One delight of New Year’s Eve at the mouth of the Columbia River is ships’ horns. 

Over the years, the collection of ships anchored off Astoria has waxed and waned in their enthusiasm for the moment.

Saturday night’s fleet was especially exuberant, and one ship had a beautiful multitonal horn.

About five minutes after midnight, we heard an impressive report that sounded like a cherry bomb. And one resourceful soul had an impressive light source that cast a beam well up in the sky, like the searchlights used at Hollywood premieres.

If you are at all curious about the movie The Artist, don’t hesitate to check it out. My wife, daughter and I took it in last Friday night in Portland. The Artist is a silent movie and very cleverly so. Losing the sound dimension causes the viewer to focus more intently on the visual story telling, which includes an enchanting dog.

The Portland Art Museum’s exhibit, Three Centuries of Japanese Prints, is quietly overwhelming. Showing the development and transitions among Japanese artists over 300 years is mute testimony to Japan’s refinement at a time when Americans were living in rough circumstances.

The depth of the display is evidence of how avidly some wealthy Portlanders collected Japanese prints. Robert Joki, whose Sovereign Gallery has displayed works in Astoria, says that 10 major Portland private art collections had taken shape prior to the end of the 19th century.

 

On the way back from Portland, my wife and I left Interstate 5 at Ridgefield, Wash., and drove to its national wildlife refuge. On wetlands adjacent to the Columbia River, the Ridgefield refuge is a drawing card for birders. Thanks to the generosity of one of them, we looked through a scope and saw a pair of adult bald eagles on either side of tree branches. Subsequently we saw their juvenile. We also saw coots, great blue herons, trumpeter swans in abundance and muskrats. One hawk we observed seemed to be sizing up the surrounding terrain for its lunch.

The place is more than a refuge for wildlife. It is also a respite from the noise and hurry of our world, as epitomized by I-5.

Over the holidays, we watched a few Christmas films, courtesy of Turner Classic Movies. The most sentimental of them was The Bishop’s Wife, which stars David Niven, Loretta Young and Cary Grant. Even the secondary characters are beautifully cast: Gladys Cooper, Elsa Lanchester and Monty Woolley.

The movie’s premise is that an angel, Cary Grant, has been sent to help the bishop, David Niven. Among other things, Grant dictates a Christmas Eve sermon. In the movie’s last scene, Niven delivers the sermon. Conceived by Hollywood script writers, the sermon is a model of economy and message – a lesson in how meaning can be conveyed in a brief passage of time.

Here is the sermon:

“Tonight I want to tell you the story of an empty stocking.

“Once upon a midnight clear, there was a child’s cry, a blazing star hung over a stable, and wise men came with birthday gifts. We haven’t forgotten that night down the centuries. We celebrate it with stars on Christmas trees, with the sound of bells, and with gifts.

“But especially with gifts. You give me a book, I give you a tie. Aunt Martha has always wanted an orange squeezer and Uncle Henry can do with a new pipe. For we forget nobody, adult or child. All the stockings are filled, all that is, except one. And we have even forgotten to hang it up. The stocking for the child born in a manger. It’s his birthday we’re celebrating. Don’t let us ever forget that.

“Let us ask ourselves what He would wish for most. And then, let each put in his share. Loving kindness, warm hearts and a stretched out hand of tolerance. All the shinning gifts that make peace on earth.”

S.A.F.