Skip to main content

Christmas-Eve Day

“Twas Christmas-Eve day," and all through our house,
The kitties were stirring, in search of a mouse.

With Missy on guard, and Junior prowling ‘round. We were watching TV, not making a sound. 

The stockings were hung on the mantel with care,
In hopes that Junior would not go on a tear.

Filled with ornaments and lights, to brighten the season,
The house was all warmed . . . 'gainst the cold was the reason.

Mother was nestled all snug her chair,
While the TV was blaring with holiday fares.
Me in my sweater, with Junior in lap,
Had just settled in for an afternoon nap.

Sunlight caressed the freshly mown lawn,
Gave warmth to the day,
as dog-walkers trudged on.

Then the doorbell rang, there arose such a clatter,
Junior sprang from my lap to see what was the matter.

Away to the window, he flew like a flash,
Tore open my leg, while Missy chewed on the sash.

When what to my drowsy eyes should appear,
But gift-bearing neighbors, with sweet Christmas cheer.
Their mother was jolly, so lively and quick, I knew in an instant it wasn't St. Nick.

Up to the door, the young family came.
With a card and a package, she called us by name - "Where's Patrick, where's Lori we have a gift!" she exclaimed.

Their eyes how they twinkled, their dimples how merry!
Cheeks like roses, nose like a cherry!
They were dressed all in red from their head to their toes,
And the smiles they wore set their faces aglow.

A bright red platter in the little girls' hand, 
Was extended with joy, that was part of the plan.

Perched on the window and balanced with care, 
The kitties just watched but tried not to stare.
We accepted warm cookies, a right jolly old snack.
I looked like a peddler adding gifts to the stack.

I spoke not a word, but went straight to work.
Filling the stockings then turned with a jerk.
And warming my fingers by striking a match,
Strolled to the fireplace, to open the hatch.

As the neighbor’s departed we heard them say, “Happy Christmas to all,” . . . Have a Great Day!

Updated 12/24/2019

Comments

Most Popular of All Time

The Compass of Cuba: Mom

🎄  Preview of this week's  On the Fly  blog: A Holiday Tribute to Mom. As the holidays hustle with pixels and beeps, the world scrolls along in a smartphone-y sleep. I log off for a moment—just one little minute— To breathe in the past and to sit myself in it. My mind doesn’t wander to faraway places, Or trips full of tickets and new airport faces. Instead, it drifts backward, as memories do, to Cuba, Illinois, where the best moments grew. To a home full of warmth, in the wintry Midwest, Where my mother—dear “Marcie”—put love to the test. With a smile that could melt the most frigid of dawns, and hugs that hung on you like shivering fawns. She came from La Rochelle in France, brave and bright, Across oceans and war shadows, into new light. A town full of strangers soon felt like her own, And her courage built up the foundation of home. “Oh yes, we know Marcie!” the locals would say— “It's Doc Ball’s French lady! She brightens the day!” She cleaned, and she cooked, and sh...

Believing Is Seeing

🎄 In this episode, Believing Is Seeing . . . It's December, we bustle, we wrap, and we dash. We sort life into boxes— myths  here,  to-dos  in a stash. We whisper of Santa (adult code: “Not Real”), but hold on one minute—let’s rethink this whole deal. For the stories we cherish, the movies we stream, hold more truth in their sparkle than we grown-ups may deem. So hop in this sleigh and hold on real tight— We’re chasing down Santa by the glow of his light! Scott Calvin once landed in the North Pole’s cold air, with elves, cocoa, and snow everywhere. He squinted and frowned—“This just  cannot  be so!” (Like thinking tangled lights will detangle if we  blow .) Then Judy the Elf gave a cocoa so steaming,  and said something simple . . . yet surprisingly gleaming: Seeing’s not believing—no, that’s not the key. "Believing is seeing!"   Just trust, and  you’ll  see!” Kids don’t need a map or a satellite screen to know Santa’s workshop is her...

Stamps and Snow

In this episode, Stamps and Snow . . .   You don’t usually walk into the local Post Office expecting a time warp . . . but here we are. All we wanted were stamps for this year's Christmas cards— yes, the old-fashioned paper ones that require licking, sticking, and hoping the Postal Service is feeling ambitious this week. But holiday errands have a talent for slowing you down, almost like the universe whispering, “Relax. You’re not getting out of this line any faster anyway.” So we waited. And while we waited, we talked (Are you surprised?). Because the Post Office is one of the few places where people still look up from their phones long enough to talk . . . Maybe it's because they're holding packages. It’s the modern town square: part civic duty, part free entertainment, part sociology experiment. The discussion began with holiday specials streaming on Netflix, Paramount+, and other services during this time of year. One gentleman who has lived in Vista since 1958 told us,...

Night Before Christmas

I n this episode, Night Before Christmas . . .  (In the spirit of Edgar Albert Guest) I’ve wrestled with the tangled lights the way I always do— With just enough patience left to see the project through. I climb the ladder carefully; the years have taught me how. To take my time with every step and keep a steady brow. We hang the faded ornaments I’ve known since I was small, the chipped, the cracked, the tilted ones—I love them best of all. Santa’s lost a bit of paint, the stars’ leaning right, but oh, it casts a holy glow across the room tonight. The kitchen hums with activity, with laughter, and with cheer, as voices drift like echoes from a long-forgotten year. The floor is strewn with paper scraps, the clock is ticking slow, As Christmas finds its own sweet pace and sets our house aglow. The hallway grows a little still; the lights are dimmed, and low, Small shoes are lined in messy pairs to wait for morning’s snow. The fire's warm, the room is full, the world is deep and wide,...