with a dull and ugly outside they would pass it by.”
~ An anonymous New Yorker quoted in an 1895 New York Times article about book cover art and designers
During the time period bounded by the late 1880s and World War I, book bindings were prized for the impressive beauty and inventiveness of their designs. During this so-called “Golden Age” of bookbinding, modern bookbinding techniques were perfected to a fine art, particularly in the United States. At this time, book covers were considered part of the decorative arts, connected with home furnishings and some architectural designs.
Architects, landscape painters, illustrators and graphic artists alike were drawn to book design and were often associated with well-known publishers such as Harper's, Scribner's, or Houghton Mifflin and designed numerous bindings for many well known writers. Many of these designers believed that a book's physical appearance should reflect its literary content and made an effort to relate decorations to the text. This is especially evident in books with a Christmas theme, which were purposely produced for the Christmas gift market.
Please enjoy ~ from Cassandra’s collection ~ a sampling below of these beautiful works of art…
What Sweeter Music (Originally Titled: "A Christmas Caroll, Sung to the King in the Presence at White-Hall)
What sweeter music can we bring
Than a carol, for to sing
The birth of this our heavenly King?
Awake the voice! Awake the string!
Dark and dull night, fly hence away,
And give the honor to this day,
That sees December turned to May.
Why does the chilling winter’s morn
Smile, like a field beset with corn?
Or smell like a meadow newly-shorn,
Thus, on the sudden?
Come and see
The cause, why things thus fragrant be:
‘Tis He is born, whose quickening birth
Gives life and luster, public mirth,
To heaven, and the under-earth.
We see him come, and know him ours,
Who, with his sunshine and his showers,
Turns all the patient ground to flowers.
The darling of the world is come,
And fit it is, we find a room
To welcome him. The nobler part
Of all the house here, is the heart.
Which we will give him; and bequeath
This holly, and this ivy wreath,
To do him honour, who’s our King,
And Lord of all this revelling.
What sweeter music can we bring,
Than a carol for to sing
The birth of this our heavenly King?
~ Robert Herrick (1591-1674)
Before listening to this lovely poem put to music by England's John Rutter and sung by Kings College Choir, please turn off Cassandra's Playlist at the bottom of the page by clicking on the large circular button...
I prepared this dish last evening – a delicious way to incorporate the fresh butternut squash currently available in our local markets’ produce sections. How timely that, yesterday, a friend of mine, whose daughter is a food and travel journalist and author of a blog and two culinary guidebooks to Budapest, had gifted me with a package of Hungarian paprika!
Butternut Squash, Pine Nuts, & Blue Cheese Pappardelle
1 large 2 ½ to 3 pound butternut squash
1 large sweet onion, chopped
2 Tbsp. extra virgin olive oil
1 tsp. Hungarian paprika
1 Tbsp. butter
¼ cup red wine
½ cup water
2/3 cup toasted pine nuts
1 pound pappardelle pasta or wide egg noodles
1 Tbsp. chopped dried sage leaves
5 to 6 oz. crumbled blue cheese
1) Peel the squash, cut in half, remove seeds and pulp and cut into 1 inch cubes
2) Using a large heavy pan (which can hold the pasta later) sauté the chopped onion in the olive oil.
3) Add paprika to the sautéd onion
4) Add butter to pan and stir in squash
5) Add red wine and water. Bring to a simmer. Cover and reduce heat – Cook for 10 minutes or until squash is tender. Remove from heat and lightly season with sea salt to taste and then with the Tablespoon of chopped sage leaves.
6) Heat water in another pan, and cook pasta according to package directions
7) Toast pine nuts in a hot, dry frying pan on the stove top, turning frequently.
8) After pasta is drained, add it to the squash mixture along with the pine nuts and blue cheese crumbles and toss together
Earlier this month, I found a wonderful antique cradle of mid-nineteenth century vintage at an estate sale in upstate New York. Such handsome features: the local hard maple wood, the dovetailing, the gently curved top and rockers, the carrying handles, and an early safety feature: two brass knobs on each side with which to “bundle” the baby with rope, ribbon or twine so s/he could not escape! I quickly paid a very reasonable price for such a handsome period addition to one of my farmhouse's bedchambers!
It must be noted that such cradles as these are of picturesque interest only. Their practical use, holding babies (despite knobs for bundling!), is cast in doubtful light if we consider that one wrong step, on one of the rockers, may catapult the little one who knows where!
Cradles of this vintage were often made by the father or grandfather with locally-milled woods and were handed down in families through subsequent generations. It is quite likely that my particular cradle has never left the county in which I purchased it. Early cradles were made to be placed right next to the parents’ bed, since bedrooms were actually a later addition to architecture that came with the ability to heat the home more efficiently.
I hope one day to find a mid-nineteenth century baby quilt at another estate sale!
Cassandra loves this recipe for spaghetti squash ~ so plentiful this time of year...
1 spaghetti squash, about 3 pounds
1 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil
1 medium onion, finely chopped
2 garlic cloves, minced
Salt and freshly ground pepper
3 large eggs
1/2 cup low-fat milk
2 tablespoons chopped fresh basil (1/4 cup basil leaves)
2 ounces Gruyère cheese, grated (1/2 cup)
2 tablespoons freshly grated Parmesan or pecorino romano
1. Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Pierce the squash in several places with a sharp knife. Cover a baking sheet with foil, and place the squash on top. Bake for one hour, turning the squash every 20 minutes until it is soft and easy to cut into with a knife. Remove from the heat, and allow the squash to cool until you can handle it. Cut in half lengthwise, and allow to cool further. Remove the seeds and discard. Scoop out the flesh, and place in a bowl. Run a fork through the flesh to separate the spaghetti-like strands, then chop coarsely. Measure out 4 cups squash. (Use whatever remains for another dish, or freeze.)
2. Oil a 2-quart gratin or baking dish. Heat the oil over medium heat in a large, heavy skillet, and add the onion. Cook, stirring, until tender, about five minutes. Add the garlic and a generous pinch of salt. Cook, stirring, for another 30 seconds to a minute until fragrant. Add the squash. Cook, stirring often, for five minutes until the strands of squash are a little more tender. Season to taste with salt and pepper, and remove from the heat.
3. Beat the eggs in a large bowl. Add the milk, salt (about 1/2 teaspoon), pepper and basil. Stir in the squash mixture and the grated Gruyère, and combine well. Scrape into the baking dish. Sprinkle the Parmesan or pecorino over the top, and gently press down to moisten.
4. Bake 40 to 45 minutes until nicely browned and sizzling. Remove from the heat, and allow to cool for 10 to 15 minutes before serving. Serve hot, warm or room temperature.
Yield: Serves six as a main dish, eight as a side.
Advance preparation: The baked spaghetti squash will keep for four days in the refrigerator. The gratin can be made up to a day ahead and reheated. The recipe can be made through step 2 several hours before completing the gratin and baking.
It all started 30 years ago, on the occasion of our 10th wedding anniversary, with a visit to the trading post of the venerable Charlie Eagle Plume ten miles south of Estes Park, Colorado on Highway 7. I selected the bracelet below and took it over to the elderly Charlie in his wheelchair for a price. His reply: “Nice piece of turquoise – your price is $$$!”
It was my first piece of Native American turquoise jewelry, made very special by the experience of purchasing it directly from Charlie – who I later learned was a man who was not merely the proprietor of a quintessential Colorado Indian trading post but, for over 50 years, a sought-after lecturer and performer of Indian dances and song and, most importantly, an advocate not only for Native Americans but for peace and good will among people everywhere.
“Established in 1917 [as the Perkins Trading Post], this historic trading post specializes in the art and crafts of the American Indian. Contemporary works in jewelry, textiles, basketry, ceramics, sculpture, and beadwork, as well as historic pieces are available. Also housed at the trading post is the Charles Eagle Plume Collection of American Indian art, comprising over one thousand historic and prehistoric pieces from Native North America, Alaska, and Canada. Off the beaten path, nestled at the base of Long’s Peak, [is] one of the west’s best-kept secrets rich in the traditions and arts. Eagle Plume spent his life collecting, selling, and appreciating American Indian art and culture. He touched the lives of many people with his friendship, ready smile, and many stories… "
Charlie in 1986
Charles was born on a Blackfoot reservation in Montana and took great pride in his Indian ancestry. He was one of the first Native Americans to attend the University of Colorado in Boulder, and while still a student, spent his summers working at the Perkins Trading Post entertaining the tourists with dancing and storytelling. Eventually, he was assisting the store’s owner, Katherine Perkins, in running the business and also travelling around the country performing and speaking. Upon Perkin’s death in 1966, Charles inherited the store and renamed it “Charles Eagle Plume’s Indian Trading Post.” He also inherited part of the collection of Indian artifacts she had inherited from her father, which Charles augmented until he had amassed over 1000 examples of what is considered to be one of the finest, most authentic, and unrivaled collections of Native American antiquities and works of art in existence.
“…Before his death in 1992, he established the Eagle Plume Foundation and also saw to it that his shop would carry on under the guidance of his adopted daughter Ann [whose Cheyenne name is Maxaaehma’heone - Medicine Eagle Feather Woman] and her family…Under the family’s guidance, Eagle Plume’s remains one of the most remarkable emporiums of American Indian arts, crafts, and culture in the west.”
“When you have an idea, you have something to work with - somewhere to go.”
~ Charles Eagle Plume
History of Turquoise
Native American legend relates that the People danced and rejoiced when the rains came. Their tears of joy mixed with the rain and seeped into Mother Earth to become the SkyStone or Turquoise. Native Americans believe, that the earth is alive; and that all things, no matter how small or apparently inanimate, are precious. To the Native American, Turquoise is Life. Actually, turquoise stone is a hydrous basic phosphate of copper and aluminum formed as water trickles through a host stone for about 30 million years, gradually leaving a deposit.
In the United States, turquoise is synonymous with the Southwest. The Cerrillos Mines on Turquoise Mountain in New Mexico are said to be the oldest known source of turquoise in the Southwest. Native Americans worked the turquoise mines with stone mauls and antler picks for centuries before the arrival of Europeans. Turquoise from this area has been found as far as Oaxaca, Mexico. Kings and emperors of the Mixtec and Aztecs wore crowns and pendants of turquoise as amulets of good fortune and long life.
It was not until 1890 that the use of silver as a mounting for turquoise was begun. The Spanish knowledge of silver and silversmithing was combined with Native American lapidary technology to produce a turquoise jewelry tradition that continues today
“A good stone, in short, must possess an indefinable property call the "Zat," which is something like the water of a diamond or the luster of a pearl. A fine colored turquoise without the Zat is not worth much”
~ Joseph Payne
Perhaps when Charlie Eagle Plume told me that it was a “nice piece of turquoise,” he was seeing the “Zat” in my turquoise bracelet!
He taught us how to understand the music of the birds,
The robin made a tune for us, but Riley wrote the words;
And at his joyous task he wrought with such a wondrous art
That we could feel the happiness that filled the robin's heart.
And when the Spring comes back to us, and once again we hear
The golden song at eventide that rings so true and clear,
And when the April shadows fall across the meadow lane,
The gentle minstrel of the Spring shall sing for him in vain.
He wandered through the village streets the afternoon along,
He heard the children's laughter - and made it into song.
He made it into living song, that down the years shall wing,
And yet in song of simple words that they themselves could sing.
And through all ages and all lands forever - near and far -
In every time and every clime where little children are -
Shall they still thrill at the story time beneath the magic spell
Of him who told them what they thought - and understood so well.
~ To James Whitcomb Riley by James J. Montague
Known as the “Hoosier poet of the people”, and also as the “Children’s Poet,” James Whitcomb Riley, was born in 1849 in Greenfield, Indiana on the “National Road” or U.S. Route 40.
Riley's poetry and prose reflect romance, childhood memories, small town life, family life, friendship, nature, patriotism, and humor. Riley’s chief legacy was his influence in fostering the creation of a midwestern cultural identity. Along with other writers of his era, he helped create a caricature of midwesterners and formed a literary community that rivaled the established eastern literati in popular works. Books of his poetry and prose were published in both the U.S. and in Great Britain.
Riley’s most famous works were written in the Hoosier dialect of the simple farm folk of Greenfield and vicinity. As the famous author and literary critic (and Riley friend), Hamlin Garland, aptly stated: “…from this town, and other similar towns, has Whitcomb Riley drawn the sweetest honey of poesy—homey with a native delicious tang, as of buck wheat and basswood bloom with hints of the mullein and the thistle of dry pastures.” Riley’s work is considered whimsical and direct, as if he were telling stories to children around the fireside.
Three of the most well-known of his hundreds of poems are “When the Frost is on the Punkin,” “The Old Swimmin’ Hole,” and “Little Orphant Annie,” first published in 1885 as “The Elf Child.” This poem inspired not only the Little Orphan Annie legacy but also the famous Raggedy Ann dolls. Interestingly, “The Elf Child” was supposed to be re-entitled as “Little Orphant Allie,” named for a little girl named Mary Alice “Allie” Smith, who was a “hired girl” in the Riley household when the poet was growing up in Greenfield. An error by a typesetter changed Allie to “Annie.”
"Little Orphant Annie's come to our house to stay
An' wash the cups an' saucers up, an brush the crumbs away,
An' shoe the chickens off the porch, an' dust the hearth an sweep,
An' make the fire, an' bake the bread, an' earn her board-an' keep..."
By the end of the eighteenth century and until his death in 1916, Riley was a well-known poet and speaker who toured throughout the U.S. and Europe. He was the first poet in America to receive the gold medal of poetry from the National Institute of Arts and Letters, and he was an honored and regular guest at the White House. Every October the people of his hometown of Greenfield celebrate Riley with the Riley Festival, complete with a parade of all the local school children carrying and depositing fall bouquets at the foot of his statue on the courthouse lawn.
When the Frost Is on the Punkin
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock,
And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin’ turkey-cock,
And the clackin’ of the guineys, and the cluckin’ of the hens,
And the rooster’s hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence;
O it’s then’s the times a feller is a-feelin’ at his best,
With the risin’ sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest,
As he leaves the house, bare-headed, and goes out to feed the stock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock.
They’s something kindo’ hearty-like about the atmosphere,
When the heat of summer’s over and the coolin’ fall is here—
Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossoms on the trees,
And the mumble of the hummin’-birds and buzzin’ of the bees;
But the air’s so appetisin’; and the landscape through the haze
Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days
Is a pictur that no painter has the colorin’ to mock—
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock.
The husky, rusty rustle of the tossels of the corn,
And the raspin’ of the tangled leaves, as golden as the morn;
The stubble in the furries—kindo’ lonesome-like, but still
A-preachin’ sermons to us of the barns they growed to fill;
The strawstack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed;
The hosses in theyr stalls below—the clover overhead!—
O, it sets my heart a-clickin’ like the tickin’ of a clock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock!
Cassandra's James Whitcomb Riley Collection:
Some decorative publisher's editions of James Whitcomb Riley's books: