Tuesday, December 30, 2008

Twas the Night Before Christmas in 2008

I present an original poem, by Erin Warren Gaston, with apologies to Clement Clarke Moore. There are some rather imperfect rhymes in here, and some of it sounds like it was authored by Yoda. It was written in about 6 hours between last night and this morning, so please, be gentle. Hope you enjoy!

Twas the Night Before Christmas in 2008

Twas the night before Christmas
in 2008.
There were three in the kitchen
and, for food, three more wait.

We were making finger foods,
as many as we were able,
with visions of a feast
covering the table.

There were shrimp puffs and brie,
pot stickers and chicken,
sausage balls and pizza rolls;
there was much finger lickin'.

My mother was stirring,
an egg I was beating,
and Jacob was chopping,
while a pot was pre-heating.

"I wonder," I thought
as I glanced at the pot,
"how long it will sit there?
It's getting quite hot."

Then the pecans were finished,
but we like them nuttier,
so into the pot
Jacob tosses the butter.

There was swearing and cursing,
oh the words he did utter
as the overheated pot
started to sputter.

The kitchen was filled
with sizzling and smoke,
so I opened the back door,
hoping we wouldn't choke.

Then a sound met my ears,
twas some house's alarm!
But it sounded far off
and could do us no harm.

And then, from the front porch,
I heard the door banging.
I opened it up,
and my mouth was left hanging.

For what did I see
standing there on my porch
But a Clarkston police officer
holding a torch!
(that's a flashlight to all the Americans)

His forehead was wrinkled,
his mouth slightly frowning.
I stood there quite baffled,
my heart loudly pounding.

"Yes officer, may I help you?"
I said with some fear.
"It's from your house," he answered,
"this alarm that I hear.

I was just driving by
when I heard all the noise."
And there in that moment,
I lost all my poise.

"It's from our house!" I shouted,
sounding quite shrill,
and my living room erupted
in a Chinese fire drill.

I rushed to the closet
which houses the alarm,
with no clue what to do,
but saying "darn, darn!"
(or something like that)

DH ran up the stairs
to access the attic,
while I dialed the phone
and tried not to panic.

I called the security
company number
and explained that the police
were starting to wonder

How a family could live
7 years in an abode
with absolutely no clue
of the security code!

The woman who lived
in this house right before us
never gave us the numbers
to stop all this fuss.

Then Luke broke down,
he couldn't understand why
everyone was so hyper,
and he started to cry.

He wanted so badly
to help, he did say,
but I needed him somewhere
out of the way.

Officer Hobbs was now looking
somewhat relieved.
Realizing we're not robbers,
he prepared to leave.

Mom stood in the foyer,
and told him farewell,
as the alarm guy on the phone
explained how to end our hell (sorry).

To my father, I gave cutters
and said, "Clip the wire.
Either that or we must call
the Department of Fire."

Blessed silence descended,
and we all made merry.
How happy were we?
Very very!!

We finished the cooking,
though it was rather late.
Still, it was very yummy,
and quite worth the wait.

We did finally get
the poor child in bed,
while my brother fretted
hoping not to be dead.

And to him, I said,
despite his distress,
"You realize, dear brother,
I will definitely blog this!"

The rest of the evening
was really quite boring,
and we were all laughing
about it by morning.

Yet there is still one thing
that my brother should fear:
we will definitely retell
this story each year!

Currently feeling: hoping for a calm Christmas Eve next year


  1. :) :) :) Terrific! Thanks for the laugh! (And I reckon Jacob fully deserves his blushes when that tale is re-told every year).

  2. What a great job!! You'll have to include this in the 2008 Family Christmas Cookbook!!

  3. That is fantastic Erin! Love it! Happy New Year to you and yours! :)

  4. This was hilarious! Great job at the poem too!


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