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The day I left home, 9/12/01

Forgive me if today I blog about something a little more serious, and somewhat less _Flossy, than usual. It was exactly five years ago that I packed everything I owned into a station wagon and left home for good. This is a short piece remembering 9/11's less infamous but for me no less momentous neighbor, 9/12, accompanied by photographs I took along the way.

I had just graduated from college and was preparing to move from my childhood home in Florida all the way to Portland, Oregon. I had never been to Oregon. Its main attraction for me was sheer geographical distance: the route from Florida draws an impressive diagonal straight across this country's broad midsection. I had left home many times before "“ to go to school in Ohio for six months at a stretch, to go abroad for eight "“ but now my leaving meant more, and I wanted the move itself to symbolize that.

I was busy packing the station wagon, my mom fretting over small things, when we heard the news. It was raining fire in three states, and I sat slack-faced before the TV for the rest of the day. I left the next morning, as planned, but the trip had changed somehow; now it seemed like a journey across alien territory, from a home I didn't quite recognize to places uncharted. Was it even safe to travel through cities? It was only 9/12 -- no one was sure. Yet there was nothing I wanted more than just to drive, and feel a sense of forward motion; anything but the paralysis we had endured the day before.

ranch.jpgI took state roads so I could see the countryside. Ohio was a patchwork of little towns quilted together by cornfields, each flying a hundred flags, each with a church signboard exhorting its parishioners to pray. I put in three eighteen-hour days behind the wheel, so that when I stopped to sleep I dreamt only of driving. I felt there was safety in where I was going, but never in where I was, so I didn't stop for more than sleep until I got to Kenyon, my old college. Its bucolic campus had been a comfortable home for four years "“ but now a strange fog had settled. People seemed dizzy. There were kids whose parents were missing, who had driven to New York in the middle of the night, unsure of what they'd find; classes were cancelled, and had given way to vigils. I was a stranger in a community that had turned inward to lick its wounds, and drove away feeling like a vagabond.

I stopped next in Wyoming, to visit a friend who was working on his parents' 2,500 acre ranch in the magestic middle of nowhere. His father raised cattle and his mother pureblooded horses "“ or she had, until Leukemia claimed her life earlier that summer. I helped my friend and his father herd and groom the animals, and despite their reassurances, couldn't help feeling I had intruded on their grief. We talked about my friend's mother only once, walking on a rocky bluff that overlooked the ranch. Sometimes it was easy for him, he said, and sometimes it was really hard. So he had graduated and returned home to find his home gone too.
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The next morning his dad siphoned gas into my tank and I continued on, through the strange deserts of Eastern Washington and Oregon, to Portland by nightfall. At one point while driving alongside Oregon's mile-wide Columbia River and its deep-cut banks of evergreen forest, I teared up, just happy that the most beautiful part of my drive was where I would be living. It had been a journey not only of extraordinary physical distance, but emotional distance as well: simultaneously my ideas of home and country had shifted, and everywhere along the way the people I met had been similarly knocked off-balance. I knew my track could not be retraced; the homes I left along its route would never be as I had known them.

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Bleat Along to Classic Holiday Tunes With This Goat Christmas Album
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Feeling a little Grinchy this month? The Sweden branch of ActionAid, an international charity dedicated to fighting global poverty, wants to goat—errr ... goad—you into the Christmas spirit with their animal-focused holiday album: All I Want for Christmas is a Goat.

Fittingly, it features the shriek-filled vocal stylings of a group of festive farm animals bleating out classics like “Jingle Bells,” “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer,” and “O Come All Ye Faithful.” The recording may sound like a silly novelty release, but there's a serious cause behind it: It’s intended to remind listeners how the animals benefit impoverished communities. Goats can live in arid nations that are too dry for farming, and they provide their owners with milk and wool. In fact, the only thing they can't seem to do is, well, sing. 

You can purchase All I Want for Christmas is a Goat on iTunes and Spotify, or listen to a few songs from its eight-track selection below.

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What Are the 12 Days of Christmas?
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Everyone knows to expect a partridge in a pear tree from your true love on the first day of Christmas ... But when is the first day of Christmas?

You'd think that the 12 days of Christmas would lead up to the big day—that's how countdowns work, as any year-end list would illustrate—but in Western Christianity, "Christmas" actually begins on December 25th and ends on January 5th. According to liturgy, the 12 days signify the time in between the birth of Christ and the night before Epiphany, which is the day the Magi visited bearing gifts. This is also called "Twelfth Night." (Epiphany is marked in most Western Christian traditions as happening on January 6th, and in some countries, the 12 days begin on December 26th.)

As for the ubiquitous song, it is said to be French in origin and was first printed in England in 1780. Rumors spread that it was a coded guide for Catholics who had to study their faith in secret in 16th-century England when Catholicism was against the law. According to the Christian Resource Institute, the legend is that "The 'true love' mentioned in the song is not an earthly suitor, but refers to God Himself. The 'me' who receives the presents refers to every baptized person who is part of the Christian Faith. Each of the 'days' represents some aspect of the Christian Faith that was important for children to learn."

In debunking that story, Snopes excerpted a 1998 email that lists what each object in the song supposedly symbolizes:

2 Turtle Doves = the Old and New Testaments
3 French Hens = Faith, Hope and Charity, the Theological Virtues
4 Calling Birds = the Four Gospels and/or the Four Evangelists
5 Golden Rings = the first Five Books of the Old Testament, the "Pentateuch", which gives the history of man's fall from grace.
6 Geese A-laying = the six days of creation
7 Swans A-swimming = the seven gifts of the Holy Spirit, the seven sacraments
8 Maids A-milking = the eight beatitudes
9 Ladies Dancing = the nine Fruits of the Holy Spirit
10 Lords A-leaping = the ten commandments
11 Pipers Piping = the eleven faithful apostles
12 Drummers Drumming = the twelve points of doctrine in the Apostle's Creed

There is pretty much no historical evidence pointing to the song's secret history, although the arguments for the legend are compelling. In all likelihood, the song's "code" was invented retroactively.

Hidden meaning or not, one thing is definitely certain: You have "The Twelve Days of Christmas" stuck in your head right now.

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