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Welcome to Get Sleepy, where we listen, we relax, and we get sleepy.
My name's Thomas and I'm your host.
Thank you so much for joining us tonight.
The December holidays seem to inspire a lot of reflection about the passing of time.
Not only do they happen to fall at the end of another year, but they tend to contain a lot of memories for the people who celebrate.
December is a time when family and friends are more often together and when life's milestones are more apparent.
Tonight we'll follow the Miller family, who pass down the same house from one generation to another for a hundred years.
As time passes, the Christmases that they spend together are witnessed from the single vantage point of a faithful old grandfather clock that stands in the front hall.
Through its worldview, we will watch a heartwarming story unfold.
A big thank you to Alicia Stefan for writing this one and, I'm delighted to say, I'll be narrating it for you.
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Thank you all so much, and I'm wishing you a very happy festive season and end to the year.
It's time to get nice and cosy.
And if you're yet to do so, you can switch off the lights and put any physical distractions to one side.
Tonight's tale is a trip through time and a beautiful reminder that throughout the decades and centuries, we as human beings endure through tough times, through periods of prosperity and everything in between.
So long as our love, kindness and appreciation for others remains at the heart of who we are, we can get through anything.
Whilst on this train of thought, It sprung to my mind that, though the world and our societies that we reside in can at times feel unjust challenging, a little ugly and dark, perhaps we as individuals will forever hold the power to be the beauty and light in our world.
By that I mean no matter what's going on, whether circumstances feel good or bad, times are tough or prosperous, you can always send out love kindness joy, appreciation and every other wonderful quality you possess to the rest of the world, to the people around you that you know and love, and beyond, to everyone and everything.
As Martin Luther King Jr so eloquently put it, darkness cannot drive out darkness.
Only light can do that.
So, especially at this time of year, I wanted to remind you that you are a beautiful piece of this incredible jigsaw that makes up our world and universe.
So just keep being the light, and know how much it's appreciated.
As you sink deeper into the support of your bed, let your pillow softly cradle your head and allow any troubles to fade away, giving yourself the opportunity of some well-deserved rest.
Now we are ready to walk through the front door of the newly built Miller House for a cozy festive tale.
The year is 1880, somewhere in the United States.
This is where our story begins.
The final flourish George Miller added to the beautiful new house was the stately grandfather clock in the front hall.
The home itself was one of the finest in the neighborhood, boasting five bedrooms, a lavish full bathroom, a modern kitchen, a parlor and a formal dining room.
And there was even a powder room half-bath on the first floor.
It was a house built to impress the eye.
In the latest fashion.
The rooflines were irregular, as if seeking to incorporate every worthy architectural style at once.
Best of all, there was a turret.
It did make one feel a bit like a queen, his wife Margaret said more than once.
She was already imagining long summer evenings on their spacious covered front porch, waving to the neighbors who passed by.
The Millers, who had come from humble origins, would now take up residence in the house of their dreams.
The grandfather clock was like a gatekeeper.
Made from strong oak and covered in intricate details, it was as reliable as could be.
Wherever a person was in the house, they would know the time by its sonorous tones.
Its tick tick, tick noise created a purposeful and soothing backdrop for the life of a family that George and Margaret urged constantly forward towards a new century and a new standard of living.
There were two Miller children.
Clara, who was eleven, and Henry, who was nine.
To them, the new house was as awe-inspiring as a fairy castle.
They spent their time playing hide and seek in the recesses of the upper floors.
But most of the life in the house happened on the main floor and the grandfather clock had a front row seat for all of it.
Everyone who arrived took off their coats and perhaps handed over an offering or a gift, did so in front of the clock.
Each first and last conversation occurred in the presence of the clock.
And straight ahead through the wide entrance to the parlor with its heavy pocket doors.
The clock stood watch over that room and its occupants, and the very best time of year was Christmas.
It had become the fashion for wealthier families to have a Christmas tree.
Naturally, Margaret insisted on it and she maintained that there was no more appropriate place than the front window of the parlour.
There, she argued, the entire neighborhood could enjoy the tree as well.
George sent away for beautiful glass ornaments, which they unpacked with nervous care.
Then, Margaret strung the tree with ropes of shining beads.
The children were hoping for lit candles to be perched on the branches, but their parents refused.
Yes, they said people did do that, but they were not interested in setting fire to their fine new house.
As a consolation for outlawing the candles, Margaret allowed the children to create some handmade ornaments.
She placed these strategically in hidden areas where the guests were less likely to notice them.
Clara and Henry didn't clock onto this at all and were quite proud of their contributions.
The rest of the parlor was set up both to host and to impress.
Chairs and settees upholstered with velvet were placed close enough to the hearth to encourage people to gather there, but far enough that they wouldn't get too hot.
Artworks hung around the room from the picture rail, encouraging cultured conversation.
Underneath the walls were papered with a rich-looking pattern that made the room feel both snug and impressive at the same time.
The overall mood in the parlor was one of abundance and security.
That first year, the clock saw many a Christmas card opened and carefully placed around the room.
Some of these pretty little pictures stood on the tables, and others on the mantelpiece.
The cards were quite the fashion.
It seemed every guest who didn't arrive with fruit or sweets or a small wrapped gift had a card in their hands.
Margaret spent many an afternoon addressing them to her friends as well, although she did so at her writing desk, out of sight of the clock.
When Christmas Day came around, a decadent meal was prepared in the kitchen and eaten in the dining room.
The front hall was constantly abuzz with visitors arriving with wrapped packages.
Children darted in and out of the parlor carrying dolls and books and all manner of clever little toys.
There was even singing in the parlor.
And at one point, carolers came to the door.
Through it all, the clock took its job very seriously.
It proudly told the hour as the merrymakers whirled away the day.
As night fell and the number of guests finally dwindled, with children half-asleep on the lower stairs, the clock continued to keep them apprised of the lateness of the hour.
Eventually, only Clara and Henry were left there, asleep.
George picked up one after the other, and first Clara's auburn curls and then Henry's brown ones disappeared, resting in their father's arms to go to bed.
And then, all was quiet, and a new day began.
The clock watched over many Christmases, never faltering in its work.
Gradually over time, George and Margaret grew older and spent more and more of their days writing letters, chatting with visitors and reading in their chairs.
Sometimes, in warm weather, the clock could see them through the front window rocking in their chairs on the wide breezy porch.
Twenty years after that first Christmas, the family was still gathering in the parlor, but the people had changed.
George and Margaret rested comfortably, while Clara directed the activities.
Her auburn locks now swept up in an elegant hairstyle.
As a woman just over 30, she was clearly in charge of the festivities now.
That was a lot to manage, because she and her husband John had three children of their own.
Richard was the smallest one, at only six years old.
Then there was his brother James, who was eight, and Virginia was the oldest, at eleven.
Christmastime always offered many opportunities for the family to call attention to Virginia.
After all, her name had become quite famous just a few years ago, when a little girl had written a letter to a New York newspaper inquiring about whether or not Santa was real.
To the delight of children nationwide, that very authoritative newspaper had confirmed that he was.
Yes, Virginia, her father John would say, there is a Santa Claus.
After hearing this proclamation, the children would cheer and run in circles around the parlor, as their mother half-heartedly told them to calm down.
The tree still stood in the window, but now it was lit by miraculous electric lights that no longer made Margaret worry.
These new lights were quite a lavish touch, as they were expensive to install and operate.
But John had a friend who was an electrician, and Clara did so love to be the first house on the street to put on a big electric show.
She confided to John that she knew it was a little frivolous, but the twinkling lights did make the parties so merry.
Clara and John were living with her parents now, taking care of the grand Miller house.
Her brother Henry, was recently engaged to a woman named Emma, which made their mother, Margaret quite relieved.
She had often worried aloud that Henry would never find a wife.
But he was such an adventurer, that boy, she would continue, shaking her head.
He'd been too busy traveling the world until now to settle down.
When Henry Miller and the lovely Emma arrived at the front door, the whole house lit up with excitement.
As they brushed a little snow off their coats and handed over a pile of packages, they were deluged with children wanting the first hug.
Uncle Henry was beloved by all, and Emma was declared a welcome addition to the family.
The parlor and the front hall had not changed very much in 20 years.
Clara didn't want to offend her parents by changing their decor, but she had made some subtle adjustments.
The parlor was just slightly less stuffy.
A few of the artworks had been quietly packed away and the picture rail included some new ones that reflected the style at the turn of the century.
Henry had been her accomplice in this surreptitious update of the room.
In fact, he and his sister Clara had chosen a few pieces that their parents deemed outlandish.
The 20th century was breezing in and blowing the cobwebs off of everyone.
Henry would convincingly counter A picture could be a representation of a thing now, he insisted.
Not just a copy of the thing itself.
Nonsense, his father would snort.
But then, George Miller would go back to his paper.
Clara still hung her parents' lovely old ornaments, but she also allowed the children to string popcorn on the tree.
Their indulgent grandmother didn't mind.
Anything her grandchildren did pleased her.
She was quite amenable.
Through the window that year, the clock could see it was especially snowy outside.
John and Clara's children took full advantage of this, disappearing with their ice skates for part of the day and coming back with ruddy cheeks and the mountain of gifts seemed greater than ever before, with each adult delighting in the children's happiness.
Many of Clara's rules for her family were clearly relaxed.
The clock saw Richard, James, and Virginia with sticky faces and staying up far past their bedtimes.
But everyone was so merry.
It was as if the new century had filled them with new energy.
But the clock had one job to do, at the same speed, no matter the year.
It didn't get overexcited, and it did not care about the turning of the century.
It chimed the hour and counted down the minutes, until Christmas came again and again.
The years continued to roll by.
For a time, things became quieter.
At first, it was just Clara's family in the house, after George and Margaret passed into its memory.
But then, the late 1910s arrived, and with them, a great war.
Clara's sons left home.
First, John closed the door behind him, and then Richard.
Virginia stayed with Clara and John, helping them at home.
For a few years, Christmases were inexplicably private and sober.
The clock did not see the missing suns, although Clara, John and Virginia seemed to gather around sometimes to read their letters.
The holidays passed without the patter of small feet and without the arrivals of large families in the hall.
But finally, when the war years had passed, life returned to the house.
By the time the decade of the 1920s arrived, the whole family was back together.
James was recently married to a woman named Bernice, and they had twin babies named Anna and Charles.
Richard was recently married as well, but he and his wife Mary didn't have any children with them.
The irrepressible Virginia was still living in the grand old house with Clara and John, but she left every day to go to a job where she worked as a secretary.
She entertained the family nightly with her comical stories about her befuddled employer and his impossibly disorganized office.
Virginia had also convinced John and Clara to let her redecorate the parlor a little.
She energetically stripped off the aging Victorian-era wallpaper and hired someone to paint the room a warm color of ivory.
The fussiest old paintings from the picture rail were banished to the upstairs attic and replaced with the new style the younger people were favoring.
Any protests from their mother were overruled by James and Richard.
They had been abroad for the past few years in the war and they knew Virginia's taste was on the pulse of a fresh new decade.
Since their mother had missed them so terribly, she could deny James and Richard nothing.
Redecorating continued.
But most exciting was the new Victrola that James had dragged into the room recently.
Virginia had convinced her parents to roll up and store the heavy oriental rugs that had dominated the room for decades, replacing them with simpler ones that revealed the beautiful hardwood floors.
The three siblings could now be seen regularly pushing back those lighter rugs and dancing to jazz music as the needle skipped across their small collection of records.
Clara and John watched from a safe distance, happy to see two auburn heads and a chestnut one bobbing wildly together around the room.
It was a lovely time, and the clock felt that a new and more optimistic era had arrived.
That festive period in 1920 may have been less noisy, less exuberant, perhaps less lavish.
But it was filled with happiness.
In the ensuing years, the clock watched on as James' twins, Anna and Charles, grew up, visiting the house often.
They were joined on holidays by Richard's only son, their cousin Jack.
When Clara and John were no longer there, it was James and Bernice who moved into the house, with the twins waving a fond farewell to Sister Virginia.
The clock felt a little melancholy to see Virginia go.
But she was shining with happiness and appeared ready for an adventure of her own.
And there was no denying that it was wonderful to have the house filled once again with a young, vibrant family who brought many people through the front door and who filled the parlor with activity.
Anna and Charles were like a breath of fresh air.
There did seem to be some lean years as well.
Some of the furniture disappeared, and the decorations simply stayed the same for a fair while.
Sometimes James and Bernice sat in the parlor talking in low voices, brightening again when the twins entered the room.
But one lively addition to the parlor was the large radio that arrived one day.
Its presence appeared to make the front room the center of the house.
In the evening, the entire family could often be found clustered around it, hanging on its every word.
During the day when she was alone at home, Bernice listened to it almost constantly.
It was like another window to the world outside.
By the time Christmas of 1940 came around, the house was no longer full of children.
Instead, Charles and Anna were adults.
In fact, Anna had a boyfriend that Christmas.
His name was Edward.
Charles had teased her about it in the hallway before the party started.
Their cousin Jack came with his parents as well.
But even as the youngest, Jack was fifteen.
It was a holiday of more refined and grown-up pursuits than some of the previous ones.
Perhaps due to the older age of the children, the gifts that year were not as numerous or flashy as in years past.
Handmade scarves were exchanged, books were gifted, Records were popular among the younger people.
The meal was prepared with care, but it was a little smaller than it had been some other years.
The Christmas tree still stood in the window, but it had more handmade ornaments now, since many of the old glass baubles had suffered accidents and not been replaced,
It seemed that the resident Miller descendants, James and Bernice, were thriftier than some of their forebears, but it didn't diminish their Christmas spirit.
Thrift notwithstanding, the entertainment in the parlor was some of the best ever.
All manner of games were played and Charles did a dramatic reading from A Christmas Carol which sent his cousins into fits of laughter.
As the icing on the cake, it snowed heavily that year.
So the winter wonderland outside the front window made the happy family scene around the hearth all the more heartwarming.
It was, the clock decided, a good year.
Time marched on, of course.
After all, it was the clock's only responsibility to make sure of that.
The ensuing years brought the joys and chaos of small children back to the home.
The young men who had celebrated Christmas there in 1940 were absent for a time, as another war raged far away.
Life was quiet.
Anna left the house each morning and came back tired after a long day of work somewhere.
But eventually, those young men, Edward and Charles, returned, and even Jack started visiting again.
Charles had married a woman from England named Doris, and even young Jack returned with a lovely wife named Shirley.
All at once, there were babies again, and the holidays got busier and more joyful.
All the same, it was hard for the clock to keep up by the time Christmas of 1960 came around.
This is meant both literally and figuratively.
Having rarely been maintained, the clock's timekeeping was a bit off.
People still tried to wind the vintage timepiece, but the gears were in desperate need of cleaning.
Its resonant clanging became more unpredictable.
Besides that, a lot of changes had happened in the parlor.
All the formal furniture, the Victrola, the old art, and the window hangings had vanished.
In their place there was a bold and somewhat bewildering look that didn't feel quite right to the clock.
The new furniture was low to the ground, with tapered legs.
Its material looked serviceable, but not terribly soft.
All the pictures had vanished from the picture rail and Anna and her husband Edward, who were now the residents of the home, had installed a large teak wall unit that was filled with records and books.
A single, baffling artwork stood on the mantel, featuring a disorienting graphic design.
Most disappointing of all, the wood floors were covered with burnt orange carpet from wall to wall.
The clock missed seeing the wood floors.
Nobody ever lit a fire in the hearth these days.
Over the mantle there was a military medal case honoring the descendants of the Miller family who had served in the wars.
There was also a large television in the parlor now.
The children often sat and watched it, with the oldest on the sofa and the smallest children lying on the floor.
It was a fascinating new window on the world for the clock, showing things that had never been visible in the parlor until then.
Still, despite the oddness, the house was filled with happiness when the holidays came around.
A tree went up, and it was covered in flashing, multicolored lights.
Some of them actually had bubbling liquid inside.
The pack of children who surged into the house ranged in age from five to twelve.
Anna and Edward had three girls named Linda, Carol, and Sandra.
Charles and Doris had a little boy named Michael.
And Jack and Shirley had two sons, Paul and Raymond.
So, altogether, there were six stockings hanging from the mantle.
The clock could hardly remember when Christmas had been so filled with fun and wonder.
It was very noisy, but quite festive.
One of the most exciting moments that year was when Santa appeared in person, bellowing ho ho ho and handing out a gift to each child.
The littlest partygoers were in hysterics and afterwards the jolly fellow exited from the front door and vanished.
Oddly, the back door opened shortly after, and he snuck back up the stairs to the bedroom.
However, only the clock saw.
A few years after that madcap Christmas, the clock stopped ticking and sat silent in the hall.
While it was still dusted and respected, it felt somewhat bereft.
After all, it had a job to do, but it needed repairs.
During that era, the clock saw something new.
For the first time, the oldest people in the house, Anna and Edward, happily moved away.
There was talk of a smaller dwelling in a warmer place.
This was quite unprecedented.
But the clock was not sad, because some of their girls, who were now grown up, stayed behind.
Sandra went off on an adventure, but Linda and her husband Ben stayed around.
And at some point, Carol moved back in as well.
Linda and Ben had a daughter named Jennifer.
Both parents worked all day, and sometimes Jennifer was the only person in the house.
But she was good company.
She was quiet and very self-sufficient.
On some days she and her Aunt Carol would sit and watch television together throughout the afternoon.
It was a peaceful time.
The clock would see the backs of their heads, one auburn and one chestnut brown, leaning companionably together as they laughed at their shows.
Then, as the Christmas of 1980 was growing near, something wonderful happened.
Carol slowly began making the parlor look more like it had many years before.
The wall unit was relocated to another room and interesting artworks were once again hung selectively from the picture rail.
A man came and worked on the chimney and the fireplace for a while.
Soon after, the clock saw the family enjoying their first fire in many years.
The riot of jewel-toned colors from 1880 didn't really come back.
Instead, Carol chose earth tones and tweed fabrics.
But the hardwood floors shone once again, and the room seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.
There was a rightness about it.
But best of all, a technician came to clean and maintain the clock.
When he left, the old grandfather clock was looking splendid and faithfully keeping time again.
The grandparents, Edward and Anna, returned just for the holiday period bringing tote bags full of gifts.
That year, Sandra came back as well, so all three sisters were reunited.
Best of all, their cousins, Paul and Raymond, made a special trip to join the fun, along with Paul's nine-year-old son, Mark, and Raymond's baby daughter, Heather.
The Christmas tree that year was exploding with cheer.
However many ornaments and lights had been put on it in previous years, there were more this time, as if every child had free reign.
The miniature colored lights flashed in a slightly wonky pattern.
Jennifer and her cousin Mark had been let loose without supervision to drape silver tinsel on far too many branches.
At the top, a gaudy star delighted everyone with its pizzazz.
It seemed the spirit of Christmas was overflowing.
One evening, right before the big day, all the kids and even some of the adults gathered around the television with enormous bowls of popcorn to watch a series of holiday specials and cartoons.
And on Christmas Eve they gathered around in flannel pajamas and were each allowed to open just one gift.
Jennifer received a strange electronic item that was soon attached to the TV.
It made puzzling beeps and exploding noises, and seemed to get everyone very excited.
There was also a remote-controlled car that zipped through the front hall and a doll that could talk.
On Christmas Day, the old grandfather clock felt that everything was in balance.
There were three generations of Miller descendants here, together.
Everyone was happy and well.
And even though the parlor had changed in the past century, it was still filled with love.
In the cheerful colored light from the Christmas tree, the clock proudly attended to its timekeeping.
Tick, tick, tick, it said, tolling faithfully on the hour at exactly the right second.
And it remembered George and Margaret Miller and the thought of how many dreams they had for this house and their family who cared so well for it, even now,
And the clock had faith that the next hundred years of Christmases would bring more good things.
Thanks for watching!
Thank you.
Let's pray.
Thanks for watching!
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Thank you.
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Thanks for watching!
Thanks for watching!
Thanks for watching!
God bless you.
Thank you.
