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<TD class=content-headline>’twas the night before Christmas </TD></TR>
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<TD class=content-byline>By Toni Laxson, Tribune</TD></TR>
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<TD class=content-story-big>’Twas the night before Christmas, when all through
the East Valley Not a roof rat was stirring — well, just one in a Tempe back
alley; Closed-toe Birkenstocks were hung by the chimney with care, In hopes that
St. Nicholas soon would be there;</TD></TR>
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<TD class=content-story>The winter visitors were nestled all snug in their beds
While visions of new tan lines danced in their heads; And mamma in her
Diamondbacks PJs, and I in my Coyotes cap, Had just settled down for a TiVo’d
Suns game recap,
When out on the xeriscaped front yard there arose such a
clatter, I sprang from our new IKEA couch to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I shot like a gun, And tore open the mini-blinds
while dialing 911. The twinkle lights staplegunned to the eaves and wrapped
’round the orange tree Had lit up our front yard like a Harkins theater marquee.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, But a miniature Hummer, hauling
eight tiny reindeer (Well, Scottsdale is right across the river, I thought)
But the little old driver, so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must
be St. Nick. More rapid than Chandler ostriches his coursers they came, And he
whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
"Now, DASHER! now,
DANCER! now, PRANCER and VIXEN! On, COMET! on CUPID! on, DONNER and BLITZEN!
To the top of the sun porch! to the top of the stuccoed wall! Now dash
away! dash away! dash away all!"
As dry leaves that before the wild
monsoon fly, When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky, So up to the
roof — narrowly missing the AC unit — the coursers they flew, With a Hummer full
of toys, Game Cubes and iPods, and St. Nicholas too.
And then, in a
twinkling, I heard on the roof The prancing and pawing of each little hoof. So,
I told the 911 operator "Never mind," And down the chimney came St. Nicholas
before I could close the blinds.
He was dressed in a red running suit
with a racers stripe down to his foot, But his clothes weren’t tarnished with
ashes and soot (We had a gas fireplace installed last year); A bundle of toys he
had flung on his back, He looked like a freeway litter collector just opening
his pack.
His eyes — how they twinkled under his RayBans! his dimples
how merry! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry! His droll little
mouth was drawn up like a bow, And the beard of his chin was as white as the
snow (in Flagstaff);
The stump of a pipe he clamped tight in his jaws,
But it wasn’t ignited, ’cause smoking in Gilbert breaks laws; He had a broad
face and a little round belly, That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of
jalapeńo jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf, And I
laughed when I saw him — the running suit was obviously a fashion statement for
himself. A wink of his eye and a twist of his head, Soon gave me to know I had
nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
Scattering presents under the tree; then turned with a jerk, And laying his
finger aside of his nose, And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;
He
sprang to his Hummer, to his team gave a whistle, And away they all flew like
the down of a thistle. But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight, a
controversial holiday salutation that nevertheless seemed just right, "HAPPY
CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD-NIGHT!"
- An East Valley
variation of " ’Twas the Night Before Christmas" or "Account of a Visit From St.
Nicholas" — a poem whose author is disputed as either being Major Henry
Livingston Jr. or Clement Clarke Moore</TD></TR></Table>
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