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Continued from Page 7 'You see, my job is to the entertainment scene. Besides, write Santa needed the extra space to ex- Scction Two The Canadian Statesman, Bowmanville, Wednesday, December 21,1994 9 ounds of Christmas stay here until the next Christmas or alongside the orchestra and choir of _ the one after that or the one after musical elves. It was time to see Christmas aàrois." And'if Î do say so p^d his toy workshop. By that that. I hope you get the picture. what the distinguished group had to myself, I'm mighty good at it. Have t i mCj th C y wcre working triple shifts "The elves and I will see to it that offer. . you ever noticed how much truly in- ^ sl jn not keeping up. Anyhow, your every whim is indulged. You Obviously, the boss of the Lhnst- the move didn't work. Whereas, we will be well fed and well lodged, mas carol factory set exaebng stan- used to toil year round on hammer- You can have your choice of instru- dards. . ing out our latest lineups of Christ- ments, computers or anything else "Nope," he said, when the choir mas carols, we gave up on all that. I that might help the creative process and orchestra under Sir Hugh had took to sleeping in late and shopping. shopping. I spent most nights at restaurants, restaurants, clubs, theatres and galleries. The elves forgot to practise their singing or their instruments. And spired music is written for Christmas? Christmas? How many carol tunes are instantly instantly recognizable from Cuba to Calcutta? Well, it's all my doing. Oh, you might think those carols were written by Handel or Mendelssohn Mendelssohn or Gruber or "anonymous" or any of the others whose names are on the top of the page. But they are 011 , 61I16 w all mine, I tell you. I wrote the first then, every November or so, we all carol for monks in a cold, stone WO uld sit down and try to write out ly, I suggest you all get to work. 1 • z /-It- T7..« T* <-vei 11 r . ^ M/ïtk illof TllkilfX Ipft thf* Yf along. You can enjoy our tennis sounded their final chord., courts, swimming pools, gymna- "Too sentimental," he said when sium, handball courts. The only Benny Alto conducted a Dixieland thing you cannot do is leave. interpretation of a Christmas theme. "And so, in view of the fact that "Too long. Too boring," he said Christmas is approaching so quick- with a dismissive wave of his hand after Professor Vivace took his turn cloister one Christmas Eve. It only a new piece of Christmas music. But had one note. It was a Gregorian j t * s difficult now. Maybe it's got chant. But, I got better. And, before something to do with the words. I long, I was churning out a block- mea n, the old words were all about buster hit of a Christmas carol al- peace, comfort and joy. The new most every year. It was nothing for wor ds to Christmas are all about me to dash off Silent Night or a few Nintendo and batteries not being inverses inverses to Hark the Herald Angels c luded. Have you any idea how hard With that, Jubilo left the room, at the piano. sing before breakfast. You are going to be the workers in my Christmas Carol factory it is to find something that rhymes with Nintendo....? "Frankly, I haven't had a hit in years. The closest I ever came was that record with the dogs who bark Jingle Bells. "So, ladies and gentlemen, that's where you come in. accompanied by his retinue of dwarfs. And the room buzzed with the conversations of the distinguished distinguished prisoners. Who was this madman? Could this story be possible? possible? I lived at the North Pole next door to Kris Kringle. Very possible, it seemed. In a few days' time, the celebrity f ^ guests started to enjoy their prison. To put it bluntly, you are going They had all the plum pudding and "Not very original," he said to famous famous composer Oscar Allegro, "sounds too much like your last hit musical." "Too loud," he told Axel Brass. "And also boring." It's close, but not close enough," he remarked, when Bella Quaver performed her composition. "Well, child," said Jubilo. "I guess it's up to you, isn't it? Let's hear what our child protege has to offer." A hush fell over the composers and the elves in the orchestra and choir. Nobody had heard a note of what Maria had been writing. She had felt somewhat isolated from the "I lived at the North Pole back then, next door to Kris Kringle. San- ,w 0 --= - ta had his elves working round the to be the workers in my Christmas eggnog they wanted. Every evening, clock on Christmas toys. I, along Carol factory. there was a full-fledged turkey dm- with my elves, worked on Christmas "With this array of talent, there's ner. They watched endless videos of ^lts ' '™ cta mw music. Those were the days!. absolutely no reason why we can't Christmas stones and played every They lamed forward erpectanUy "But then, as time went on, write a brand new Christmas carol variety of Christmas music for mspi- f he ypanted to ne set iree in ume things changed. The winters were that the whole world will be hum- ration. If they wanted phoney snow too cold, the nights were too long. I ming for the next century. And you or cedar garlands to enhance the at- decided to move down here to Los have until Christmas Eye to do it. Angeles where I could be closer to Should you fail, you'll just have to We at BROOKING TRANSPORT wish you and your family a safe and Happy Holiday Season! 281 Liberty St. N. Bowmanville 623-3821 mosphere, all they had to do was ask. The performers and composers seemed to actually enjoy the challenge. challenge. They hummed snatches of ideas to one another. They argued finer points of ascetics around the keyboard. They laughed, they joked. They were having the time of their lives. But not Maria. She chose to stick to herself. She wasn't unhappy for Christmas. "Well, go ahead, what do you have for us?" urged Jubilo. "What have you written?" Maria drew herself up to her full four feet eleven and one-half inches and looked Jubilo in the eye. "Nothing," she said. "Nothing?" roared Jubilo. "Nothing." The boss of the Christmas carol factory was taken aback and Maria used his silence to speak. "Haven't you heard the story about seeing so many legendary about the captive bird that wou d Composers, singers and performers not sing, even if it was placed in a at work. And she learned a lot every golden cage? Well that s what day. But mostly, she remained in you've done. You ve placed a her room where she practised her whole flock of us m this gide scales and studies and composed sad fragments of song that spoke of snow, evergreens, and home. The night before Christmas, the cage. But we are not singing. Some because we cannot and some because because we won't. "And if, Mr. Jubilo, you intend to 1 ilv IlliZIll DClUiC L/IlllblJlIdO) Ulv . • • _ -- • fntufA x/rtn distinguished crowd assembled for a "j* lQok lf ra p, er Dolce Jubilo, flanked by his elf than borrowing it from others. Be- entourage, took the place of honor cause, of all of us birds in this gild ed cage, I happen to think you are the biggest and fattest bird of all. You're just as much a captive as all the rest of us." "In fact, I suggest that if you want to write another hit Christmas song, you had better get out of this expensive mansion, stop the shopping shopping sprees, sell the Ferrari and pack up your elves and move back home to the North Pole And, as far as I'm concerned, you can capture an entire cathedral full of Christmas composite composite room was deafeningly silent. And, then, there was a knock on the door. ers and they won't solve your problems. problems. Do you think it is a coincidence coincidence that ever since you moved here, the Christmas music has stopped? It's no coincidence. Nor is it a coincidence that the more Christmas merchandise is sold, the fewer Christmas carols are written. There are no new Christmas carols because there are too many new Christmas trinkets. It's a simple matter of Christmas greed crowding out the Christmas spirit. And so, the music stops. And as for me, I want to go home to my mom and my cat and, yes, even my little brother. Please let us go." The room was deafeningly silent. And then, there was a knock on the door. Good, thought Maria. It's the police. police. They got my message in the bottle. Or maybe it's the army come to rescue us. Or, maÿbe it's the police and the army. Maria opened her eyes. She was wrong. It was neither the police nor the army. It was her mother. "I thought I should wake you," her mom explained. "I knew you'd want to have time to practise." Maria blinked back the sleep. "I've had the strangest dream," she mused."So odd. So bizarre." "It would make a great Christmas musical," Maria thought to herself. And she reached for some blank music manuscript paper. "Send Help," she began. "I've been kidnapped and am being held hostage in a Christmas carol factory." factory." WeWish You A Merry Christmas! May the love of home and family be a special gift to treasure throughout the season. John and Steve Harmer BOWMANVILLE SAND & GRAVEL R R #4 Bowmanville 263-2261 Together we pray for a world filled with peace and joy. Dan and Adrian Holkema and staff of Skylight gbonuts V in Bowmanville at 87 King St. E. Baseline and Waverley Baseline Rd. and Liberty St. Orono, Hwy. 115 and Cobourg