Christmas 2002

[JeffL]

Well, with just over two weeks left until Christmas, I thought we might start a thread with Christmas-related poems, stories, jokes, wishes, etc.

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Author unknown

'Twas the night before Christmas,
When all through the house
I searched for the tools
To hand to my spouse.

Instructions were studied,
And we were inspired,
In hopes we could manage
"Some Assembly Required."

The children were quiet
(not asleep) in their beds,
While my spouse and I faced
The evening with dread:

A kitchen, two bikes,
Barbie's townhouse to boot!
And now, thanks to Grandpa,
A train with a toot!

We opened the boxes,
My heart skipped a beat -
Let no parts be broken
Or parts incomplete!

Too late for last-minute
Returns or replacement;
If we can't get it right,
It goes straight to the basement!

When what to my
Worrying eyes should appear,
But 50 sheets of directions,
Concise, but not clear,

With each part numbered
And every slot named,
So if we failed,
Only we could be blamed.

More rapid than eagles
The parts then fell out,
All over the carpet
They were scattered about.

"Now bolt it! Now twist it!
Attach it right there!
Slide on the seats,
And staple the stair!

Hammer the shelves,
And nail to the stand!"
"Honey," I said,
"You just glued my hand."

And then in a twinkling,
I knew for a fact
That all the toy dealers
Had indeed made a pact

To keep parents busy
All Christmas Eve night
With "some assembly required"
'Till morning's first light.

We spoke not a word,
But kept bent at our work,
'Till our eyes, they went blurry;
Our fingers all hurt.

The coffee went cold
And the night, it wore thin
Before we attached
the last rod and last pin.

Then laying the tools
Away in the chest,
We fell into bed
For a well-deserved rest.

But I said to my spouse
Just before I passed out,
"This will be the best Christmas,
Without any doubt.

Tomorrow we'll cheer,
Let the holiday ring,
and not run to the store
For one single thing!

We did it! We did it!
The toys are all set
for the perfect, most magical,
Christmas, I bet!"

Then off to dreamland
And sweet repose
I gratefully went,
Though I suppose...

There's something to say
For those self-deluded -
I'd forgotten that BATTERIES
Are never included!

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////


Jeff

[janecallanan]

That was great Jeff. I'm going to send it off to my son-in-law, who spent last Christmas Eve assembling toys till all hours. (Including the unassembled ones I brought with me!)
My daughter is 28 now, and this will be the first Christmas since she was born that we won't be together. Anyone have any survival tips for a Mommy?

[daniel topliffe]

remember always...when everything
else fails...read the instructions...

[nang]

I'm there with you Jane, this is the first year my son won't be home. I guess we just have to look to the future when we will be with them again. I feel worse for him to be away from family.
Oh well, this too shall pass.
Think good thoughts.

[janecallanan]

Got this in an e-mail today. Hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

Each December, I vowed to make Christmas a calm and peaceful experience. I
had cut back on nonessential obligations - extensive card writing, endless
baking, decorating, and even overspending. Yet still, I found myself
exhausted, unable to appreciate the precious family moments, and of course,
the true meaning of Christmas.

My son, Nicholas, was in kindergarten that year. It was an exciting season
for a six year old. For weeks, he'd been memorizing songs for his school's
"Winter Pageant." I didn't have the heart to tell him I'd be working the
night of the production. Unwilling to miss his shining moment, I spoke with
his teacher. She assured me there'd be a dress rehearsal the morning of the
presentation. All parents unable to attend that evening were welcome to come
then. Fortunately, Nicholas seemed happy with the compromise.

So, the morning of the dress rehearsal, I filed in ten minutes early, found
a spot on the cafeteria floor and sat down. Around the room, I saw several
other parents quietly scampering to their seats. As I waited, the students
were led into the room. Each class, accompanied by their teacher, sat
cross-legged on the floor. Then, each group, one by one, rose to perform
their song.

Because the public school system had long stopped referring to the holiday
as "Christmas," I didn't expect anything other than fun, commercial
entertainment - songs of reindeer, Santa Claus, snowflakes and good cheer.
So, when my son's class rose to sing, "Christmas Love," I was slightly taken
aback by its bold title. Nicholas was aglow, as were all of his classmates,
adorned in fuzzy mittens, red sweaters, and bright snowcaps upon their
heads.

Those in the front row- center stage - held up large letters, one by one, to
spell out the title of the song. As the class would sing "C is for
Christmas," a child would hold up the letter C. Then, "H is for Happy," and
on and on, until each child holding up his portion had presented the
complete message, "Christmas Love." The performance was going smoothly,
until suddenly, we noticed her; a small, quiet, girl in the front row
holding the letter "M" upside down - totally unaware her letter "M" appeared
as a "W". The audience of 1st through 6th graders snickered at this little
one's mistake. But she had no idea they were laughing at her, so she stood
tall, proudly holding her "W".

Although many teachers tried to shush the children, the laughter continued
until the last letter was raised, and we all saw it together. A hush came
over the audience and eyes began to widen. In that instant, we understood -
the reason we were there, why we celebrated the holiday in the first place,
why even in chaos, there was a purpose for our festivities. For when the
last letter was held high, the message read loud and clear: "CHRISTWAS LOVE"
And, I believe, He still is. Maybe?.. it wasn't a mistake after all.

[nang]

Indeed, Jesus is the reason for the season. I don't know if you get the USA supplement to your Sunday paper, but... On the front page there is a picture of 2 sisters and a brother. They are their parents only children. They are all currently serving in the Army. They don't have pencil pusher jobs either. As fate might have it, all of them will most likely be deployed to the Middle East soon. And I thought I had it bad with 1 child overseas. God Bless those children, and God Bless their proud (and praying) parents.

[Tamaroa]

'Twas the Night Before Christmas' as written by a technical writer for a firm that does Gov't contracting...

'Twas the nocturnal segment of the diurnal period preceding the annual Yuletide celebration, and throughout our place of residence, kinetic activity was not in evidence among the possessors of this potential, including that species of domestic rodent known as Mus musculus.

Hosiery was meticulously suspended from the forward edge of the wood burning caloric apparatus, pursuant to our anticipatory pleasure regarding an imminent visitation from an eccentric philanthropist among whose folkloric appellations is the honorific title of St. Nicholas.

The prepubescent siblings, comfortably ensconced in their respective accommodations of repose, were experiencing subconscious visual hallucinations of variegated fruit confections moving rhythmically through their cerebrums. My conjugal partner and I, attired in our nocturnal head coverings, were about to take slumberous advantage of the hibernal darkness when upon the avenaceous exterior portion of the grounds there
ascended such a cacophony of dissonance that I felt compelled to arise with alacrity from my place of repose for the purpose of ascertaining the precise source thereof.

Hastening to the casement, I forthwith opened the barriers sealing this fenestration, noting thereupon that the lunar brilliance without, reflected as it was on the surface of a recent crystalline precipitation, might be said to rival that of the solar meridian itself - thus permitting my incredulous optical sensory organs to behold a miniature airborne runnered conveyance
drawn by eight diminutive specimens of the genus Rangifer, piloted by a minuscule, aged chauffeur so ebullient and nimble that it became instantly apparent to me that he was indeed our anticipated caller.

With his ungulate motive power travelling at what may possibly have been more vertiginous velocity than patriotic alar predators, he vociferated loudly, expelled breath musically through contracted labia, and addressed each of the octet by his or
her respective cognomen - "Now Dasher, now Dancer..." et al. - guiding them to the uppermost exterior level of our abode, through which structure I could readily distinguish the concatenations of each of the 32 cloven pedal extremities.

As I retracted my cranium from its erstwhile location, and was performing a 180-degree pivot, our distinguished visitant achieved - with utmost celerity and via a downward leap - entry by way of the smoke passage. He was clad entirely in animal pelts soiled by the ebony residue from oxidations of carboniferous fuels which had accumulated on the walls thereof.

His resemblance to a street vendor I attributed largely to the plethora of assorted playthings which he bore dorsally in a commodious cloth receptacle. His orbs were scintillant with reflected luminosity, while his submaxillary dermal indentations gave every evidence of engaging amiability.


The capillaries of his malar regions and nasal appurtenance were engorged with blood which suffused the subcutaneous layers, the former approximating the coloration of Albion's floral emblem, the latter that of the Prunus avium, or sweet cherry. His amusing sub- and supralabials resembled nothing so much as a common loop knot, and their ambient hirsute facial adornment appeared like small, tabular and columnar crystals of frozen water.

Clenched firmly between his incisors was a smoking piece whose grey fumes, forming a tenuous ellipse about his occiput, were suggestive of a decorative seasonal circlet of holly. His visage was wider than it was high, and when he waxed audibly mirthful, his corpulent abdominal region undulated in the manner of impectinated fruit syrup in a hemispherical container. He was, in short, neither more nor less than an obese, jocund, multigenarian gnome, the optical perception of whom rendered me visibly
frolicsome despite every effort to refrain from so being. By rapidly lowering and then elevating one eyelid and rotating his head slightly to one side, he indicated that trepidation on my part was groundless.

Without utterance and with dispatch, he commenced filling the
aforementioned appended hosiery with various of the aforementioned articles of merchandise extracted from his aforementioned previously dorsally transported cloth receptacle.

Upon completion of this task, he executed an abrupt about- face, placed a single manual digit in lateral juxtaposition to his olfactory organ, inclined his cranium forward in a gesture of leave-taking, and forthwith effected his egress by renegotiating (in
reverse) the smoke passage.

He then propelled himself in a short vector onto his conveyance, directed a musical expulsion of air through his contracted oral sphincter to the antlered quadrupeds of burden, and proceeded to soar aloft in a movement hitherto observable chiefly among the seed-bearing portions of a common weed.

But I overheard his parting exclamation, audible immediately prior to his vehiculation beyond the limits of visibility: "Ecstatic Yuletide to the planetary constituency, and to that self same assemblage, my sincerest wishes for a salubriously beneficial and gratifyingly pleasurable period between sunset and dawn."

Happy Holidays Bill D.

[JeffL]

Twas da night before Christmas
in dis Yooper house,
and nuttin' was stirrin',
not even our mouse.

The rest of da family
was all fast asleep
wit' visions of pasties
delivered by jeep.

Da swampers was hung
by da chiminey wit care
in hopes dat Saint Nicolas
soon would be dere.

And in da far corner
it was lovely to see
the Bosch cans and cabbage
dat hung from da tree.

Ma home from the mine
and me out on parole,
she was snuggled in bed;
I was perched on da bowl.

Then alluva sudden
da house starts to shudder,
some nut's on da roof
and he broke da rain gutter.

He jumps down the chimney
and swears cause it's tight
As I hide behind beer cases,
way outta sight.

He lands in da fireplace
scorching his hair
on a busted up orange crate
still burning in dere.

He climbs outta da fireplace
and I take a long look,
he's just like they show him
in my coloring book.

With vodka-glazed eyes
and a stomach like a bubble,
a five-day-old beard
and dere's soot on his stubble.

His teeth when he smiles
look like Grampa's weed-saw,
and he wore tennis shoes
big as grizzly bear's paw.

This old Yooper elf
gives me nothing to fear
as he heads for da kitchen
for cookies and beer.

He kills off a six pack
then belches and smirks,
and reaches into the playdoh sack,
ready to work.

Now under da tree
he's starting to set
the most beautiful presents
us Yoopers can get.

Dere's a new pastymatic
and snowblower for mother,
a steel chainsaw
and some swampers for brother.

Some mud flaps, CB,
and new-used weedwacker,
a helmet and nightshirt
dat say "Green Bay Packers".

He close up da sack
and he jumps in da coals
and hollering "OUCH!",
up the chiminey he rose.

He grunted and groaned
as he tossed out his bag
and cracked such a beer fart (ugh)
I'm starting to gag.

I must watch him leave
so I rushes outside,
I looks up at da roof
while in bushes I hide.

And what does I see
when I looks through da twigs?
A rusted old car body,
pulled by eight pigs!

Santy jumped in
and he gave 'em all hell,
"Let's go all yous pigs,
don't just sit there and smell!

On Mushy and Mashy
and Lempy and Joe
and all a youse others
what names I don't know.

Fly over Negaunee
and turn to da right,
we make Houghton-Hancock
before I get tight."

Then I hear him exclaim
with a cynical sneer
"Pull in at dat Bosch sign,
I run outta beer!!"

"Da Night Before Christmas" Printed with permission by "Da Yoopers".

[Keith_Hixson]

http://www.jingandmike.com/pages/xmas.html

http://www.jingandmike.com/pages/xmas02.html

Merry Christmas.

Keith

[JeffL]

Mulder: We're too late. It's already been here.

Scully: Mulder, I hope you know what you are doing.

Mulder: Look, Scully, just like the other homes: Douglas fir, truncated, mounted, transformed into some sort of shrine; halls decked with boughs of holly; stockings hung by the chimney, with care.

Scully: You really think someone's been here?

Mulder: Someone or some thing.

Scully: Mulder, over here--it's fruitcake.

Mulder: Don't touch it! Those things can be lethal.

Scully: It's O.K. There's a note attached: "Gonna find out who's naughty and nice."

Mulder: It's judging them, Scully. It's making a list.

Scully: Who? What are you talking about?

Mulder: Ancient mythology tells of an obese humanoid entity who could travel at great speed in a craft powered by antlered servants. Once each year, near the winter solstice, this creature is said to descend from the heavens to reward its followers with gifts and punish its disbelievers with jagged chunks of anthracite.

Scully: But that's legend, Mulder--a story told by parents to frighten children. Surely, you don't believe it?

Mulder: Something was here tonight, Scully. Check out the bite marks on this gingerbread man. Whatever tore through this plate of cookies was massive--and in a hurry.

Scully: It left crumbs everywhere. And look, Mulder, this milk glass has been completely drained.

Mulder: It gorged itself, Scully. It fed without remorse.

Scully: But why would they leave it milk and cookies?

Mulder: Appeasement. Tonight is the Eve, and nothing can stop its wilding.

Scully: But if this thing does exist, how did it get in? The doors and windows were locked. There's no sign of forced entry.

Mulder: Unless I miss my guess, it came through the fireplace.

Scully: Wait a minute, Mulder. If you are saying some huge creature landed on the roof and came down the chimney, you're crazy. The flue is barely six inches wide. Nothing could get through there.

Mulder: But what if it could alter its shape, move in all directions?

Scully: You mean, like a bowl full of jelly?

Mulder: Exactly. Scully, I've never told anyone this, but when I was a child my home was visited. I saw the creature. It had long white strips of fur surrounding its ruddy, misshapen head. Its bloated torso was red and white. I'll never forget the horror. I turned away, and when I looked back it had somehow taken on the facial features of my father.

Scully: Impossible.

Mulder: I know what I saw. And that night it read my mind. It brought me a Mr. Potato Head, Scully. IT KNEW I WANTED A MR. POTATO HEAD.

Scully: I'm sorry, Mulder, but you're asking me to disregard the laws of physics. You want me to believe in some supernatural being who soars across the skies and brings gifts to good little girls and boys. Listen to what you are saying. Do you understand the repercussions? If this gets out, they'll close the X-files.

Mulder: Scully, listen to me: It knows when you are sleeping. It knows when you're awake.

Scully: But we have no proof.

Mulder: Last year, on this exact date, S.E.T.I. radio telescopes detected bogeys in the airspace over twenty-seven states. The White House ordered a Condition Red.

Scully: But that was a meteor shower.

Mulder: Officially. Two days ago, eight prized Scandinavian reindeer vanished from the National Zoo in Washington, D.C. Nobody - not even the zookeeper - was told about it. The government doesn't want people to know about Project Kringle. They fear that if this thing is proved to exist, then the public would stop spending half its annual income in a holiday shopping frenzy. Retail markets will collapse. Scully, they cannot let the world believe this creature lives. There's too much at stake. They'll do whatever it takes to insure another silent night.

Scully: Mulder, I --

Scully: On the roof. It sounds like . . . a clatter.

Mulder: The truth is up there. Let's see what's the matter...