The Night before Christmas
T’was the night before Christmas when all the through the house there wasn’t a clean spot, not even the size of a mouse.
The children were heard running around trying so hard to not make a sound, mother in the kitchen cooking up a delight and I on my knees praying, we won’t need the firemen tonight.
The guest all arrived, too early for us, and parked in our yard their own greyhound bus. Aunt Tilly with her cough, Uncle Joe with his sneezes, I flung open the window to clear out diseases.
The phone was a ringing, the Nintendo too loud, and over the crowd I could not hear, the radio playing good Christmas cheer.
The tree that once stood so beautiful and bright, lost all its glow, when Moe, our cat decided to bat all balls from its boughs.
With cup in my hand, I wearily sank into my chair, remembering Christmas pasts, wondering if the bathroom would soon be clear.
Saying goodnight to the last lingering guest, I turned out the lights and climbed up the stairs, only to find no room in my bed. It’s now occupied with old Grandpa Ned.
I camped in the kid’s room for a quick nap, but before I could snore, the household awoke in an uproar. It’s Christmas! It’s Christmas! Let’s open our gifts!
Through barely opened eyes, I could not help replying, “Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas and to all a good night!” And I promptly fell fast asleep, missing this last family fight.
Written by Alicia Haviland copywrite 2009 |  Alicia Frank Haviland was a bit tomboyish in her youth, being the oldest girl in a family of three boys and a much younger sister. She is a wiz with the magic box, aka computer. She admits to having “blonde” moments in life, but her IQ is higher than most (even her husband), so don’t test her! A graphic designer of the highest caliber, she’s a cracker-jack (But don't look for a prize inside!) copyeditor, who likes to use lots of commas, especially when going over her husband, Cowboy Joe’s rough drafts. She loves to travel, especially where it’s hot and Spanish is spoken. She reads books at 90 mph. She loves Lucy (Ball) and just might try being a standup comedienne herself some day, but not now; she’s too busy with other things. A poetress with piercing blue eyes, she radiates an angelic transformative glow wherever she goes in the world. She’s the brains (and designer) behind Southwestales and she's quick to remind her husband, Joe, of this fact, even though he gets ample credit as the fast-typing writer, recording their adventures! Quite simply, without her, there'd be no Southwestales. |
