my 2023 true story (and holiday letter):
Twas the 7th day of Christmas, when all through the house,
the creatures were stirring, two dogs (not a mouse).
The stockings were not hung by the chimney with care
because two autumn retreats and a big event left no time to spare.
The plan was for advent, the candles to daily be lit,
with the best of intentions, there still wasn’t much time to sit.
The season cut short, from four weeks to three -
How would it all get done by Santa and me?
Angel ornaments were ordered - to place in the mail...
Planned to send to our friends - should have been smooth as a sail.
With the delivery date constantly changing, and no ornaments in sight,
plans had to change, try as I might.
Then just last week, when out on the patio, there arose such a clatter,
A hanging terra cotta pot fell onto my head, making something definitely the matter!
Away to the doctor I flew like a flash,
A concussion you say? My head’s all a mash!
Take it easy, he said. Rest and relax.
No need to worry. Don’t stress to the max.
So up to the house-top the plans they all flew.
With a sleigh full of headache, and Tylenol too.
St. Nick still arrived with a wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
then gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
So here I sit now, with my head still a flutter,
While amassed all around me is a large pile of clutter!
But no matter, I say to myself (and announce also to you) -
Every year things are different, I’ve no need to be blue.
We all know the reason for this season of joy –
It’s not about us – but that baby boy!
So please extend grace as you read this late letter.
Here’s to 2024, with great hope that it’s bound to be better!