Left, wire ornament detail. Center, antique buff pink baubles. Right, bent metallic chenille stems.
This unique moon themed, Christmas wreath was designed, assembled and gifted by my older daughter for her younger sister last year. She collected antique glass baubles and beads to wire into a tinsel wreath that I purchased from a dollar store. She also purchased the moon ornament online and framed it with chenille stems.
Below are a few nativity sketches that children may work from while sculpting their own religious figures from paper clay or even salt dough. Included in these sketches are Mary, the baby Jesus, a flower, Sarah mother of John the baptist, the three wise men with gifts, and two baby lambs one standing and the other reclining. Use either watercolors or acrylics to paint figures like these and then seal them with three clear coats of acrylic spray or Mod Podge. Let the figures dry completely between coating. Store them in cookie tins to prevent mice or insects from chewing on figures for nesting materials.
Arrange the figures on a wooden platform. Add clay trees and plants. Construct the barn from a cardboard box or scrap wood. Use the illustration above as a guide.
Mini Demonstration of sculpting a simple clay
nativity by YAS ClayCommunity.
Once you've played around with clay to make a little nativity scene,
try drawing a Christmas camel or even an entire caravan!
Left, "Let's use a triangle this time, cut by some straight and slanting lines." Center, "A hump up here, two legs below, and up on top a figure---so!" Right, "Then if you draw your lines quite true, a Christmas camel comes in view."
animated Nativity
Did You Know?
The accounts of the Nativity of Jesus in the New Testament appear in two of the four Canonical Gospels, namely the Gospel of Luke and the Gospel of Matthew. Luke's story takes place mostly before the birth of Jesus and centers on Mary, while Matthew's story takes place mostly after the birth of Jesus and centers on Joseph.The two other canonical gospels, the Gospel of Mark and the Gospel of John, begin their narratives of Jesus' life in his adulthood; both mention him coming out of Galilee,and John mentions the name of Jesus' father, but neither John nor Mark gives any other details of his life prior to adulthood.
The betrothal of Joseph and Mary, and the birth of Jesus in Bethlehem appear in both Matthew and Luke. Many events in the Luke account are not in the Gospel of Matthew, - for example, the trip from Nazareth to Bethlehem - and others appear only in Matthew, such as the Flight to Egypt.
The Nativity accounts in the New Testament are generally viewed as ending with finding Jesus in the temple several years later, after the family has returned to Galilee.
Christmas morning long ago. The children playing parlor games near the Christmas tree.
Christmas never brings San Francisco children any snow. Santa Claus has to leave his sleigh and reindeer behind him in the muddy roads, and take to his good stout legs in order to bring the little San Franciscans their toys and sweet- meats. Jack Frost makes few calls and very short stops, so that the boys and girls who live in the sunshine that rests upon the Golden Gate find it hard to understand the Eastern tradition of Christmas cold and Christmas snows. The fields and forests in their pure white robes, the cold star-lit heavens at night, the noon-day sun sparkling in a million tiny ice-crystals, the merry skaters on the frozen lake or river, the sleds hurtling down the long coast, the jingling sleigh bells, the images and forts and caves our young builders construct out of the thawing snow, - all these the San Francisco boy has never known.
It occasionally happens that a sudden snowfall on the mountains on the opposite side of the bay robes Monte Diablo and her sister ranges in a shimmering white veil, and the whole population of the city looks eagerly across the water at the novel and beautiful spectacle. And, once, years ago, a genuine snow-storm swept over San Francisco and made its people, young and old, wild with excitement and glee. It was comical to see staid old merchants and other grown-ups rush out, grasp handfuls of the frosty mixture and pelt each other with it, frolicking like a lot of New England schoolboys, while the San Francisco children, at first astonished and half-afraid at the unfamiliar sight, soon caught the contagion of the hour, and entered with enthusiasm into what would probably be their only opportunity to know the joys of a real winter. With shouts and laughter the boys tumbled about in the snow, improvised sleds, piled up mimic forts, pelted each other and the passers-by; in short, behaved much like the children of more frigid latitudes. The girls were quite as excited as the boys, romping and shouting in their glee, and snow-balling each other and their friends. The few workers who ventured out had a hard time of it. They were pelted and rolled in the snow-drifts until they looked more like Eskimos than Celestials.
But this was one experience in a life-time for a San Francisco child. In all its recorded history since the white man became a dweller by the Golden Gate this was the only occasion when a real snow-storm visited it, while it has never known a snowy Christmas. In December as in mid-summer the rose-bushes are covered with blossoms white and red, the climbing fuchsias swing their purple bells, smilax, heliotrope, geranium and calla lilies bloom in the garden. The poet E. R. Sill, looking at the floral loveliness of such a winter from his Berkeley windows fronting the Golden Gate, sings his wonder:
"Can this be Christmas? - Sweet as May,
With drowsy sun and dreamy air,
And new grass pointing out the way
For flowers to follow everywhere.
O wondrous gift, in goodness given,
Each hour anew our eyes to greet,
An earth so fair - so close to Heaven,
'Twas trodden by the Master's feet."
Once upon a time, a number of us, teachers in the Pilgrim Sunday-school of San Francisco, sat in conference and planned our coming Christmas festival. We had some four hundred children to provide for; as bright and happy a lot as ever were gathered within a Sunday-school.
Every year, a great Christmas festival was held in a public hall, to which the children and their friends were invited, and the proceeds of which paid nearly the entire expenses of the school for the ensuing year. We had about completed our arrangements. The tree, the gifts, the music, the tableaux, the addresses, the supper, all had been assigned to efficient committees. Only one feature remained for discussion, - the proper entrance and introduction of Santa Claus, who had never yet failed to appear at our feast. We had well-nigh exhausted, in previous years, the various possible methods of introducing the good old saint. One year, we had him pop up suddenly through a trap door on the stage; once, he came tumbling down a great chimney-piece; and, once again, he arrived just in the nick of time, and stood waving us a welcome high above our heads, from whence he climbed down nimbly on a rope, hand under hand, to the screaming delight of the children, but to the serious derangement of his pack and his stomach. But, now, we were at an end with our devices.
"I have it!" said Fred Gummer. "Let's stick to the old tradition, and have him dragged into the hall in a sleigh drawn by deer."
"But you forget," rejoined our wise-headed and devoted superintendent, Horace Davis, smiling behind his glasses, - "you forget that Santa always leaves his turn-out behind him, and trudges to San Francisco on foot."
"Very true," answered Fred; "but I know a mountaineer who has just brought to town two live deer. They are quite tame, and we can obtain their use for the evening. A neat sleigh, with little rollers hidden under the runners, can be built, and fitted up with buffalo robes, bells, etc.; thus equipped, Kriss Kringle can for once enter the hall in a state becoming his dignity."
All declared this to be a capital suggestion, and it was at once adopted.
"Now, if we could only arrange as easily for a snow-storm that evening," said Elizabeth Easton, one of our most loyal teachers, "the thing would be complete."
"And why not?" cried Charlie W.
"Leave that to me. I have a notion on the subject, and can promise you a genuine snowfall."
And to this also all agreed.
The next day, two or three of us, who had been let into the secret, went to a book-binder, and arranged for a large supply of the long and narrow clippings of paper which are shaved off in the process of making up a book. Then, at a Chinese employment office, we hired two stout gentlemen, who were set to work in an upper loft of a friend's store. Each person was furnished with a large pair of shears, glittering and sharp. As neither of them could understand a word of our language, with many gestures and grimaces they were instructed to sit by a huge heap of the paper clippings, and cut them into little pieces, or flakes, letting these fall into a packing-box before them. Both Hop Lee and Wo Fun stolidly set to work. They patiently snipped away all that day and the next, until their hands were too weary to hold the shears. It was not an inspiring task, but they performed it with religious exaltation and awe. For it is their custom to prepare such small bits of paper inscribed with sacred Chinese characters by their priests, and to throw them by handfuls into the air or burn them, in order to ward off the evil spirits which they believe are ever hovering about to do them harm. So our temporary employees felt they were assisting at a religious ceremony of sorts; and who, re-recalling what our Christmas celebration is, shall say that they were not?
The afternoon of Christmas day came at last; and Piatt's Hall was filled with a large and noisy company of little ones, romping, dancing, shouting, and trooping down to the cavernous-looking supper room below. On the stage, behind a huge screen, stood the Christmas tree, a tremendous specimen of its kind. As the day wore on the older folk arrived, and presently the exercises began. The children lustily sang their Christmas carols, the young men and women surpassed themselves in tableaux and shadow pantomimes, and between the acts the children danced to merry music. In the meantime, a half dozen of us, each with a bag full of paper snow-flakes on his shoulders, found our way up over the ceiling of the hall, and crept, candle in hand, across the slender rafters. The space was so low we could not stand upright. A single misstep, and our foot would go crashing through the lath and mortar ceiling, and hang like a signal of distress over the heads of the audience below. "How hot it is up here!" grumbled Charlie Murdock. "My snow will melt before I get to my position." "Be careful that you don't set fire to your snow with that candle," cried another. So, with laughter and retort, we each crawled to one of the great ventilators through which the heated air escaped from the hall below; and, dumping our pile of flakes conveniently near it, we stretched out on the rafters, peered down at the spectacle beneath us, and awaited the signal at which we were to begin snowing.
It was a pretty sight we gazed down upon, the great hall glittering with lights and filled with a brilliant and ever-shifting company, the children circling in the merry dance or standing in eager groups awaiting the arrival of Santa Claus. Surrounded by a company of friends and parishioners, stood the minister of the church, stalwart Horatio Stebbins, then not long arrived in California, but already a conspicuous figure.
On the fringe of the crowd, a slender, dark-haired man with laughing eyes stood nervously twitching his glossy mustache, or bent to listen to his children's prattle. Who among all that great company would have dreamed that this shy and as yet little known man, Frank Bret Harte, was in coming years to confer such luster on his adopted State, Immortalizing in tale and poem the beauty and romance of California, even as Starr King embodied for us in his brilliant oratory and martyr life the patriotism and loyalty of that land of sunshine and gold. And there, too, the central figure who brought order and purpose Into all the confusion and noise, was our genial superintendent, even more at home among the children than on the floor of Congress where, in after years, he made for himself an honorable record.
All this and more we gazed down upon from our high perch. But, now, the music came to a sudden stop. The children eagerly crowded up to the front of the stage, the screen was drawn aside, and there stood the giant Christmas tree, glittering with lights, strung with goodies, shining with its mimic silver and gold, and loaded with gifts for all. The general "Ah!" that greeted its glories soon swelled to shrill cries of delight as with cheery shout and jingling bells old Santa Claus came driving into the hall in his well-stocked sleigh, drawn by two pretty, bounding deer. The children gathered around their old friend as he nimbly descended and gave them a hearty greeting. But wonders were never to cease that happy night. As the orchestra struck up the Sleigh-bell Polka, the very heavens above seemed to open, and for once at least in the annals of a San Francisco Christmas it snowed. Oh, how it did snow! At first, a few flakes fluttered down furtively, then more and faster, and faster and more furiously still, till the whole room seemed full of the tiny messengers of purity. They settled down on the tree with its glittering lights, on the beard of the good old saint, on the merry children who jumped up to catch them as they fell and sought to press them together into snowballs, while the old folk declared: "Yes, this reminds us of the scenes of our youth. This is something like what Christmas used to be." Meanwhile, we, having finished our task, brushed the dust and cobwebs from each other and descended, well pleased at having increased the festival joy of the children, and given San Francisco her first Christmas snow-storm.
Painting by Sigismud De Ivanowski and decorative border by Edward Edwards.
The whole life of Christ overflowed with love, and yet there never was a time in His thirty-three years on earth when He did not see the Cross. In His baby eyes was the shadow of Golgotha: His curls were tangled in a ghostly crown of thorns. The "way of the cross" certainly seemed to lead from the stable-door in Bethlehem. But the Divinity within Christ magnified and glorified Him, and fortified Him to bear up under the tortures that were meted out to Him. This Christ-child of the manger is the image of thousands of children of today born to suffering and poverty as was He. With this difference: they are human and have not the Divine fortitude to carry the burdens on their little shoulders as did He. And today while we are celebrating the birth of the Babe thousands upon thousands of His little blood-brethren are suffering because of cold and hunger. And other thousands of little ones will survive the rigors of the winter only to wither under the fearful assault of the seething summer. In every community today-close to our homes wherein we have warmth and light and plenty-these little brethren of Christ wear their thorns and the shadows of dark on their little hearts. What, then, can we all do that is more in the truest spirit of Christmas than to reach out our hands to these little brethren of Christ: to let a little warmth into their cold bodies: a little light into their dark souls: to bring light of happiness into their sad eyes: the smile, and the laugh, into their stern little faces? What greater honor can we pay to Christ than to see to it that every little soul is given a decent environment into which to be born and in which to life his little life? Is this to give too much? To begin to do this on Christmas Day and then to continue doing it all through the year: that is indeed Christlike, for as we do it unto the least of His little ones, so surely we do it unto Him.
There are many fine streets In this good town of mine. There's Walnut and Willow, Persimmon and Pine; And Broad Road, and Broad Way And High Street and Main- But none I love better Than Christmas-tree Lane.
You'll seek it in vain In all seasons but one. When snow-clouds are hiding The pale winter sun, And winds of December Blow cold at the pane- 'T is then you'll be finding This Christmas-tree Lane.
They come with their branches Of holly so gay, With garlands of ivy And mistletoe spray; And dozens of pine-trees They bring in their train To make the old market A Christmas-tree Lane.
The sight and the scent Of the sweet-smelling pine, They set me to dreaming An old dream of mine: I'd buy all the pine-trees, The high and the low, And trim them with presents For children I know.
Yes, deck all the branches With candy and toys, And send out a message For good girls and boys. I fancy I hear their Glad carol's refrain As slowly I wander Down Christmas-tree Lane.
I crafted this little lion for a child's tree using left-over notched popsicle sticks and just a few other supplies...
Supply List:
notched craft sticks
pair of googly eyes
scrap wooden round and heart
acrylic paints: yellow, white, brown, burnt sienna, pink and black
wood glue
Mod Podge
scrap cardboard
Step-by-Step Instructions:
Cut a circular shape to glue the pieces of wooden scraps and tips of notched popsicle sticks too.
Glue a circular wooden shape in the center to begin with.
Glue the first layer of notched sticks around the outside of this center piece.
Glue a second layer of faux 'wooden' mane using the notched pieces on top of the first layer to make the hair look full.
Glue on the heart shaped wooden piece upside down between two medium sized googly eyes to create a mussel.
Cut a small end from a popsicle stick for the lion's tongue. You will need to shape the end of it in an inverted V shape to fit it snuggly between the heart humps.
Using acrylics paint the lions head with similar colors and shades shown in the photo above.
After the paint drys cover the ornament with a layer of Mod Podge.
Glue a twine hanger to the back of the lion's head.
Here are photos of my Welsh cupboard decorated for a crowd of family members coming for egg nog and gingerbread. I made the gingerbread earlier in the day so that little ones can decorate these quickly before their movie night begins. The egg nog will be prepared just before serving it to our older guests. The kids prefer milk with their cookies.
Left, fill up a glass container with vintage blown glass ornaments; it's an easy way to decorate! Right, a retro glass egg nog service set; it has adorable old-fashioned ladies and gents dashing through the snow to Grandma's house!
Somethin' looks like egg nog... Tasty Recipes by Tasty!
Left, a retro glass cookie jar with vintage graphics. Right, paper chains mimic white icing and gingerbread, plus vintage peppermint candy picks.
Left, vintage Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer gummies for fun. Right, vintage glass containers for sugar, cinnamon and spice.
Left, a vintage looking candy cane sign, real retro milk bottles and candy canes decorate the second shelf of my Welsh cupboard. Right, apothecary jars stuffed with spice gumdrops, chocolate candies wrapped in tin foils, peppermint pillows and marshmallows.
A cardboard display of a gingerbread house, tree and boy are behind the cutting board set up for decorating gingerbread cookies.
Premixed white icing, sprinkles and gum drops are prepared in advance to make cookie decorating easy for the youngest guests at our house this year.
