Holidays
This page has every holiday-related thing I have ever received--which isn't very many. Holidays. Holidaies? Hmm...
Caption:
"One Roll Of Tape - $4.00
Massive Amounts of Packing Foam - Stolen
Friends With Way Too Much Time On Their Hands On April Fools - Priceless."
Who is this one reindeer at the front named Rudolph with the biological aberration of a red, glowing nose capable of penetrating thick fog???
The whole story of Rudolph appeared out of nowhere in 1939. Santas at Montgomery Ward stores gave away 2.4 million copies of a booklet entitled "Rudolph the Red-Nose Reindeer.:" The story was written by a person in the advertising department named Robert May. The original name of the reindeer was not Rudolph....it was Rollo, but executives did not like that name. Reginald was another choice, but they shot that one down too. The name Rudolph came from the author's young daughter (poor baby)!! In 1949, Gene Autry sang a musical version of the poem and it was a run-away best seller.
The Rudolph song is second only to "White Christmas" in popularity.
Twas the Night Before Christmas--"Science speak" version (I'm not sure all of these words are real...)
'Twas the nocturnal segment of the diurnal period preceding the annual yuletide celebration, and throughout our place of residence, kinetic activity was not in evidence among the possessors of this potential, including that species of domestic rodent known as Mus musculus. Hosiery was meticulously suspended from the forward edge of the wood-burning caloric apparatus, pursuant to our anticipatory pleasure regarding an imminent visitation from an eccentric philanthropist among whose folkloric appellations is the honorific title, of St. Nicholas.
The prepubescent siblings, comfortably ensconced in their respective accommodations of repose, were experiencing subconscious visual hallucinations of variegated fruit confections moving rhythmically through their cerebra. My conjugal partner and I, attired in our nocturnal cranial coverings, were about to take slumbrous advantage of the hibernal darkness when upon the avenaceous exterior portion of the grounds there ascended such a cacophony of dissonance that I felt compelled to arise with alacrity from my place of repose for the purpose of ascertaining the precise source thereof.
Hastening to the casement, I forthwith opened the barriers sealing the fenestration, noting thereupon that the lunar brilliance without, reflected as it was on the surface of a recent crystalline aqueous precipitation, might be said to rival that of the solar meridian itself - thus permitting my incredulous optical sensor to peruse a miniature airborne runnered conveyance drawn by an octet of diminutive specimens of the genus Rangifer, piloted by a miniscule, aged chauffeur so ebullient and nimble that it became instantly apparent to me that he was indeed our anticipated caller. With his undulate motive power traveling at what may possibly have been more vertiginous velocity than patriotic alar predators, he vociferated loudly, expelled breath musically through contracted labia, and addressed each of the octet by his or her respective cognomen ... "Now Dasher, now Dancer..." et al.- guiding them to the uppermost exterior level of our abode, through which structure I could readily distinguish the concatenations of each of the 32 cloven pedal extremities.
As I retracted my cranium from its erstwhile location, and was performing a 180-degree pivot, our distinguished visitant achieved - with utmost celerity and via a downward leap - entry by way of the smoke passage. He was clad entirely in animal pelts soiled by the ebon residue from the oxidations of carboniferous fuels which had accumulated on the walls thereof. His resemblance to a street vendor I attributed largely to the plethora of assorted playthings which he bore dorsally in a commodious cloth receptacle.
His orbs were scintillant with reflected luminosity, while his submaxillary dermal indentations gave every evidence of engaging amiability. The capillaries of his molar regions and nasal aptenance were engorged with blood which suffused the subcutaneous layers, the former approximating the coloration of Albion's floral emblem, the latter that of the Prunus avium, or sweet cherry. His amusing sub-and supralabials resembled nothing so much as a common loop knot, and their ambient hirstute facial adornment appeared like small, tabular and columnar crystals of frozen water.
Clenched firmly between his incisors was a smokingpiece whose gray fumes, forming a tenuous ellipse about his occiput, were suggestive of a decorative seasonal circlet of holly. His visage was wider than it was high, and when he waxed audibly mirthful, his corpulent abdominal region undulated in the manner of impectinated fruit syrup in a hemispherical containe.
Without utterance and with dispatch, he commenced filling the aforementioned hosiery with articles of merchandise extracted from his aforementioned previously dorsally transported cloth receptacle. Upon completion of this task, he executed an abrupt about-face, placed a single manual digit in lateral juxtaposition to his olfactory organ, inclined his cranium forward in a gesture of leave-taking, and forthwith affected his egress by renegotiating (in reverse) the smoke passage. He then propelled himself in a short vector onto his conveyance, directed a musical expulsion of air through his contracted oral sphincter to the antlered quadrupeds of burden, and proceeded to soar aloft in a movement hitherto observable chiefly among the seed-bearing portions of a common weed. But I overheard his parting exclamation, audible immediately prior to his vehiculation beyond the limits of visibility: "Ecstatic yuletides to the planetary constituence, and to that self-same assemblage my sincerest wishes for a salubriously beneficial and gratifyingly pleasurable period between sunset and dawn."And here's the version for parents:
'Twas the night before Christmas when all through the house
I searched for the tools to hand to my spouse.
Instructions were studied and we were inspired,
In hopes we could manage "Some Assembly Required."
The children were quiet (not asleep) in their beds,
While Dad and I faced the evening with dread:
A kitchen, two bikes, Barbie's town house to boot!
And, thanks to Grandpa, a train with a toot!
We opened the boxes, my heart skipped a beat....
Let no parts be missing or parts incomplete!
Too late for last-minute returns or replacement
If we can't get it right, it goes in the basement!
When what to my worrying eyes should appear,
But 50 sheets of directions, concise, but not clear,
With each part numbered and every slot named,
So if we failed, only we could be blamed.
More rapid than eagles the parts then fell out,
All over the carpet they were scattered about.
"Now bolt it! Now twist it! Attach it right there!
Slide on the seats, and staple the stair!
Hammer the shelves, and nail to the stand."
"Honey," said hubby, "you just glued my hand."
And then in a twinkling, I knew for a fact
That all the toy dealers had indeed made a pact
To keep parents busy all Christmas Eve night
With "assembly required" till morning's first light.
We spoke not a word, but kept bent at our work,
Till our eyes, they went bleary our fingers all hurt.
The coffee went cold and the night, it wore thin
Before we attached the last rod and last pin.
Then laying the tools away in the chest,
We fell into bed for a well-deserved rest.
But I said to my husband just before I passed out,
"This will be the best Christmas, without any doubt.
Tomorrow we'll cheer, let the holiday ring,
And not have to run to the store for a thing!
We did it! We did it! The toys are all set
For the perfect, most perfect, Christmas, I bet!"
Then off to dreamland and sweet repose I gratefully went,
Though I suppose there's something to say for those self-deluded...
I'd forgotten that BATTERIES are never included!
Check this out: http://www.hopesmom.com/xmas_alert.html
All I Need to Know About Life I Learned From A Snowman...
It's okay if you're a little bottom heavy.
Hold your ground, even when the heat is on.
Wearing white is always appropriate.
Winter is the best of the four seasons.
It takes a few extra rolls to make a good midsection.
There's nothing better than a foul weather friend.
The key to life is to be a jolly, happy soul.
It's not the size of the carrot, but the placement that counts.
We're all made up of mostly water.
You know you've made it when they write a song about you.
Accessorize! Accessorize! Accessorize!
Avoid yellow snow.
Don't get too much sun.
Don't put somone else's corncob pipe in your mouth--you never know where it's been.
It's embarrassing when you can't look down and see your feet.
It's fun to hang out in your front yard.
Always put your best foot forward.
There's no stopping you once you're on a roll.
And last, but not least: Enjoy the holidays before they melt away!
Merry Christmas!
(This came from a Portall Christmas card)
Christmas Fruitcake Recipe:
Items Needed:
4 Oz. Fruit Bits
1 Railroad Tie
Wood Saw
Large Rubber Mallet
Safety Goggles
WEAR YOUR SAFETY GOGGLES. (Children: Get help from an adult!) Cut a one-foot section from the middle of your railroad tie. The resulting block of wood should be the size and shape of a loaf of bread.
Then, take some fruit bits and pound them into the block with your rubber mallet. Spread the colors around, or you might wind up with an ugly fruitcake. Don't be afraid to throw some elbow grease into that mallet! Good fruit bits should be much harder than the railroad tie, so you can't break anything.
For best result, you should pre-treat the fruit bits by setting them on top of your garage for a year (or by microwaving them on HIGH for 30 minutes).
Finally, cover it tightly in plastic wrap, and give your loved ones the timeless and enduring gift of fruitcake!
Why do we get kissed if we stand under the mistletoe?
Since ancient times, the mistletoe has been one of the most magical, mysterious and sacred plants of European folklore. The ancient Druids considered the mistletoe to be a sacred plant and believed it had miraculous powers which could cure illnesses, serve as an antidote against poisons, ensure fertility and PROTECT against the ill effects of witchcraft. It was also believed that the mistletoe was an aphrodisiac.
From these strange beliefs has come the modern-day custom of hanging a ball of mistletoe from the ceiling and exchanging kisses under it as a sign of friendship and goodwill. The tradition of smooching under the mistletoe descends from the customs of several different cultures. For instance, exchanging kisses under the mistletoe was a tradition of Greek festivals and marital ceremonies. If a couple in love exchanges a kiss under the mistletoe, it is interpreted as a promise to marry, as well as a prediction of happiness and long life.
The Anglo-Saxons associated the powers of the mistletoe to the legend of Freya, the goddess of love, beauty and fertility. According to the legend, a man had to kiss any young girl who, without realizing it, found herself accidentally under a sprig of mistletoe hanging from the ceiling. Guys would pluck a berry when they smooched the girls and when the last berry was gone, there would be no more kissing!
In France, the custom linked to the mistletoe was reserved for New Year's Day: "Au gui l'An neuf"--Mistletoe for the New Year. Today's custom of using mistletoe to decorate houses at Christmas is a survival of European beliefs and traditions. In Europe, branches of mistletoe were hung from ceilings to ward off evil spirits. In some countries, they were placed over house and stable doors to prevent the entrance of witches.
Today, kisses can be exchanged under the mistletoe any time during the holiday season.
Twas the day after Christmas,
and all through the house,
Every creature was hurtin',
even the mouse.
The toys were all broken,
their batteries dead;
Santa passed out, with
some ice on his head.
Wrapping and ribbons just
covered the floor, while
Upstairs the family
continued to snore.
And I in my T-shirt, new
Reeboks and jeans,
I went into the kitchen
and started to clean.
When out on the lawn
there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the sink to
see what was the matter.
Away to the window I
flew like a flash,
Tore open the curtains,
and threw up the sash.
When what to my wondering
eyes should appear,
But a little white truck,
with an oversized mirror.
The driver was smiling,
so lively and grand;
The patch on his jacket
said "POSTMAN."
With a handful of bills,
he grinned like a fox
Then quickly he stuffed
them into our mailbox.
Bill after bill, after bill,
they still came.
Whistling and shouting
he called them by name:
"Now Dillard's, now Broadway's,
now Penny's and Sears
Here's Robinson's, Levitz's
and Target and Mervyn's.
To the tip of your limit,
every store, every mall,
Now charge away--charge
away--charge away all!"
He whooped and he whistled
as he finished his work.
He filled up the box, and
then turned with a jerk.
He sprang to his truck and
he drove down the road,
Driving much faster
with just half a load.
Then I heard him exclaim
with great holiday cheer,
"Enjoy what you got...
...you'll be paying all year!"
AUSTIN, Tx (Dec. 4, 2001) - Attorneys for Texas Governor George W. Bush filed suit in federal court today, seeking to prevent Santa Claus from making his list and then checking it twice. The complaint seeks an immediate injunction against the beloved Christmas icon, asking the court to effectively ban his traditional practice of checking the list of good boys and girls one additional time before packing his sleigh.
The suit, filed in the Federal District Court of Austin, Texas, asks a federal judge to "hereby order Mr. Claus to cease and desist all repetitive and duplicative list-checking activity, and certify the original list as submitted, without amendment, alteration, deletion, or other unnecessary modification."
"There are no standards for deciding who is naughty, and who is nice. It's totally arbitrary and capricious. How many more times does he need to check? This checking, checking, and re-checking over and over again must stop now," said former Secretary James Baker.
Baker further claimed that unnamed GOP observers witnessed an elf removing all boys named Justin from the 'nice' list, filing them under 'naughty' instead because "everyone knows all boys named Justin are brats."
Gov. Bush cited the potential for unauthorized list tampering, and blasted what he called the "crazy, crazy mess up there at the North Pole."
"Their security is really awful, really bad," said Bush. "My mother just walked right in, told 'em she was Mrs. Claus. They didn't check her ID or nothing."
Meanwhile, Dick Cheney, Gov. Bush's running mate, issued a direct plea to St. Nick himself. "Mr. Claus, I call on you to do the honorable thing, and quit checking your list. The children of the world have had enough. They demand closure now," Cheney said, adding that his granddaughter has already selected a name for the pony she's asked for.
The Rev. Jesse Jackson was quick to respond to this latest development with plans to lead his protesters from Florida to the North Pole via dogsled. The "Million Man Mush" is scheduled to leave Friday. "We need red suits and sleighs, not law suits and delays," Jackson said.
Santa Claus could not be reached for comment, but a spokeself said he was "deeply distressed" by news of the pending legal action against him.
"He's losing weight, and he hasn't said 'Ho Ho' for days," said the spokeself. "He's just not feeling jolly."
A weary nation can relate.
Sign at Help Desk:
"In honor of Earth Day, anyone asking for help today will be treated like dirt."
Bob Hill and his new wife, Betty, were vacationing in Europe, as it happens, in Transylvania. They were driving in a rental car along a rather deserted highway. It was late, and raining very hard. Bob could barely see 10 feet in front of the car. suddenly the car skids out of control! Bob attempts to control the car, but to no avail! The car swerves and smashes into a tree. Moments later, Bob shakes his head to clear the fog.
Dazed, he looks over at the passenger seat and sees his new wife unconscious, with her head bleeding! Despite the rain and unfamiliar countryside, Bob knows he has to carry her to the nearest phone. Bob carefully picks his wife up and begins trudging down the road, After a short while, he sees a light. He heads towards the light, which is coming from an old, large house. He approaches the door and knocks.
A minute passes. A small, hunched man opens the door. Bob immediately blurts, "Hello, my name is Bob Hill, and this is my wife Betty. We've been in a terrible accident, and my wife has been seriously hurt. Can I please use your phone?? "I'm sorry," replied the hunchback, "but we don't have a phone. My master is a doctor; come in and I will get him." Bob takes his wife in.
An elegant man comes down the stairs. "I'm afraid my assistant may have misled you. I am not a medical doctor; I am a scientist. However, it is many miles to the nearest clinic, and I have had some basic medical training. I will see what I can do. Igor, bring them down to the laboratory."
With that, Igor picks up Betty and carries her downstairs, with Bob following closely. Igor places Betty on a table in the lab. Bob collapses from exhaustion and his own injuries, so Igor places Bob on an adjoining table.
After a brief examination, Igor's master looks worried. "things are serious, Igor. Prepare for a transfusion." Igor and his master work feverishly, but to no avail. Bob and Betty Hill cannot be saved. The Hills' deaths upset Igor's master greatly. Wearily, he climbs the steps to his conservatory, which houses his pipe organ. For it is here that he has always found solace. He begins to play, and a stirring, almost haunting, melody fills the house.
Meanwhile, Igor is still in the lab tidying up. As the music fills the lab, his eyes catch movement, and he notices the fingers on Betty Hill's hand twitching in time with the organ playing. Stunned, he watches as Bob's arm begins to rise! He is further amazed as Betty sits straight up! Bob and Betty both get up and begin to dance to the music!
Unable to contain himself, Igor dashes up the stairs to the conservatory. He bursts in and shouts to his master:
(Don't page down unless you have a strong stomach....)
You sure you want to know?
"Master, Master!.......The Hills are alive with the sound of music!
A Warm Spring Afternoon on the Sidewalk
It was not an easy death, as if any death could ever be easy. The bullet had lodged in a particularly painful location, creating a sharp pain each time Carol exhaled. With each breath, her punctured lung gurgled up wave after wave of blood, choking her. She tried to cough away the blood, to clear her aching throat, but each cough just made the blood gush out more. Like those impossible-to-clear logjams of mucous that accompany any bad flu, this was as bad as she could remember.
Standing, she looked into the window, one of its four panes sporting a jagged bullet hole. Against the blackness inside that house of death—the house that had yielded forth the bullet she now carried inside her left lung—the unbroken panes looked like mirrors. Her mirrored image was frightening to see. A large red splotch with a black center showed the entry wound. Blood now oozed down the front of her shirt, and reddened her new running shoes. Just yesterday, her mother, complaining of their $75 price tag, prophesized that the shoes wouldn’t last until the summer. How right she had been. Now, Carol felt guilty about having insisted on the $75 pair of shoes. Had she known that she wouldn’t need them after that day, she would have settled for the $45 pair. Odd now, that guilt over shoes would be one of her last mortal thoughts.
Glancing up now, at her face’s reflection, she saw white—and it startled her. It was whiter than it had ever been. It was as white as the proverbial sheet. She looked like a ghost, as blood drained out and dripped onto her new shoes. She hardly noticed now that she’d stopped coughing. The blood had stopped gurgling. She stared at herself in the window-mirror, not noticing the large bundle that now lay just behind her on the bloodstained sidewalk. She studied her white face in the window. Her face now looked more like a photographic special effect, the eyes, eyebrows and nostrils looking like no more than a child’s foolish attempt to paint features on a ghost.
Now, the bundled behind her on the bleeding sidewalk moaned and coughed just a little, distracting Carole from the image in the window. As she turned to observe the source of the sound, she glanced down at her feet. Her shoes were gone. The blood that had so recently decorated the front of her shirt and pants was also gone, as if someone had swooped down and swapped clean clothing for the blood-soaked rags she’d been wearing only minutes earlier. She tugged at a button and felt for the bullet-hole to see if it was still bleeding. The hole was gone.
The coughing, sobbing bundle on the ground behind her moved again, perhaps for the last time. She transferred her puzzled gaze from her own clothing to study the tragic bundle on the sidewalk. “Poor thing,” Carol thought, as she bent down to offer whatever comfort she could. She could see now that the shivering coughing bundle was a girl, no younger or older than herself. The girl was bleeding. Carol knelt down, seeking the site of the wound, hoping she could put pressure on it, perhaps slowing or stopping the endless flow of life blood.
But, as she tried to move the girl on the sidewalk, she found she could not. It was as if the victim were just a hologram, and empty image occupying only her own retinas, but not really there. In one long last painful gasping cough, the girl on the sidewalk shook all over, turning her face upward, her now-dead eyes looking toward the sky, but seeing nothing.
Seeing now the dead girl’s face for the first time, Carol gasped, then screamed the most horrible piercing scream she could ever imagine. The dead girl on the sidewalk, she could now see, was herself. Carol stood once again, sobbing sobs that brought forth no tears. She turned to look one final time into the window-mirror. Her ghostly image had faded. She could barely see the self she once was. She looked down at her hands, and saw nothing. Then, as quickly as the bullet had rang out not fifteen minutes earlier, Carol could see Carol no more. Her fading mind could scarcely remember her own name, as her fading image now merged into and became part of the gentle breeze that warm spring afternoon. And, in the distance, a siren wailed. But, it was a wailing sound Carol—neither living nor dead—would ever hear.
http://www.flowgo.com/refer/redir.cfm?page_id=951&d=11-23-00
Last updated Sunday, May 13, 2001
Katie Tyson