‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there…
No doubt, you are familiar with this Christmas poem by Clement Moore. I remember my mother reading it to me when I was quite small. I must admit, not every detail of the poem made sense to me. My mother did not sleep in a kerchief, my father did not sleep in a cap and I had no clue what sugarplums were. But it did paint a nice picture of Christmas morning, which for us children was all about the gifts. We would tip into the living room early on Christmas morning and find that it had been transformed into a wonderland of beautifully wrapped packages of all shapes and sizes. We could hardly wait to tear into them to find what was inside. Read the rest of this entry »
