I hate those inflatable things. Our library has a ghost coming out of a pumpkin for Halloween and a turkey in a suit for Thanksgiving. I haven't seen the Christmas one yet, but I know it's there. Irritatingly, they require a constant blast from a generator so there's a horrid droning hum as well. I wonder how much they cost to operate? Yuck.
Edgar, I've just finished our version of "Twas the Night Before Christmas" which I was inspired to inflict on our friends this year in lieu of the letters everybody hates. As a poet and man-of-words, maybe you'll appreciate it despite the allusions to drinking. I've got to find Jjorge and inflict it on him... too. I wonder if I can get him out of Gather and back to a2k?
<ahem>
T'was the night before Christmas, when all through the house not a creature was stirring, not even the Chows.
The stockings were hung by the thermostat wall, in hopes that St. Nicholas might come at all.
The children were out and carousing with friends, while visions of new Hondas danced in their heads.
Himself in his long-johns and I in my wrap had just settled ourselves for a long winter's nap,
When out on the driveway arose such a clatter, I peeked o'er the bed to see what was the matter.
Away from the window I flew like a flash, tore out of the bedclothes and pulled tight my sash.
The moon on the crest and the rain gave a glow; it was easy to see all the people below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear but a miniature Cooper, and eight more friends, dear.
I knew in a moment I'd made a mistake (forgetting our party and plans that we make.
More rapid than eagles my thoughts as they came!) And they whistled, and shouted, and called us by name:
"Now, Patty, Now Philip, where's Jane and where's Ross? We want to come in! There's no time to be lost!
To the front of the porch! To the rug in the hall! Now dash it! We want to come in for tamals!"
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, when they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;
So up to the house-front our friends, yes! they flew, dressed to the nines and with Christmas hats, too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof, the prancing and pawing of dogs going "woof."
As I thought in my head, "What to do?" Came a sound. Down the stairway Mr.Piffka came with a bound.
He was dressed for work, from his head to his foot, and his shirt, it was red, he was wearing one boot.
A bundle of papers askew in his pack and he looked like a peddler when seen from the back.
His eyes -- how they twinkled -- his dimples how merry. His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow and the beard of his chin was truly white as the snow.
His Sonicare toothbrush held tight in his teeth and the foam, it encircled his lips like a wreath.
He had that strange look that we get when in shock and I thought to myself, I'll have to fast talk.
He did have that look of sweet Santa the elf and I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself.
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head soon gave me to know that he'd figured my dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his job and opened the door wide to our friendly mob.
And laying his finger aside of his nose and giving a nod, to the kitchen he goes.
He sprang to his bar, to his friends gave a whistle, and in they all came like the jets of a missile.
Who needs tamales when you've got a full bar?
Just celebrate Christmas wherever you are!"
(with many thanks to Clement C. Moore)
