Why the ringing, tolling and chiming bells?

There are a few memories from my childhood that vibrantly stand out. One of them is the chiming wall clock that hung in the living room of my best friend’s house. I was so envious of that clock, which chimed every 15 minutes.

However, when it sounded on the hour, you would hear four full lines of a highly-dignified chimes song, followed by a single chime sounding the number of times for the hour represented. The whole thing seemed impressive to me, and I’d briefly consider standing at attention and saluting the clock as it sounded bigger than life.

I coveted that clock, but probably would have settled for one similar to it. But why? Good question. For one, it stood out as very European and sophisticated for a clock hanging out in our country, where a neighbor had a Betty Boop clock and another friend a wall timepiece that had been fashioned out of a frying pan with silver plastic numbers marking the hours. For another thing, its around-the-clock chiming kept a person ever-alert to the passage of time, which otherwise tends to be overlooked.

Maybe the real question is why was (and is) around-the-clock awareness of time so all-fired important to me? I used to love watching the opening of my grandmother’s favorite soap opera, “Days of Our Lives” – with MacDonald Carey intoning, “Like Sands through the hourglass – so are the days of our lives.”

That dramatic phrase and hourglass visual had a major effect upon me. Hourglass sands, like the clock chimes, ingrained that our day days here on Earth are finite and we need to make them count – especially when there are people I knew and loved who appeared to have been shorted the same opportunity. The death of a cousin in Vietnam at age 19 and later my dad at 57 left indelible impressions on me.

Whenever I stayed at my best friend’s house, the sound of the clock chimes had an energizing effect, reminding me to make something of myself and to leave the world a better place than I’d found it. Doing something spectacular, or everything at once wasn’t required, but doing something at once was imperative. For whom did those bells ring or toll? Not for me and my gal, but more specifically for me!

About the time I was youthfully considering how I might best contribute to the world, I was assigned a piece by my piano teacher that bore the word “chimes” in the title and involved a variation on the familiar chimes melody I’d long heard at my friend’s house.

I vaguely recollect there were lyrics under the notes because I somehow got it into my head the chimes were asking, “What do they say? The time of day. What do they say? The time of day”, followed by a number of chimes. From then on, whenever I heard that chimes played in real life, on television, online or at the movies, I would mentally interject those simplistic lyrics.

You can imagine my surprise 50 years later when I was up in the middle of the night, channel surfing, and happened upon a documentary that labeled the familiar chiming clock melody as the “Westminster Chimes.” Well, duh! As a musician, it’s amazing I hadn’t before connected that name to the chimes. But obviously, a person can remain ignorant for a half-century or better.

To further my surprise, a man interviewed for the documentary (whose name escapes) recited a prayer he purported was the lyrics to the chimes: “Lord through this hour, be Thou our guide. So by Thy power, no foot shall slide.”

Interesting and validating. Back as a kid, I had intuitively sensed there was more to the chimes than simply providing the time. They reminded listeners of the firm foundation and guidance available from God by request. But you first had to give Him the time of day.

To this day, I go to sleep each night wearing a lighted watch, with a lighted, battery-operated alarm clock on my nightstand and a wall clock that’s illuminated by a small lamp. Five decades later, their reminder remains the same: be useful, not ignorant, during your waking hours.

Hallmark channel hits the right holiday spot

When I was a kid, Hallmark wasn’t yet the empire it has become in recent years. I basically remember it as sponsor of the “Hallmark Hall of Fame” television specials and a brand of greeting cards that were nicer than most. You know the tagline: “When you care enough to send the very best.”

As many of us grew up and out, Hallmark also expanded its girth. Over the past several decades, the brand has increased its product offerings and reach to the point it even has its own television channel.

I had never paid attention to the Hallmark channel other than hearing it occasionally mentioned in conversation and noting it in passing as I flipped through other channels to get to one of the news or documentary channels that typically constitute my television viewership. But during the three-and-a-half years my mother was in a nursing home, Hallmark seemed to be the channel everyone was watching.

The Hallmark channel’s stock and trade, Hallmark-made movies, officially came onto my radar when Mom’s roommate abruptly stopped chatting with us one night when I was visiting. She said she needed to excuse herself from the conversation because she’d been waiting all week to see a particular Hallmark movie. She donned a headset so as to not disturb us and watched away.

Looking past my mom, I caught glimpses of the then-silent action on the television. It appeared to be some kind of Harlequin romance-esque, formulaic, girl-meets-boy story that was fairly predictable and sported a trademark happy ending. Think Cinnabon cinema with extra sugar. However, it seemed to be just the ticket to watch for anyone who was living in a place other than their own home and could use a daily dose of extra positivity, for Hallmark movies always deliver – something I have since learned for myself.

I became confused during my next visit when I saw on my mom’s roommate’s television the same actress who’d appeared in the previous rom-com movie. I thought it was the same movie being replayed, but then the actress held hands with a different handsome leading man. What?! My mom’s roommate laughingly explained the woman was part of a stable of Hallmark performers who’ve appeared in multiple movies. This was a completely different flick from the one on TV the previous visit.

This fall, I found myself home alone on a Saturday night and feeling more than a little sorry for myself. Too lazy to get up and express my feelings, perhaps through playing my piano rendition of “Saturday Night is the Loneliest Night of the Week”, I instead curled up in a blanket on the couch and channel-surfed. I reached the Hallmark channel just as a movie was starting, so I stopped and watched all the way through the happy ending.

The plot involved a woman who was transitioning from a stifling job to one that was more personally fulfilling. It spoke to me, or maybe it was my cup of hot tea or the puppies on my lap talking, but I found myself significantly cheered by its sappiness. I must have needed it, so I prescribed myself the feel good medicine of taking a time-out and watching a Hallmark movie PRN.

Silly as it sounds, the movie-watching has been uplifting and safer and cheaper than the cannabis and/or anti-depressants some people would recommend. Being me, I had to analyze just what it is about Hallmark movies that have a positive effect on a person’s well-being.

First, I think the repetitive movie plot formula represents some much-needed consistency in an increasingly unpredictable world. Second, the extent to which the main characters get physical is kissing (which usually gets interrupted by whatever crisis the writer of the production has used to raise the stakes) and with all their clothing still on, which provides a major infusion of wholesomeness that’s sadly-absent in today’s world.

Additionally, in a culture with rampant social problems, it’s very satisfying to watch two good-looking, but flawed people resolve community issues (such as saving a small-town tradition or a historic property from demolition by greedy developers) and relational angst within just two hours. How will my Hallmark channel exposure play out long-term? Stay tuned.

In rare form from filling out too many forms

When I purchased my first personal computer (PC) back in 1991 (before PC meant “politically correct”), I was genuinely looking forward to riding the associated trend of increased productivity all the way to a paperless society.

So much for that idea. Not only are we still not paperless, but I swear we’ve become even more paper intensive, with the exception of the newspaper industry, where print editions continue to vanish.

Along that line of thinking, something I would much rather have vanish, or at least be banished, from my world (and other people’s worlds, too!) is forms of all kinds. I have grown sick to death of having to fill in the blanks about myself, my history, my body and my life. It’s a nauseating and time-consuming activity. Plus one never knows for certain where the information so forcibly demanded will end up.

I have serious doubts if anyone, except possibly IRS auditors, actually reads what I write in the blanks of all these forms. Yet the blanks remain there, staring at me, awaiting completion. Sometimes I just ignore them all or pick and choose which I will complete. That’s a decent strategy until I run into blanks online that must be completed before I can get to the next screen. Oh, how I hate that!

In recent years, I have had the unadulterated delight of getting to complete an excessive number of forms, ranging from Medicaid packets, to college financial aid forms for my kids, my family life educator periodic credential renewal packet, estate- and trust-related forms to claim assets, probate court paperwork, life insurance claim forms for clients, tricky job applications for myself and others, and a whole host of medical forms related to my daughter’s and my own illnesses, down to rebate forms for products purchased.

My son just got a taste of the form action through the joyful experience of completing a 42-page job application. Lucky us!

Obviously, I’m being sarcastic in describing form completion as a delight. Better descriptors are that it’s often overwhelming and frequently unnecessary and overkill. I’ve encountered many forms where it seems like they just ask you questions for something to do and because they can. That approach isn’t helpful.

And then there are the forms, themselves. There’s nothing more annoying, especially with hand-completed forms, when the space provided is too small for your answer. Ever tried writing all 12 digits of your driver’s license number in a half-inch space, or your email in a similarly tiny slot?

There’s also the issue of clarity within context on a form. Sometimes you can’t tell what they’re talking about and there’s no directions accompanying the form. Where it asks the name of the provider on the medical reimbursement claim form, are you supposed to write in the name of the medical practice or the name of the physician from that practice that performed the service? That kind of thing is maddening.

Another area of annoyance is forms that are meant to help fund-raise, but don’t include what entity to which you should write your check. And that’s only half the battle. On the heels of that gaffe, it’s common for the same form to neglect to say where to send the donation you’re trying to make.

Conversely, I just finished completing dental reimbursement claim forms for the third time, having been given no fewer than three addresses where the claim had to be sent to be processed. Honestly! It leaves me wondering if this company is stupid, unorganized and inefficient or if this is part of their shtick to make reimbursement difficult so I’ll give up. I’d love to ask them, but get put on permanent hold every time I call their customer service line. What I do know is they were efficient as hell at processing my insurance premiums. Go figure!

If I’m left this frustrated, I’ve got to wonder what the forms experience is like for people who are less literate or who have cognitive impairments. I’m guessing they give up, even when it’s not really an option. I’d fill out a complaint form regarding this kind of crap, but that’s one form the forms-requiring people seem consistently to be without.

Data adds up for ‘The 12 Days of Christmas’

It’s the most wonderful time of year to be a pianist, for Christmas is when we get to haul out the holiday songs, Christmas carols and hymns for the four to five weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas. And while the general public hasn’t been on the same page for years with lyrics to other songs, there is considerable shared knowledge of classic Christmas tune lyrics, ranging from “Silent Night”, to “Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer” and “Feliz Navidad.”

Personally, I prefer the religious Christmas songs sung mostly in church, along with the WWII era secular songs that include “White Christmas”, “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” and “You’re All I Want for Christmas”. Nothing delighted more when a few years back as part of a community Christmas program, my son portrayed a WWII G.I., singing “I’ll Be Home for Christmas”.

Collectively, those songs remind me of family stories of everyone gathering around the radio for music and military news while one of my dad’s brothers and a brother-in-law were serving overseas in the U.S. Army and Navy, respectively, during WWII.

From my own childhood, the Christmas song that stands out most is “The 12 Days of Christmas.” My mother would read to me and my three sisters from a 29-cent 1963 Little Golden Book by that title and would challenge us to sing the 12 verses from memory.

I always did pretty well on lyrics through “seven swans a swimming”, and could recall “eight maids a milking” by contextualizing it with the dairy farm on which we lived. But the number of dancing ladies, leaping lords, piping pipers and drumming drummers would become entangled in my head, making what came out of my mouth a giant lyric crapshoot during the latter one-third of the song.

Of course, at the time I had no idea what I was reading and/or singing was known as “cumulative verse” (see also “There was an Old Lady Who Swallowed a Fly” and “The Old Woman and the Pig”), which Kat Eschner described in her “12 Facts About ‘The 12 Days of Christmas’” (Dec. 18, 2017) article in Smithsonian Magazine.

Other interesting tidbits learned from Eschner were the song first appeared in print in 1780 as a poem within the book Mirth Without Mischief, but the lyrics are likely much older than that and are thought to have originated as some sort of memory game, perhaps played at Christmas season gatherings. The birds featured in the song were fowl that were enjoyed as a part of feasting by folks from earlier eras. Hmm, or perhaps “Mmm”.

The music, composed much later by Frederic Austin, has folk song influences and became popular in 1909.

At crosswalk.com (Dec. 6, 2021), Stories Behind the Greatest Hits of Christmas author Ace Collins shared that although “The 12 Days of Christmas” has been dismissed by some as just a silly song, the verses are heavy with symbolic Christian meaning. For instance, the partridge in a pear tree represents Jesus, the four calling birds are the four gospels and the eight maids a-milking are the eight Beatitudes. That had never occurred to me. I just liked the song because it was fun to sing.

Stemming from my childhood memories and affection for the song, I was happy over the summer when I found at a vintage store (for only three dollars!) an Art Deco set of Christmas tree ornaments representing the “The 12 Days of Christmas”. I purchased them and later a small Christmas tree on which to hang them. Unfortunately, the ornaments are yellow, which made it challenging to find coordinating tree decorations.

On eBay, hundreds of other “The 12 Days of Christmas” ornaments were available. The variety blew me away, running the gamut from wood, to felt, acrylic, needlepoint, ceramic, brass, porcelain, stained glass, egg shells and even oyster shells with images from the song painted on the inside. I was downright overwhelming!

After weighing my options, I ordered a set of 12 two-inch-high “12 Days of Christmas” pewter ornaments. They are sturdy and match my other tree decorations. Interestingly, I can no longer look at them without pondering their hidden Christian messages. Just in time for Christmas. Thanks, Ace Collins.