The essay was written in invisible ink — the soybean extract. The words only appeared when the paper was heated over a gas stove. (Haga did give the teacher a note, written in regular ink, telling him to heat the paper on which the essay was written.) The professor gave Haga an A without even reading the whole essay.

Crows have been observed stealing lit cigarette from ashtrays and wafting the smoke through their feathers to kill parasites.

And smaller bird species have been seen stealing anti-bird spikes from buildings and putting them in their nests like little palisade walls against other birds and predators. The smaller birds can get through the spikes easily, but it makes it more difficult for a predator like a hawk or a rat to get into the nest.

Gone On Vacation: Endless Summer has won her first award, following in her big sister’s footsteps. It’s not huge, but I’ve got an Honorable Mention in the BooksShelf Awards. (I’m in the top five, so that’s something.)

Now go out there and boot 2025 out the door, and hope that 2026 is better behaved when it comes in!

Maxine Menster’s family traditions included baking cookies during the holiday season. She lived in rural Iowa, and some of her favorite memories were made in the kitchen. Every Christmas Eve, the home would be filled with the sweet scent of baking cookies. Then the treats would be hung on the tree as decorations. The next morning, everyone would enjoy the festive breakfast. “Every year, Mom would talk about how it was such a wonderful thing to wake up on Christmas morning and have those cookies on the tree,” says Maxine’s daughter, Jane Menster.

So when Maxine passed away in 1994, her family decided to honor that tradition in stone. Maxine had shared cookies on Christmas with generations of loved ones: children, then grandchildren. And now, anyone who visits Maxine can also enjoy her recipe. It’s carved on her gravestone, to carry on her sweet legacy. Maxine Menster is buried in Cascade Community Cemetery in Cascade, Iowa.

She was the Ice Cream Blonde, a firecracker of an actress in the golden age of movies. But Thelma Todd’s success came at a price, and her cheerful nature hid a backstory of struggle and strife. Also in this episode, William Terriss was the toast of the London theater scene in the late nineteenth century. Famed and feted, the actor was at the height of his career when he was murdered by a jealous bit player. And, sadly, it was all over a miscommunication. Find out more in this riveting episode of Grave Deeds and Dead Plots. https://www.voyagemedia.fm/show/grave-deeds-and-dead-plots/shows-5/

Based on the series Grave Deeds and Dead Plots, by Sylvia Shults (Bookshop link: https://bookshop.org/p/books/grave-deeds-and-dead-plots-sylvia-shults/18714132?ean=9781637897645, Amazon link: https://www.amazon.com/Grave-Deeds-Plots-Sylvia-Shults/dp/1637897642/ref=monarch_sidesheet)

Irish Cream

3 eggs

1/4 teaspoon each vanilla and almond extract

1 can sweetened condensed milk

1 1/2 cup half and half

1 1/2 Tablespoon chocolate syrup

1 cup whiskey

Mix briefly after adding each ingredient. (You can make this in a bowl for ease of beating the eggs in the first place, then add the other ingredients.) After adding the whiskey, beat on medium for about two minutes. Refrigerate overnight. Lasts for two to three weeks in the fridge.

The kallikantzaroi are Greek demons who can vary in appearance. Sometimes they are described as gigantic hairy demons with a pair of horse legs and boar tusks, and at other times they are just described as small black Satanic-looking imps. They are said to eat frogs and other adorable woodland creatures.

According to Greek folklore, the kallikantzaroi spend most of the year living underground, sawing at the trunk of the World Tree. The World Tree’s trunk connects the earth to the heavens, and keeps the heavens from crashing down onto the earth. In other words, the kallikantzaroi spend all year long trying to destroy the world.

They are usually nearly finished on Christmas Eve, but they are allowed to come up to the earth’s surface during the twelve days of Christmas. So at dawn on Christmas Day, the goblins come topside and wreak all kinds of havoc, mayhem, and murder (if they can get away with it). Fortunately for the world’s continued existence, the damaged trunk of the World Tree heals itself completely during the time the demons are away on the surface. On January 6, the demons return to the underworld and start their destruction of the tree trunk once more.

Any child born within the twelve days of Christmas ran the risk, when reaching adulthood, of turning into a kallikantzaros themselves. The antidote for this was to swaddle the baby in wisps of straw or braids of garlic, and to singe the child’s toenails.

Fortunately, there are ways to protect yourself against the kallikantzaroi. One is to leave a Yule log burning for all twelve days of Christmas, so the demons can’t enter your house through the chimney. Another method is to toss a pair of smelly old shoes onto a fire. The stink of burning sweat and shoe leather repels the demons, possibly because it reminds them of the stink of the underworld.

Another way to protect yourself against a murderous kallikantzaros is to leave a colander on your doorstep. A kallikantzaros can’t count above two. Because three is a holy number, pronouncing it will make the demon explode. So it sits on the doorstep all night, trying in vain to count the holes in the colander, and completely forgetting that it wanted to get into your house to kill you. (Excerpted from Spirits of Christmas: The Dark Side of the Holidays, by Sylvia Shults)

But by the seventeenth century, the Irish were killing wrens at Christmas. This was also a custom in the British Isles and in the south of France. Teenage boys would carry a holly-bush with bunches of dead birds and colorful ribbons tied to it from house to house, displaying their grisly trophies and asking for money. Later, the dead bird was carried in a box, and the “wren-boys” would put on small skits or mock combats for the entertainment of their audiences. This custom continued through the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Most of the time, the tiny corpse was carried around and displayed on a ribbon-bedecked bier, but in England by the nineteenth century, the hunters had switched to putting the wrens alive into a box. The box, too, was festively decorated, with colored paper or ribbons hung from the top, two candles at the sides, and glass windows at either end so the captive birds could be viewed. This box was slung between two poles, and carried around to accompany the carolers. This method of capturing the birds alive took more skill, and meant that the birds could be released, safe and sound, after Christmas.

Wren-hunting, along with caroling and wassailing, was one of several ritual reversals carried on by working-class people in the seventeenth through nineteenth centuries. Much earlier than that, though, members of higher social classes were getting up to their own Christmas shenanigans. And some took it, well, a little too far.

Most of the records we have of the medieval period in Europe come down to us from the church, as priests and monks were generally the record-keepers of the time. By the twelfth century, some of the clergy in France had developed a Christmas celebration that evoked the pagan merrymaking of ancient Saturnalia. They called it the Feast of Fools, or Asses, or Sub-deacons, and it spread rapidly from France into Flanders and then to England.

The point of this, originally, was for the higher-ranking clergy to practice humility by letting the lower orders lead the worship services at New Year’s. Soon, though, it evolved into a general Christmastime celebration, with the rites being changed to suit the burlesque revelry. As early as 1236 and 1238 Robert Grosseteste, bishop of Lincoln, had to issue an edict forbidding his clergy to completely upend the order of worship—they were pretending to worship demons.

In 1333 John de Grandisson, bishop of Exeter, began a thirty-year campaign to abolish the Feast of Fools at his cathedral. Apparently, the lower clergy talked the choirboys into throwing mud at each other during services on the three holy days after Christmas. The congregation loved it—they “dissolved into disorderly laughter and illicit mirth”–but the bishop was not amused. By the early fifteenth century, the practice was no longer tolerated.

There was, however, a much more endearing tradition; the choosing of the boy bishop. In the early tenth century in Germany, the junior clergy and assistants of cathedrals were recognized and honored by being allowed to hold procession on the three holy days after Christmas; deacons on St. Stephen’s Day, priests on St. John’s Day, and choirboys on the feast day of the Holy Innocents, the children slaughtered by Herod’s men in their search for the infant Jesus. This spread quickly to France and England, and remained a custom throughout the Middle Ages. In the twelfth century, the cult of St. Nicholas of Myra, patron saint of children, became popular in western Europe, and this reinforced the popularity of the tradition of the “feast of boys”.

The “boy bishop” was chosen by the choirboys, being one of them. He had to be good-looking, with a fine singing voice. The “boy bishop” was dressed in a jeweled mitre and velvet vestments embroidered with gold. He and his retinue paraded around the town collecting alms in return for singing at monasteries, convents, and the houses of nobles. Sometimes, the money collected was donated to the boys’ school. In other areas, the boy was allowed to keep whatever money was left after the cost of providing a large supper for his mates on the feast day of the Holy Innocents. (Excerpted from Spirits of Christmas: The Dark Side of the Holidays, by Sylvia Shults)

As far back as the 17th century, bakeries were producing little cakes and crackers shaped like animals. Archaeologists theorize that in ancient times, people who were too poor to afford to buy real live animals for sacrificing to the gods made do with a baked substitute. (If you really wanted to stretch, you could point out that modern cultures, like the Hindu religion, still do this today. Cakes in shape of animals are used in ceremonies instead of sacrificing real goats. It’s kinder to the animals, way less messy, and keeps the animal-rights folks happy.)

In 1871, the Stauffer Biscuit Company in New York led the way by introducing baked crackers in the shape of animals. These quirky confections soon became popular, because they were just plain fun. Later, in 1902, the National Biscuit Company, or Nabisco (the company behind Oreo cookies), revolutionized the animal cracker industry with the launch of Barnum’s Animals. These animal-shaped crackers were named after the famous circus showman, P.T. Barnum, and came in a rectangular box designed to resemble the circus train cars used to transport animals.

The packaging came with a nifty marketing strategy built right in. There was a string handle glued to the top of each box, which made it perfect for hanging them on Christmas trees. This clever concept was a marketing strategy that made animal crackers popular during the Christmas season. Early versions of Nabisco’s animal crackers typically featured only a few animal types, such as lions, elephants, bears, camels, and others. However, in 1948, the company added new animal species, and in 2002, they added a koala to celebrate the 100th anniversary of Barnum’s Animals. Currently, Nabisco offers a remarkable 37 different animal shapes, including tigers, cougars, rhinoceroses, kangaroos, hippopotamuses, cows, bison, hyenas, zebras, sheep, gorillas, monkeys, seals, and giraffes.

The original boxes, as well as being reminiscent of circus cars, also depicted the animals behind bars, in cages. Modern sentiments have changed, though, and in 2020, Nabisco changed the design to depict animals roaming freely in grasslands, replacing the previous images of caged animals. This was a response to animal rights groups and changing societal attitudes regarding animal welfare. The new box perfectly reflects that our society no longer tolerates animals being confined in cages.

So the next time you bite the head off a camel, take a moment to look at the package your cookies came in, and reflect on the freedom and change that picture represents. We’ve lost the cool Christmas ornament, and the circus vibe of the animal cracker box. But maybe we’ve learned to be a little kinder to the creatures we share the planet with.

Lights Out 2022: Smee. In this episode, we’ll hear a reading of “Smee”, a short story by A. M. Burrage from 1931. Burrage brings the spooky with this ghostly tale. Merry Christmas!

Here’s a little present from me to you: a reading of A Visit From Saint Nicholas.

https://five.libsyn.com/show/episodes/view/29097618 The tragic disappearance of the Sodder children, on Christmas Eve 1945, began in flames and ended in enduring mystery. How could five children simply vanish from their bedrooms without a trace? The unsolved mystery continues to haunt West Virginia today.

Saturnalia and Kalendae were both well-loved Roman holidays. At Saturnalia, slaves were allowed the run of the house, and masters were obliged to serve them. And Kalendae marked new beginnings.

The fourth-century writer Libanius had this to say about the celebrations: “The Feast of the Kalendae is honored as far as the Roman Empire stretches … Everywhere is singing and feasting; the rich enjoy luxury but the poor also set better food than usual upon their tables. The desire to spend money grips everybody … People are not merely bountiful to themselves but to their fellow humans. A stream of presents pours itself out on all sides … The Kalendae bring all work to a halt, and allow humans to surrender themselves to pure pleasure.”

Saturnalia was just one of the many holidays that made up the Roman calendar, but it was one of the biggest. The lower classes looked forward to the role reversal that came at the turning of the year. Household slaves, especially, jumped at the chance to be in charge for a while, to be served by their master and mistress.

One of the foods served at celebrations, including Saturnalia, was a cake called satura, a very dense confection made with barley, honey, wine, and dried fruits. (Dense, sweet, made with dried fruit … yeah, you got it. The Romans gave the world the first holiday fruitcake. You’re welcome.) Another food that might have found its way to an ancient Roman table at a party was globi, or a very early form of cheesecake bites. Cato the Elder gives us the recipe in his book De Agri Cultura: “Recipe for globi: Mix the cheese and spelt in the same way, sufficient to make the number desired. Pour lard into a hot copper vessel, and fry one or two at a time, turning them frequently with two rods, and remove when done. Spread with honey, sprinkle with poppy-seed, and serve.”

A modern version of this recipe can be found in Max Miller’s excellent book, Tasting History.

1 cup and 1 Tablespoon spelt, durum, or other whole-wheat flour

1 cup ricotta cheese

1 teaspoon sea salt

1 quart olive oil

1/3 cup honey

1 Tablespoon poppy seeds

1. Mix the flour, cheese, and salt in a large bowl until well combined.
2. Form the muxture into balls 1 inch across. This recipe should make 20 to 24 balls.
3. Pour the oil into a medium pan and place over high heat until it reaches 325 degrees.
4. Once the oil reaches the desired temperature, turn the heat down to medium and carefully place two to three balls into the hot oil at a time, turning every 10 to 15 seconds with metal tongs. at 60 seconds, check the color. Once they are golden brown (60 to 90 seconds) take them out and set them on a wire rack over paper towels to drain. Repeat until all of the globi are fried.
5. Once the globi are drained, dip them in honey. Then sprinkle them with poppy seeds and serve warm.

I grew up surrounded by books (lucky me!!!). When I was in fifth grade, I discovered a book at my grandmother’s house called Mysterious New England. I blame this book in part for encouraging my childhood obsession with the weird and strange.

One of the stories in the book that has stayed with me all these years is the tale of the Vermont Resurrections. In the 1880s, a man wrote in to a Vermont newspaper to tell a tale he’d found in his uncle’s diary.

The uncle had been invited to a cabin deep in the Vermont woods to witness a strange and shocking process. Six people — two women, four men — were going to be frozen alive.

One of the men was young, only about thirty, but was crippled. The other five people were elderly. All six of them were given some sort of drugged drink. When they were knocked out, they were undressed down to their underclothes, and taken outside and placed on wooden boards. There, as the winter night fell and the hours dragged past, they were allowed to freeze. Their limbs stiffened, and their faces, hands and feet turned waxy. When they were considered ready, they were buried in a deep pit and covered with straw, then branches to keep out predators. The people overseeing this process encouraged the narrator to come back in May, when the frozen corpses would be brought back to life.

The narrator was appalled at this, but he couldn’t stay away. The next spring, he came back. The bodies had been dug up and placed in tubs full of warm water. After several hours, color began to seep back into the waxen faces, and one by one, the people blinked, sat up, and looked around. They seemed none the worse for wear — refreshed, in fact, by their long winter’s nap.

Do you call shenanigans on this story? It seems crazy, too strange to be true. I read it as an impressionable fifth-grader who wanted to believe. There were strange things afoot in the New England woods in the nineteenth century. Was this just a tall tale? Or did six people actually sleep the Vermont winter away under twenty feet of snow?

Find more tales of winter weirdness in Spirits of Christmas: The Dark Side of the Holidays, available online at Barnes and Noble and Amazon, and at fine booksellers everywhere.

Some of his duties as a combat engineer in the European theater included helping to build bridges that swung out over a river or creek, bridges strong enough to drive a tank across. One dark night, Brooks was in the middle of putting one of these bridges together when he heard Nazi soldiers singing somewhere on the other side of the river.

“The ja, ja at the end of each phrase was a dead giveaway,” Brooks writes in his autobiography All About Me! My Remarkable Life in Show Business. He thought the singing was terrible, so he grabbed a huge bullhorn, went to the bank of the river, and started belting out minstrel tunes by the Jewish singer Al Jolson.

“If you’ll excuse my saying so,” the cab driver replied, “the lapels of your coat look as if they had been grabbed by New York reporters, your hair looks as if it had been cut in Philadelphia, your hat looks as if you had to stand your ground in Chicago, and your right shoe has evident Buffalo mud in the instep, and — and –“

“And what?” the author asked.

“Well, I saw ‘Conan Doyle’ in big white letters on your trunk.”