xmas eve

lifted from somewhere :-)

i don't spend much time on holiday stuff, but a few years ago i participated in the holiday card exchange with my local guild. i wrote this poem and recently came across it during my desk cleaning. it cracked me up. i do not enjoy writing poetry, but this one was fun. mostly because it is so true.

a couple things to note...when i mention sleeping in my shoes, that happens all the time. i just fall asleep. and when i *fall off the step* - that is because, at the time, my desk was in the living room and there is one step down into the living room. it is a pretty accurate picture of my life...about 15 years ago. not much has changed. kids are gone. and dave (my postman) says he will be retiring. i'll miss him a lot. he wrote a poem response to this. i'll try to find it.

‘Twas the night before something towards the end of the year.

I was stressed to the max, meltdown seemed near.

The stockings were hung by the chimney to dry

The dryer was busted, I didn’t know why.

The kids had been threatened to stay in their beds.

It was probably weird, what danced in their heads.

With George in his jammies and me in my shoes

I’d just settled down for a long nightly snooze.

When out on my desk there arose such a noise,

I jumped out of bed thinking, “It must be those boys!”

Away to the living room I trudged like a schlep,

Tore down the hallway and fell off the step.

The light from the street gave a bit of a glow.

To the piles on my desk that do seem to grow.

When what to my wondering eyes should appear?

My favorite postman; he’s really a dear.

He was dressed all in blue, his usual clothes,

Looking very official, right down to his toes.

He spoke not a word, turned on all the lamps,

Went straight to work, finding all of my stamps.

I’d signed up to do the guild card exchange,

But my cards were unfinished, my life was deranged.

The ideas were no problem; they flew out of my head.

There was something else I was facing with dread.

The stamps I had cherished over the years,

Would soon be inadequate, the worst of my fears.

Dave gave me a wink and grabbed every card,

Stuffed them and stamped them on his way to the yard.

My stamps were all leaving and not by my choice.

There was a tear in my eye and a crack in my voice.

He hollered at me as he drove out of the ‘hood,

“The new stamps are coming, they’ll be just as good.”

And I heard him exclaim as he made a few swerves.

“I hope that poor Jean gets the help she deserves.”