T'was the night before Christmas

T'was the night before Christmas When there rose such a fuss. With all these packages to wrap, It was just 'way too much'. Family was coming, Food was a must, And, with so many people, It was either be ready or bust. "Get up from the TV, Get off your fat butt! If you don't get movin', You'll sleep with the mutt!" "Kids, get back to bed!" "Pitch the dog outdoors! Get goin', buddy, And sweep up the floor!" T'was an annual event And everyone knew Voices would rise As the tension grew. Mom wasn't happy And Dad was mad. And with all the noise, It made the little ones sad.   Nope, Christmas wasn't merry. It wasn't CHRISTmas at all, In spite of painted faces Once guests entered the hall. What was the point In all the pretense? Could Santa and reindeer Come to their defense? Could packages and ribbons Make a home of love? Would settling for presents Still be enough?   But, how could it be Christmas Without the fuss; Without all the presents, Wrappings, and such? Could Christmas come Without exhaustion, just bliss? And should we appreciate Whose birthday it is? And, if at our front door, Would we let Him in? And would He know The party's for Him? I must admit I had been Sort of selfish, myself; In attempt to mend My own inner self ... Creating Christmases To fulfill all my dreams, Only for others to live; Or so it does seem ... Forgetting whose birthday It really was And even the joy Of His tender touch. And so ... T'was the night before Christmas When I changed all my plans, To let the Christ-Child in And place my heart in His hands. Author:  Joyce C. Lock; 2008

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Twas Submarine Style

Rusty Chevrolet

C'mon, cmon! C'mon, you can do it! (car starts) All right! Dashing through the snow in my Rusty Chevrolet Down the road I go Sliding all the way I need new piston rings I need some new snow tires My car is held together By a piece of chicken wire CHORUS Oh, rust and smoke, the heater's broke The door just blew away I light a match to see the dash And then I start to pray The frame is bent, the muffler went The radio, it's okay Oh what fun it is to drive This Rusty Chevrolet I went to the IGA To get some Christmas cheer I just passed up my left front tire And it's getting hard to steer Speeding down the highway Right past the Neguanee cops I have to drag my swampers Just to get the car to stop (chorus) (instrumental) Bouncing through the snowdrifts In a big blue cloud of smoke People laugh as I drive by And I wonder what's the joke Got to get to Shop-Ko To pick up the lay-away 'Cause Santa Claus is coming soon In his big old rusty sleigh (chorus) Video "Rusty Chevrolet ft. Mater - A Wild West CARS Christmas"    Music "Rusty Chevrolet" by Da Yoopers

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Christmas Worms

By Julie Gordon 'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house not a creature was stirring, not even my spouse. I lay still beside him until I heard a snore, then I slipped from the bed and out through the door. I crept up the hallway and down the front stair; I tiptoed to the living room to see what was there. And lo and behold, under the tree, was a shiny black box labelled to ME! I pulled and I pried, and as I lifted the lid, I heard a cough from behind, my husband up from bed. I stood up and stammered "I-I just couldn't sleep"; "Mm-hm", answered Don, "well that box'll keep". And so I resigned to go back to bed, but visions of gifts still danced through my head. A new dress, a necklace, a crate full of socks; what could possibly be contained in that box? A tea set, some perfume, a puppy to keep; I ran through the options as I drifted to sleep. In the morning I woke from that sleep with a scream; creepies and crawlies; I'd had a bad dream. And then I remembered just what day it was: December 25th, Christmas, of course! I ran to the living room to see what I'd get, but I wasn't prepared for the sight that I met. There were worms in the carpet, worms on the chairs, worms in the hallway, worms on the stairs. Worms hung from the lampshades and climbed up the walls; they infested the kitchen; they crawled through the halls. I looked at my husband; on his face was pure shock; bewildered he wondered "how'd they escape from that box?" And then I remembered that I'd lifted the lid; could worms have been what my Christmas box hid? "Yes", said my hubby, "it's a vermicomposter"; under my breath I muttered "I'd as soon have a toaster". But alas I was stuck with this so-called 'worm bin', So I set about getting those worms back in. And now it's one year later, Christmas eve once again; my house plants are thriving, I've worm bins times ten. Yes, it's true, that black gold sure works like a charm; I can't wait 'til my husband opens his brand new ant farm! Thanks For Visiting

Navy Corpsman's Night Before Christmas

LARGER PICS HERE FROM BOOK Authors: Christine Ford & Trish Holland View More by This Author Description This story, written for military families, is about a visit from “the Santa of Sailors” to those who can’t be home for Christmas. ’Twas the night before Christmas, when way out to sea Not a creature was stirring to windward or lee. The sailors were nestled all snug in their racks Like orders of pancakes, so tight were the stacks. One Christmas Eve out at sea, some homesick sailors are paid a visit by Master Chief Claus, the Santa of Sailors. This lively and poignant tale was inspired by Clement C. Moore’s classic yuletide poem. Navy Corpsman's Night Before Christmas "'Twas the night before Christmas as I flew o'er the Marine Base, when I spied a young man who seemed out of place. His eyes showed compassion, his hair a bit long, but his head was held high and his body was strong. His air was confident, his uniform smart, but what impressed me most was the size of his heart. For he embodied honor, one of this country's best, and the words U.S. NAVY showed large on his chest. As I stood there in wonder and gazed into his eyes, the words that he spoke took me quite by surprise. "What's wrong Santa, haven't you ever seen a sailor before?" I sensed something special and longed to know more. "To be honest, this field thing wasn't part of my plan, but God didn't give me a boat or tin can." The words he spoke next surprised me all the more, "But I'm as proud of my Navy as I am of the Corps!" "Don't worry Santa, that I'm a sailor you see, for when a Marine goes down they will still call on me. They'll forget I'm a sailor, they'll call in my stock. At the top of their lungs they'll yell ,"Get me the doc!" "And I'll answer that call, anytime, anywhere. Though I know I'm a target I really don't care. I'll face incoming fire as I race cross the land, and use my very own body to shield a downed man." "Working long hours and into the night, my unit's battle is over, but I'm just starting to fight. For the life of every Marine is sacred to me. I refuse to surrender them to death, and in that I'll find victory." "And yet I'll take the time to comfort a dying man, to sit down by his side, to reach out and hold his hand. For it takes as much courage to care as to fight. For just as the poem says, many don't "go gently into that night." "Santa, it's not any one uniform that makes you a man, but rather it's those ideals for which you choose to stand. I draw my line here, it's long and it's plain. For pain, hurt and suffering are the things I disdain." I know very well that I may lose my life, so that a Marine may see an unmet child and young wife. So Santa, it really doesn't matter if they don't like my hair. I'm a Navy Corpsman, their Doc, and I'll always be there." "I follow the brave docs who have come long before, from Belleau Wood, Iwo, and Lebanon's shore. As history proudly shows, they all gave their best, and for those who have died, surely they're blessed." "At Inchon, the gulf and times during Tet, our brothers have fallen, but we carry on yet. For we carry their honor and legacy still." As I held back my tears it took all of my will. I had to leave him there for I had other plans, but I knew in my heart that the Corps is in good hands. As I flew away I heard his laughter, it rang so loud and clear. "Hey Santa, how 'bout a nice pair of boots for the 26 miler next year?" HMC(FMF/SW) Mark Forsberg 2/3 UDP, Okinawa, December 1997 Thanks For Visiting

Walkin' in My Winter UnderWare

Came across this and thought..  hmm I'm from Minnesota and I don't recall this, but Those of us of a certain age in good ol cold Scandinavian Mini-sno-tah {Minnesota) will remember Casey Jones lipsynching to to Jimmy Jenson’s recording vilst vearing some red skivvies, you betcha! A clip from a retrospective of the Minnesota kids' show Lunch with Casey, circa 1970. See also de Scandenavian version: Stan Boreson Vinter Undervare Thanks For Visiting