rus vanwestervelt

I know, I know. You’re probably in one of two camps: either you are wondering why this didn’t make the top ten, or you are wondering why this song is in the countdown at all…

As I’ve mentioned before, I am drawn to stories, especially in songs. This song is on a Country Sounds of the Season compilation that I received from one of my students several years ago. I think it’s one of those tunes that’s played more during this time of year, but it is certainly a stand-alone song of inspiration and belief that can be played any time of the year.

Not many people know that I was brought up with a little western culture, thanks to my brothers, especially Steve. Steve and I don’t have much in common anymore, which saddens me. For some reason, our relationship has strained over the years. When I was younger, though, he instilled in me a love for cowboy hats and country songs — a love that was not consistent with many of my friends or others in my family. Nobody was right or wrong — we were all just different, that’s all.

I spent a lot of time with Steve. There would always be Alabama or Waylon Jennings (among others) playing in his Blazer wherever we went, and I had a line of cowboy hats and boots to be just like him. The hats outlasted the boots, and to this day, I still have one hat that borders on the western side of life. I miss those days of four-wheelin’ and spending time with him. But most of all, I miss the relationship we once had.

That’s true about all three of my brothers, though. They were born a generation ahead of me, and we just lead different lives. I wish we made the time and the effort to see each other more. I know it’s not too late, thank God. Time to reach out to them. Give them a call. Drop them a note. Something to let them know they still matter in my life.

Anyway, Country music is in me. It helps me gain appreciation for the works and sounds of other performers, from the Grateful Dead, to James Taylor, to Emmylou Harris, to Alison Krauss. Throw in a story, and I’m hooked.

This song in particular strikes a certain harmony with me, as I do believe in angels. I think that we’re the ones making the choices about whether we aceept what they have to offer, that’s all. All we need to do is open our eyes, close our mouths; open our hearts, close our minds. In no time, you’ll see the miracles of angels working all around you.

When I was hiking on the Appalachian Trail in the 80s and 90s (a trail I still strive to return to some day), there’s something called Trail Magic, where individuals leave you little things to help you along your way. This can be everything from food to a roll of duct tape. It makes no matter; these are gestures of good will and kindness, selfless and with love.

I remember one particular night, grateful for the little trail magic that came my way, thinking that there was little difference between the invisible angels and the ones who are living, breathing, human beings. They are sent to guide us, protect us, and at the very least, provide us new directions and opportunities that we might have never had. It is because of them that I was able to go to sleep with a renewed energy and enthusiasm for the long walk ahead the following day. Angels bring us hope, a belief in ourselves, a comfort when we’re down, a friend when we’re in need.

Look for the angels among us, and be an angel to others as well. Random acts of kindness go a long way. It’s what keeps our faith in each brand new day, every day.

I believe. . . .Do you?

This one goes out to all of my yearbook alums who bring this song to life every year in our beloved room 701. A few years ago, during a particularly stressful deadline rush with yearbook, a few of my editors made a playlist with just this song in it — about 15 copies, to be exact (I don’t think they fully grasped the concept of the “repeat” option in iTunes). It played over and over as they sang again and again, and it lifted the spirit of our room tremendously during those otherwise stressful hours.

Now, that goes back several years when we were two steps ahead of the fire marshall at all times, and we had Christmas lights dangling from the ceiling, running in every direction. This was a most spirited group, and they infused a life into our room that still exists today (despite the lack of lights!).

So — To all of you whoever contributed to the love and the spirit of our publications room no. 701, I dedicate this song to you. You gave me everything I wanted for Christmas — and more! <3

Harry Connick Jr.’s music takes me back to the very early 90′s when I was actively involved in the production side of our church, Chesapeake Presbyterian, in Southern Maryland. I was on the drama team, and we performed skits that contributed to the focus of each sermon. I made a lot of friends there, many of whom I haven’t seen in a long time. I miss them genuinely.

For some reason, Connick, Jr. would always be playing on my rides to and from the church, and I had his voice, his energy for life with me wherever I went. I wish I could explain it. My spirituality and commitment to the church was enhanced by his music. Perhaps it was the fact that I had joined Chesapeake soon after my father had died; I was carrying many of my father’s loves with me during those fragile days and months, and his ties with the Big Band sound were certainly no exception. Maybe it brought me closer to him when I needed him more than ever. I don’t know.

I do know that I love Harry Connick, Jr.’s music today just as much as I did then.

Connick, Jr. has cut a lot of Christmas music. I like much of it, but this song resonates a certain belief in me that the magic of Christmas, if shared openly with others, is contagious. It’s what makes us get “in the spirit” when we are surrounded by those who love this time of year.

Toward the end of the song, Connick, Jr. belts out the lines, “Let the angels sing around us / Christmas time is here. / Let our children’s love surround us / Laughing and filled with cheer,” I am filled with memories of my own children embracing the spirit of Christmas. All we need to do is open our eyes, our hearts, and our arms to let the spirit fill us, too, whenever we need it.

People are belting it out everywhere, like Harry Connick, Jr. We just need to let the madness of all the commercialism and financial pressures (will stores *sell* enough to stay alive in 2010? ugh) fall away so that the true meaning of Christmas resonates strongly among us.

May your heart find Christmas, now and always. It’s found me, and I have no intention of letting it slip away.

There are times when our emotions are so deep, the words escape us. We are left with actions, instead, to speak for us. Today, I let Josh Groban and Morrill Worcester do what I cannot seem to do. Josh’s tribute to our troops in his rendition of this song, and Morrill’s Wreaths Across America project that he started in 1992, both capture the love and support that so many of us have for our loved ones who are fighting for our freedoms, or who have died in the brave and heroic battles that have been hard-fought for you, for me, and for all of us — even those yet born — in this great country.

I have always stood for peace. In high school, we created a group called The Smile Merchants that promoted peace and love in all ways, especially for those who were less fortunate than we were during the holidays. We visited children’s hospitals and nursing homes, hoping to brighten people’s lives even just a little bit. But in the 80s there was no real war that we were fighting. My friends weren’t making critical decisions about joining the Armed Forces to fight for our freedoms. To me, peace was still a lingering term left over from the 70s, a time that I was still too young to understand Vietnam. My brothers did. They lost their best friends in that war. One of them still flies a POW-MIA flag at his house.

We were the generation that grew up between Vietman and the Persian Gulf War. And even that battle was so surgical in nature that it cast a pretty veil over the realities of war. As a man in my 20s, I still had no concept about what it meant to fight for the preservation of our freedoms.

That all changed in September of 2001. But it wasn’t some sudden jolt that might awaken me back to a time I had forgotten. There was no experience to recall. I was shocked — we all were. We didn’t know how to respond. Suddenly, we were responding to a call for freedom and security in unprecedented ways. We were not attacked by a particular country, and so we launched an offensive attack that we believed would serve as our best defense for our country.

In these last eight years, our lives, our histories, our backgrounds and experiences have all been rewritten. On the outside, we are not the same people we were at the beginning of the new Millennium, nor are we the same country. But on the inside, we are understanding — some of us for the first time — what it means to be an American citizen; what it means to have the freedoms and the securities unparalleled by any other country in the world.

That’s what war does. It strips away all the dressings and reveals our character, defines our core.

For those of us who have loved ones in the military, or who have lost loved ones who have already served, we understand it in an entirely different light. My two nephews are now fighting for this country’s freedoms, and because of that personal connection, I have been given the privilege to grasp the meaning behind the concepts of dedication, sacrifice, and commitment.

To devote your life to our freedoms. To face the enemy and stand tall as an American. To do all of this for all of us. We are strangers to them, for the most part. And yet, they don’t think twice about putting their lives on the line for you. Or for me.

Today, my friend and faithful commenter Michele is taking her son to Arlington to participate in Wreaths Across America. Last night, they were at BWI airport, welcoming home 330 soldiers who will get the chance to be home for Christmas with their loved ones. I told her that I thought it was a wonderful thing for her to be doing with her son. Humbly, she reminded me that it was nothing compared to what these soldiers have done for us.

Michele is right, of course, but we can never do enough to let these brave men and women know how grateful we are for the ultimate sacrifice they have vowed to make for you and me.

The songs and the videos are sad. They rip at our emotions and our hearts. But they allow others who don’t have the friends or family in the military to understand (like me just a few years ago) how important their service is for all of us, now and forever.

Please, take the time this holiday season and do something for our troops. Write a card, send a care package, even share a video or a story with somebody who is struggling to understand. If you see a member of the military at the local grocery store, take a moment and say Thank You. Let them know that you, a stranger, are grateful for what they are sacrificing for all of us.

We’re all for peace. And we all want our soldiers to come home safely. Let us remember, especially during this time of year, that we are who we are because of them. So whether it is a grandfather who fought in World War II or a brother who just received his orders last week, take the time to remember, to give thanks, and to cherish the freedoms we still share today.

Nothing deep here today. This trademark song of the 80s by Patty Donahue and The Waitresses (best known for their 1982 song, “I Know What Boys Like”) wraps up so many memories from this decade — the Pat Benatar-style new-wave singer doing a half-sing, half primitive rap about a feel-good love story that ends in a happily-ever-after.

Unfortunately for the heavy-smoking Donahue, her life ended much too short, as she died of lung cancer in 1996 at age 40.

This song never made it big on the charts (it peaked at no. 41 in 1982), but it continues to be played every year during the holiday season.

This is a very personal choice, and I know it’s probably not a popular one with others who have their own countdowns. But it’s one of my “fun” songs, and I love the simple lyrics about a girl who’s done with boys and just wants to close out the world this Christmas and celebrate it alone. On Christmas Eve, she runs into a guy at the local A&P that she’s been trying to get together with all year, and they spend Christmas together.

Simple. Fun. Happily Ever After, 80s style. . . .I miss it!

This is the second song by Trans-Siberian Orchestra to make the countdown (First Snow came in at no. 26); this is also the second time Pachelbel’s Canon has been featured (Variations on the Kanon by George Winston kicked off the countdown at no. 30). I just couldn’t pass on this version, though, especially since Trans-Siberian Orchestra will be playing here in Baltimore this evening at the First Mariner Arena. I am sure they will be performing this song.

This particular track is from their 1998 cd titled The Christmas Attic, the second of the Christmas trilogy which includes Christmas Eve and Other Stories and The Lost Christmas Eve. The choir who performed this song is from St. Bartholomew’s Church in New York City.

It’s the first of several songs in the countdown that features the voices of young children. For me, this has always grounded me in the meaning of Christmas, the enthusiasm and the innocence of our children as they are in awe of the magic of Christmas. As a father of three children (two of whom are still wowed by the celebration), I experience this time of year with unconditional joy for them as much as a deep reflection on my own childhood memories of sharing this holiday with my sister. It almost seems unfair that I should be so lucky to be able to combine the two experiences. It makes me appreciate this season that much more, in all ways.

If it is even possible, though, it runs deeper than just my own experience.

As adults, we tend to cherish the innocence of our children as they experience all the world has to offer them with open hearts and a belief in all things good. Some say it is their naiveté that makes them “vulnerable” to such foolish thinking. After all, the world is a cruel place, right? It is filled with mean-spirited people who have created this societal machine that strips individuals of their freedoms and their rights. Correct?

We’re led to believe this. We’ve given into the false premise that life isn’t fair and that children aren’t living in the Real World of hard knocks and broken dreams.

Wait till you get older, we tell them. Then you’ll see how life really is.

How dare we demand them to let go of their beliefs, their dreams, and their innocence when they grow up! Who are we to track them so dangerously along a path of broken hearts and dreams? Perhaps if we adults wouldn’t be so preoccupied with the darker side of growing up. we could actually convert that negative energy and encourage them to continue believing in themselves and embrace the power of that magical love for life.

Imagine that. Our children growing up with confidence, love, and a belief that the magic and innocence of their youth is the very core of their being, the foundation upon which all of their life decisions are considered.

So when you hear their voices singing, hear their message. Listen to the magic and the love and the belief in all the things we, as grown-ups, try so desperately to hold on to. Let them remind us that these remain inside of us, and we still have the chance to let our little ones know that the magic of Christmas is something they should hold tightly to, for the rest of their lives.

For one reason or another, this song evokes strong emotions from so many of us. For me, it’s the extreme contrasts between an absolutely beautiful song, sung by a beautiful woman with a beautiful voice, who struggled with demons all her life.

Demons so many of us knew nothing about.

Karen Carpenter was only 20 years old when she recorded this song in 1970. Thirteen years later, she died from heart failure as a result of her lost battle with anorexia nervosa, an eating disorder that, when I was in high school, was something nobody was yet talking about. Karen’s death changed all that.

The early and mid-80s were filled with things we didn’t talk about. The fight against drugs (Just Say NO) and against drinking and driving were just being introduced to us. These were big issues that didn’t require a lot of focus on any one individual. It was a campaign to keep people alive from harmful substances that you put into your body.

Talking about eating disorders or mental illnesses, however, was still very much taboo. These were individuals who had problems, and we didn’t want to put much emphasis on things we couldn’t feel good about combating. Tragically, reporting rapes and other horrific crimes against individuals fell into this same category. We were just beginning to grasp the courage to “come out” and share some of these deeply personal stories that were always swept under the carpet to be dealt with privately, if they were dealt with at all. Unfortunately, many individuals lost these internal battles because they did not have the support to help them through identification, treatment, and recovery.

The death of Karen Carpenter in 1983 was a turning point for discussing such battles when her disorder, anorexia nervosa, was finally exposed as a nationwide problem affecting nearly 40,000 individuals, primarily girls between the ages of 15 and 19. We were all in shock, of course. Not that she struggled with an eating disorder, but that such a beautiful individual could be struggling with anything at all.

That wasn’t the way things were supposed to be.

Slowly, other individuals with eating disorders began to seek out help, and their courageous steps helped others confront their problems and find the treatment they needed. The stigma attached to anorexia was being chipped away — ever so slowly — and those in need were learning that it was okay to seek help. Others suffered too. They were not alone.

Since I graduated from high school, this song has been that wonderful, yet depressing tune that reminds me we too often present to others a better side of ourselves, sometimes masking our pains and struggles. We’ve come a long way since Karen’s death 26 years ago, but we have so far to go.

What’s not to love about this Seussian classic? How The Grinch Stole Christmas was written and published by Dr. Seuss in 1957 and made into a television production in 1966, featuring the voice of the legendary Boris Karloff. Most recently, in 2000, it was produced as a full-feature film starring Jim Carrey as the Grinch.

This version of the song, “You’re A Mean One, Mr. Grinch,” was performed by the Brian Setzer Orchestra in 2005 and released on their Dig That Crazy Christmas cd — their second holiday big-band release following the successful Boogie Woogie Christmas released three years earlier.

I can’t say that this story was the origin of my understanding that there were more important things at Christmas time than presents and toys, but I remember being swept away in awe as these wonderful little Who’s of Whoville gathered around in the center of their town to sing Christmas morning, despite the Grinch’s greatest efforts to do away with any and all Christmas spirit.

And I remember thinking at that time, even as a little kid, that Christmas magic was real. It was bigger than Santa, bigger than anything I might find under the tree Christmas morning.

I still believe in that magic.

Theodor “Dr. Seuss” Geisel did not just stumble upon this chance to make a point about the true meaning of Christmas. His stories were often filled with deeper meanings and commentaries — from natural conservation to nuclear annihilation. Seuss used a medium that reached large audiences to make this world a better place. At the very least, he got us thinking about the issues that mattered then and — surprisingly enough — matter just as much today.

And the Grinch, with his grinch-feet ice-cold in the snow,
Stood puzzling and puzzling: “How could it be so?
It came without ribbons! It came without tags!
“It came without packages, boxes or bags!”
And he puzzled three hours, `till his puzzler was sore.
Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn’t before!
“Maybe Christmas,” he thought, “doesn’t come from a store.
“Maybe Christmas…perhaps…means a little bit more!”

I wonder though, sometimes, why it’s so hard for so many to get the message about the importance of the simpler things in life (peace, community, love). Perhaps, if it can happen for the Grinch, it can happen for them as well….

On any level, though, the Grinch offers so much entertainment, no matter how old or young you might be. It is still a favorite among many of today’s teens, and I’m going to have to get a new copy to read to my kids in the coming weeks. We have fun with the words, the rhymes, and the illustrations.It’s an event whenever we pick up Seuss. :)

Make it an event in your life. Pick up a copy, bring the words to life, and sing a tune or two with Mr. and Mrs. Who (Yes! I’m talking to YOU!)!

I have to thank the movie, Home for the Holidays, for creating my own personal home movie in my head whenever I hear this song.

At the end of the movie, we see a collection of home-movie clips of family moments — all good — at Christmastime. Even the characters that are less than likable in the movie have something to be grateful for, are smiling, or are sharing love.

The point? We may have our tough times with each other, we may not always approve of what our friends are doing, but each has the opportunity to experience love, especially during the holidays. And many do, in their own way, with the people they select to enjoy it with. They are able to do this because they take the time to appreciate each other, to let the craziness of the world fall away just long enough so they can see clearly what’s been in front of them the entire time.

We’re all making our movies of the moments we want to hold dearly to us. And just like the song, our message to one another is so simple: Stop. Look at what you have. Treasure it. Enjoy.

This song is one of my all-time favorites simply because its message is so clear: Nat King Cole paints a very simple picture for us of simple times: It’s cold outside, the fire’s warm inside, we’re together, the kids are getting ready for Santa.  No matter how young or how old you might be, there’s a part of Christmas you can enjoy. If you take the time to stop and cherish what you already have.

I don’t know. Maybe I’m trying to hold on to something that is slipping away, losing its place to a different kind of Christmas that is less about people and more about things. But there’s a reason why I cling to this romantic notion of Christmas. I believe that it’s not just in the movies or in the songs, this love for one another, this chance to slow the world down and appreciate one another. I believe that people still hold deeply in their hearts the understanding that, beyond all the gadgets and social networks and devices that keep our one-on-one time at a distance, there’s nothing that can ever replace the simple joy and magic of spending time with each other, in appreciation for that love and that friendship, above everything else.

Please tell me you still believe as well.

There are many, many versions of this song, and before Zooey Deschanel and Leon Redbone cut their version for the Elf soundtrack, I didn’t like any of them. They were too fast, too slow, or worse — too peppy and cute. The Deschanel/Redbone cut is, by far, the perfect combination of silk and jazz that makes this “classic” finally memorable, in my opinion.

The movie Elf, in its own right, is becoming a holiday classic for its simple tale of what may come if we all do our part in believing in the magic of Christmas. It’s embedded firmly in the contemporary genre of holiday movies like The Santa Clause trilogy, where both children and adults have plenty to keep them entertained.

Perhaps one of the reasons why this song made the countdown is its grown-up appeal, the notions of love and romance heightening at this time of year. I absolutely love the relationship between Buddy and Jove in the movie, one based on kindness, respect, and love. While Buddy never tries to be anybody but himself, Jove takes a little more time to believe in who she is, and to believe that Buddy is genuine. When she does, though, it’s automatic that they will, indeed, live happily ever after as Elf and Wife.

To be yourself. Sincere. Genuine. Kind. Loving. . . . .

The movies may be corny, as might the songs that get wrapped up in them. But their simple messages to us should not be taken lightly. There’s plenty to learn from movies like Elf; we just need to take the time to embrace those lessons and live our lives a little more genuinely, that’s all. It doesn’t matter if the message comes from this movie or It’s A Wonderful Life or even Miracle on 34th Street; the message is the same:

Love yourself, love others, and for goodness sake, believe in the magic of Christmas. :)