'Twas the night before Christmas at Kristina's house;
All things were in a flurry--especially my spouse.
The laundry was hung by the wood stove with care
In hopes that it'd dry in the humid night air.
The guest were nestled all snug in their beds,
With dreams of iced freeways and cops and stiff legs.
And her in her apron, and I in my sweats
Were hoping to sleep some before we forget--
When back in the kitchen arose such a clatter
I sprang from my chair to see what was the matter.
Written on a particularly cold and dreary Christmas Eve, when I was feeling a bit discouraged. Perhaps not an accurate reflection of my true feelings about Christmas. I do have many fond Christmas memories, but sometimes it seems the societal pressure to be here, or do this or that, or have certain kinds of gifts or ceremonies, or not to have them, can take some of the joy from the simplicity of the season.