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We start guessing what old Santa's going to leave us on our tree. Everyone of us holds secrets that the others try to steal, And that eyes and lips are plainly having trouble to conceal. And a little lip that quivered just a bit the other night Was a sad and startling warning that I mustn't guess it right. "Guess what you will get for Christmas!" is the cry that starts the fun. And I answer: "Give the letter with which the name's begun." Oh, the eyes that dance around me and the joyous faces there Keep me nightly guessing wildly: "Is it something I can wear?" I implore them all to tell me in a frantic sort of way And pretend that I am puzzled, just to keep them feeling gay. Oh, the wise and knowing glances that across the table fly And the winks exchanged with mother, that they think I never spy; Oh, the whispered confidences that are poured into her ear, And the laughter gay that follows when I try my best to hear! Oh, the shouts of glad derision when I bet that it's a cane, And the merry answering chorus: "No, it's not. Just guess again!" It's guessing time at our house, and the fun is running fast, And I wish somehow this contest of delight could always last, For the love that's in their faces and their laugh-ter ringing clear Is their dad's most precious present when the Christmas time is near. And soon as it is over, when the tree is bare and plain, I shall start in looking forward to the time to guess again. "Guessing Time" by Edgar Guest |

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I think the happiest time of year Surely is Christmas with all it's cheer. Listening to carols being sung Hearing sleigh bells gaily rung. Children with innocent eyes, aglow; Bundled up, to play in the snow. Hoping to see Santa on Christmas night; That jolly old fellow, in crimson and white. Shoppers with packages under their arm Hurrying home where the fire is warm; Hiding the gifts so no one can see; Keeping secrets, trimming the tree. Bows on the puppy; bells on the cat; Grandpa is sporting a red and white hat; Grandma is knitting a holiday vest; All of the children behaving their best. Secrets of Christmas, they think I don't know How Santa gets here, through all of the snow. So I shan't tell them; wont spoil their intentions; But Santa's wife comes along to give him directions!
Toni Britton
(The Calico's Mom)
Nov. 5, 2001
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"What Movie "Said" This" Do You know? Here are 10 movie quotes – Can YOU guess the movie from the quote? Try your luck! Who Said It?
Each of these phrases is a quote from a Christmas song, TV show, movie or story. Can you remember which Christmas character said it? Click on the green bars to see the answers! "Bah Humbug" Ebenezer Scrooge in Charles Dickens' 1843 novel: A Christmas Carol "Don't you cry, I'll be back again some day!" Frosty the Snowman "One can never have enough socks. Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn't get a single pair. People will insist on giving me books." Dumbledore in J.K. Rowling's, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone "Maybe Christmas," he thought, "doesn't come from a store. Maybe Christmas...perhaps...means a little bit more!" The Grinch in How The Grinch Stole Christmas "I never thought it was such a bad little tree. It's not bad at all, really. Maybe it just needs a little love." Linus Van Pelt in A Charlie Brown Christmas "This fog's as thick as peanut butter!" Yukon Cornelius in Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer "The thing about trains... it doesn't matter where they're going. What matters is deciding to get on." The Conductor in The Polar Express "We elves try to stick to the four main food groups: candy, candy canes, candy corns and syrup." Buddy the Elf in Elf "You want the moon? Just say the word and I'll throw a lasso around it and pull it down." George Bailey in It's a Wonderful Life "Let's face it. We all know that Christmas is a big commercial racket. It's run by a big eastern syndicate, you know." Lucy Van Pelt in A Charlie Brown Christmas How did you do? Try some more Christmas Trivia questions. Or click here to reset this page.
Adapted From:XmasFun
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| The best Christmas bird story is also a little-known poem by Portsmouth-born writer Celia Laighton Thaxter (1835 – 1894). Shared link at thee end of this story. In the sunny land of France there lived many years ago a sweet little maid named Piccola. Her father had died when she was a baby, and her mother was very poor and had to work hard all day in the fields. Little Piccola had no dolls and toys, and she was often hungry and cold, but she was never sad nor lonely. There were no children for her to play with. She did not have fine clothes and beautiful toys. For, in summer there were always the birds in the forest, and the flowers in the fields and meadows, the birds sang so sweetly, and the flowers were so bright and pretty! In the winter when the ground was covered with snow, Piccola helped her mother, and knit long stockings of blue wool. The snow birds had to be fed with crumbs, if she could find any, and then, there was Christmas Day. But one year her mother was ill and could not earn any money. Piccola worked hard all the day long, and sold the stockings which she knit, even when her own little bare feet were blue with the cold. As Christmas Day drew near she said to her mother, "I wonder what the good Saint Nicholas will bring me this year. I cannot hang my stocking in the fireplace, but I shall put my wooden shoe on the hearth for him. He will not forget me, I am sure." "Do not think of it this year, my dear child," replied her mother. "We must be glad if we have bread enough to eat." But Piccola could not believe that the good saint would forget her. On Christmas Eve she put her little wooden shoe on the hearth before the fire, and went to sleep to dream of Saint Nicholas. As the poor mother looked at the little shoe, she thought how unhappy her dear child would be to find it empty in the morning, and wished that she had something, even if it were only a tiny cake, for a Christmas gift. There was nothing in the house but a few coins, and these must be saved to buy bread. When the morning dawned Piccola awoke and ran to her shoe. Saint Nicholas had come in the night. He had not forgotten the little child who had thought of him with such faith. See what he had brought her. It lay in the wooden shoe, looking up at her with its two bright eyes, and chirping contentedly as she stroked its soft feathers. A little bluebird, cold and hungry, had flown into the chimney and down to the room, and had crept into the shoe for warmth. Piccola danced for joy, and clasped the shivering bird to her breast. She ran to her mother's bedside. "Look, look!" she cried. "A Christmas gift, a gift from the good Saint Nicholas!" And she danced again in her little bare feet. Then she fed and warmed the bird, and cared for it tenderly all winter long; teaching it to take crumbs from her hand and her lips, and to sit on her shoulder while she was working. In the spring she opened the window for it to fly away, but it lived in the woods near by all summer, and came often in the early morning to sing its sweetest songs at her door. Read the poem associated with this story from reknown author Cella Lalghton Thaxter here View another version of this story from Nora A. Smith taking place in Italy..
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