A Visit From St Nicholas

T was 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 Saint Nicholas soon would be there.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;
And mamma in her ’kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter’s nap;
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be Saint Nick.
More rapid than eagles 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, Donder and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!”
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of toys, and Saint Nicholas too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney Saint Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
His eyes — how they twinkled! 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.
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook, when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself.
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,
And filled all the stockings; 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 sleigh, 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,
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!”





-Clement Clarke Moore

Farewell

I found her in there, along one of those endless spider leg corridors radiating from a central nursing hub.  In her “home” surrounded by vestiges of her life tacked up as photos on her walls, She sat surrounded by a gaggle of chittering octogenarian handmaidens.  It appeared she was having scant endurance of their ministrations. 

Sitting up bare-toed (They have to breathe, you know) she appeared as a frail, tired, ravaged and slumping splat of humanity.  She did not first recognize me in spite of our close history.  But when I spoke my name, she brightened, smiled and exclaimed, “Jerry,... my Jerry!”  While the harpies chortled, “This is Jerry, the boyfriend, oh how nice to met you !”  

They finally found other pressing business and, with a flurry of platitudes, took leave.

Now,  Erane and I freely talked as friends.  She kept nodding off but would awake at my voice, responding she was not tired.  I spoke disbelief of her feint.  She  sighed and related that she is finished; at her desired end.  I sensed this was a mind yearning to wander free, to leave this leukemic body of 93 years behind.  Now her shell was just a constraint, one she felt trapped within.  I asked her directly “ Are you ready to die?”.

“Yes”, she told me in her weak but convicted voice.

"There is no family left, nothing more I want to do, and the loneliness, the ever present loneliness drains me.  I want release.”

She is not in pain and they are kind to her in this place of endings.  Her home is filled with nursing compassion, and friends bring concern... but love has left her life.  

This day was so about saying goodbye.  Erane said to me “I love you, we have had so very many good times.”

I kissed her what we both knew was probably our last time, and I left, tears withheld until out of her sight.

My words tore away from inside me “Dear Erane, I so hope for your Peace. You have been such a special lady to me. ” 

 I drove home from this agonizing day.

The Fires Inside

Each Years snowy accumulations
bring seemingly deeper cold to old bones
Colors fade frozen and steps plod more arduous.

Inside fires still burn bright
stoked strong by friendships that fuel
whatever youth resides.

Smiles can still vent out
from the comfort
provided in warmth. 











Sustenance by love’s bounty inside us.

-Jerry Wendt 2018