This story’s about young Kris Kringle
Back in the days when he was single
In fact when he was just a boy
He’d never received a Christmas toy

He thought “What if one could give a toy
To each and every girl and boy
A special way to celebrate
The birth of Christ born on this date”

His Mom and Dad had no clue
How to do what he wanted to
“It’s a nice idea that you had son
But there’s just no way to get it done!”

And as year after year went on by
Little Kris would try and try
To find a way to make his dream
More than just a Christmas scheme

Then when he turned twenty one
A spectacular phenomenon
He acquired some land at The North Pole
The first step taken to achieve his goal

When he arrived he met an “elve”
Who introdeced Kris to another twelve
When Kris told them of his Christmas plan
All the elves shouted “Yes we can!”

The very next day outside his gate
He spotted reindeer numbering eight
Then one elf watching outside with Kris

said “Listen while I tell you this…”

“Those deer are Magic and do you know why?
They’re the only reindeer that can actually FLY!”

Back in the barn Kris had a sleigh
And he shouted “NOW there’s a way!
Hitch those reindeer to my sled”
The elf called the others and off quickly they sped

The reindeer were happy to help out the cause
And they named Kris Kringle “Santa Claus”
The elves had been busy making toys
For all the world’s GOOD little girls and boys

The reindeer practiced in wind and in snow
Testing the sleigh to see how far they could go
But one test flight they flew a bit low
The newspapers reported “A UFO!”

The first North Pole Christmas was drawing near
And Santa was ready…presents, sleigh and reindeer
Then on the night of Christmas Eve
Santa was excited and ready to leave

The reindeer pulled, running fast as they could
The sleigh was quite heavy but the liftoff was good
They had to travel thousands of miles
But they knew they would deliver thousands of smiles

Some roofs were slippery and some chimneys tight
But Santa and his reindeer worked through the night
They got back to the North Pole just as dawn broke
A very tired Santa popped open a Coke

And that’s how it started that very first year
And became the Legend that we all hold most dear

It was the fourth Thursday in November 1621 (far as we can tell) and adults and young’ns and Indian guests assembled for a hearty harvest meal.
“Aesop stop bangin’ on that thing and get in here to dinner!”
“I want drumsticks!” the little guy demanded as he dragged himself away from his musical percussion toy.
“There ain’t no gifts on Thanksgiving…shut up and eat your Turkey legs!”
As the crew sat around the hand hewn table and after barely getting a taste of the first Thanksgiving feast…
“I’m STUFFED!” a complaint sounded!
“It’s the Turkey Martha…I told you 100 degrees weren’t hot enough to cook him!”
“Best get the ones outta the fire then!” she reluctantly agreed.
“I’m outta here!” the Tom scrambled off the center of the table, leaking stuffing as he went.
“Next year better make “dressing” not stuffing in case that happens again Martha. I’m losin’ my appetite.”
“I want a new stove!” she responded.
“What time is the game?” inquired Chief Wampanoag.
“Lacrosse or soccer?”
“Let’s invent football!” Aesop suggested.
The chief said “How”(“asked” how?)… they were never sure!
“Get the pigskin and let’s kick it around”
“You can be the Chiefs, Chief and we’ll be the New England Patriots. OK!”
“As long as I’m not the Redskins I’ll play!” he answered.
The game began but the football deflated when the Patriots were on offense and Chief Wampanoag left taking his Indian corn and carrot souffle with him.
“That went well!” Said John Barleycorn as he drifted off to sleep after suffering the very first overdose of Tryptophan in history!
“Wait ’til next year!” shouted Aesop!
And we all have, for the 402 years since.

“What’s wrong Tommy?” said Henny.
Tom pointed his wing toward the side of the home tree.
“What?” asked Henny.
“The Calendar.”
“Yes it’s very nice…new isn’t ….OH….I SEE!”
“Yeah…THIS WEEK!” mumbled Tom with his beak drooped down into his floppy red wattle.
“We were fine last year…remember?” Henny reminded Tom attempting to cheer him up.
“Yeah, but I still lost two tail feathers scraping that high stone fence escaping those camouflaged humans.”
Tom was a very unhappy turkey that, try as he might, could NOT keep from staring at the calendar that had NOVEMBER 24th circled in red.
“WHAT WAS THAT?” Tom jumped at the noise.
“That was farmer Walter’s old pickup backfiring….relax Tom.” said Henny using her softest gobble.
“We should just get rid of this calendar Tom if it’s gonna trouble you so……wait…TOM…this calendar is….from last year 2016…Thanksgiving was YESTERDAY!”
Tom looked as if a huge load had been lifted from his wings and he and Henny trotted off wing in wing into farmer Walter’s garden and celebrated the day AFTER Thanksgiving by chomping on a small leftover pumpkin and wishing each other a “Happy NO Thanksgiving”.

“Don’t go up to that house Billy, there’s a ghost that lives there! Jason has saw it!” Tommy said.
“Jason has SEEN it.” corrected Billy.
“Yeah, that’s what I said!”
“Well, I’m going anyhow! Besides, it’s Halloween. Halloween is for witches and…wait for it…GHOSTS!!!”
“Well, I’m leavin’.”
“Me TOO!” both of the other boys said as they quick stepped their way down the street and away from the creepy house!
Billy had to admit, at least to himself, that it was scary, even for Halloween, but he creaked up the old splintered steps and just as he was about to push the door bell button…
“WHAT???” The door flew open and just about the oldest, grayest, staringist person he’d EVER seen yelled out at him.
He was so startled that he nearly fell off of the top porch step, but caught himself just in time to prevent falling.
After recovering his balance and a little nerve, the door was still filled with the eeriest sight his nine year old eyes had ever seen or imagined, he gathered his strength and said ..”That wasn’t very nice you know. I know that I’m supposed to respect my elders but you make it VERY difficult M’aam.”
There was just a stare back at him with steely eyes that didn’t seem to even have any white parts to them.
After just staring at each other, Billy decided to just leave…”Well, Happy Halloween M’aam.”
A pause then…”Wait.” When Billy looked back at the woman in the door he saw that tears were streaming out of both of her old tired and, he had to admit, scary eyes.
“I’m sorry. I just hate being scary and hateful. But, everybody thinks that I’m a witch or worse yet, a ghost and there is absolutely nothing that I can do about it!” She was fully crying now.
“Oh, M’aam there is always something that you can do. Besides we kids LIKE to be scared and on Halloween, well, you’re just about the scariest…” No wait, thought Billy. THAT won’t help.”
“Here, take my candy and give it out to the trick or treaters. I’ll go get more while you do that and I’ll help you give it out too if you’d like!”
“Why don’t you sit down on this porch chair M’aam.”
“I…I haven’t been outside since, this is gonna sound strange, the full moon of last Halloween.”
“You’re right…strange. But make the most of it. I’ll help you!”

Well, little Billy Smith helped the lady, who he found out was Ima Sloan, over the threshold and out onto the porch. He placed the candy into her dress lap and then went out to the curb and directed kids to “Trick Or Treat” the Scariest candy giver EVER!”
Ms. Sloan started each kid with a grumpy look then laughed out loud as she gave them the treat!
Soon there was a line forming and the candy was running out. “You each have to put a candy in and then take a candy out!”
In less than twenty minutes, the line was out on Elm Street and down the block.
A newspaper photographer who was out covering the story for the local press actually took Ms. Sloan’s and Billy’s picture and it appeared in the next morning’s edition.
Ms. Sloan was a local celebrity and so was Billy and neither one could wait for next Halloween!

Jenny could just barely remember visiting Great Uncle Jasper’s old country house when she was very small. She recalled thinking that the shabby old pile of rotting wood that was badly in need of a coat of paint was going to collapse with her inside. The pipes leaked and the floors creaked when walked upon even though she was only 6 then and not very heavy.
On overnight visits she actually would dream that ghosts flew around her bedroom, at least she was pretty sure that they were dreams.
If fact, there was really only one thing about those dreary visits that Jenny found pleasant, and that was when she would sit upon Uncle Jasper’s lap in his tatty wing chair by the fireplace and he would tell wonderful stories that were sometimes exciting, sometimes funny and sometimes were just so much fun that she just found herself smiling all story long.
Uncle Jasper was living at “Mission Valley Rest Home” now and Jenny’s parents were handling the sale of his old house. Jenny was not sad about visiting the old dilapidated house for the last time but did want to sit in the wing chair once more since it was the only place on the whole property where she had fond memories.
There it was. The chair hadn’t been moved an inch from the spot where it had always been.
Jenny decided to sit in the chair one final time to at least add one moment of pleasantness to the entire visit.
She slapped the seat and a cloud of dust rose up into the sun streaked room and Jenny held her nose and her breath until the dust storm moved away with the draft that was flowing in through the broken window.
Jenny sat in the seat being careful not to lean back or put her hands and arms onto the upholstery. She was a big girl now and her head was high enough to be at the level of the side wings of the chair.
“Go ahead…sit back…relax and I’ll tell you a story just like I used to tell your Great Uncle Jasper.”
WHAT????
Jenny was frightened at first as she realized that it was actually the old chair “talking” to her. She looked around to make sure that it wasn’t some electronic joke that her Mom and Dad were playing on her…but there were no speakers, no electricity and no wifi…nothing! AND, the chair knew things that no one else but her and Uncle Jasper knew.
She sat back and finally relaxed and listened to a story about a little girl that became the most famous writer of children’s stories in the world.
“Jenny…..Jenny…..JENNY!…we’re ready to go Dear.” It was Jenny’s Dad’s voice breaking through her story concentration.
“Ah….well….OK Dad….but I want to keep this chair please….there were so many happy memories of Uncle Jasper when I used to sit in it with him.”
“I don’t think so Jenny….it’s so….”
“We ….I….could clean it up and put it in my room and…”
Jenny’s Mom and Dad just looked at each other. Then Jenny’s Mom said….”Well….I…”
“THANK YOU….Thank You both SOOOOOOO much.”
The ride back home to Jenny’s house had one added passenger strapped onto the pickup truck bed and when Jenny finally got the chair situated in her bedroom corner, she sat down and the chair told her a story about a very scared Story Chair that was taken on a wild ride in a Ford 150.

“Get the belt…I’m fallin’ down!” said the pair of trousers known as “Smarty Pants”
“Ok…OK…hold your shirt on…I’m gettin’ it!” Billy Smith was getting dressed to go out and play on a Saturday morning and he was trying to reach the hook holding his brown belt while holding up his pants, but had to let go to reach that far.
“Whoa! I told ya…umph!!!” Smarty was now crumpled around little Billy’s ankles and as Billy tried to take a step over to fetch his belt he fell flat on his face!
“See…if you would just do what I told you, this never would have happened!” scolded Smarty.
So Billy Smith, sitting on his bedroom floor threaded his new brown belt through the belt loops and pulled the trousers up as he stood…”There!”
“Too tight….ugh….that’s way too tight….you’re strangling me….use the next hole for that buckle!” Smarty was now struggling to even speak…being “choked” by the new belt.
“Ah…how about being quiet for once or….or…I’ll tighten it up even farther!” Little Billy was beginning to lose his temper a bit.
But, being the very kind boy that he was, Billy loosened the belt and Smarty breathed a sigh of relief but was still “panting” from the lack of oxygen.
Then as Billy opened up his shirt drawer the brown buttondown yelled…”HEY…pick me Billy buddy!”
Then the blue knit shirt screamed…”No…me….you picked brownie b.d. just last Tuesday…it’s my turn.”
Billy said…”OK…you are both so selfish I’m not gonna pick either one of you!”… and he chose a plain quiet white T shirt from the bottom of the pile.
Then Billy heard a commotion coming from the bottom drawer and when he opened it, all the socks were jumping around pointing their toes at him and waving their tops wildly…”Me…..no ME…..hey ….me!!!…”
Billy shut the drawer….took off his shirt, pulled off his belt and removed his pants and went back to bed!

Once upon a time there was a clock named Saul
He was the type of clock that hung on the wall
Well he could see very well all that went on
But he’d have rather been a watch since the second he was born

He always knew what time it was and was never slow or fast
But he had dreams of a better life as the time passed and passed
He dearly loved the Spring because springing ahead was fun
But he dreaded the Fall ’cause turning back hurt his hands some

He wanted a chime or at least a bell
Or maybe a voice so the time he could tell
But it seemed no one cared that he couldn’t speak
When they looked for the time…they just took a peek

“What if I stopped running maybe then they would stare
And they’d take me down and fix me with care
But then what if they didn’t and just threw me out
You shouldn’t do things if you have any doubt”

“So I guess it’s time to be thankful and happy I’m here
And look forward to timekeeping …year after year
I’m so glad we talked and had this little chat
If I weren’t a wall clock…I’d wish to be that!”

“Tommy…it’s time to practice your piano lesson Dear.”
“Aww Mom…can’t I just skip today? I promise I’ll practice twice as long tomorrow.”
“I’m afraid not Tommy….you know the rules.”
“But the guys are having a great neighborhood soccer tournament…and we’ve just GOT to beat those guys from Waverly!”
“You can play AFTER your practice…it’s only for thirty minutes Tommy!”
“It’ll be too late then…AW MOM….PLEASE?”
“Sorry Dear…one day you’ll thank me for insisting that you practice your piano…you’ll see.”

Tommy hung his head and trudged off to the living room and sat down at the piano.”I hate you!” He grunted at the piano making sure not to say it too loudly because he didn’t want his Mom to hear him. Then he banged a D Major seventh chord as hard as he could!
“Ouch!”
Tommy’s eyes grew as big as saucers as he stared at the piano. Then he banged a C Minor chord and heard “Hey…take it easier please.”
“You….ah….can….t-talk?”
“I can complain when I’m struck in anger!”

Just then Tommy heard his Mom yell out to him from the kitchen…”I don’t hear those scales that you are supposed to be playing Tommy. Your thirty minutes doesn’t start until you do!”
“Ah…yes Mom.”

He began playing his practice scales and after the series of scales and chords in his routine warm up he realized that the piano hadn’t “said” another word. As Tommy progressed through his lesson he started to think that maybe he had imagined the “conversation” that had transpired with the piano. He played “Clair de Lune” for his final practice selection without one error. That had never happened before. “Maybe the piano is…helping me……Naw…that’s crazy!”

“That was beautiful Tommy…I actually had a tear in my eye listening to your playing.” Tommy’s Mom stood at the door to the kitchen smiling wider than Tommy had ever seen her smile.
“Oh great!” thought Tommy…”Now I’ll never be able to give up those stupid piano lessons!”

It was years later when Tommy was sitting in a field box in England watching Manchester United versus the Italian National team playing a crucial soccer game when a young boy came up to him.

“Sir…would you sign my autograph book please. My Mom took me to see your appearance with the London Philharmonic and we have all of your recordings…in fact….I chose to play the piano because of you.”
“Sure son…I’ll be glad to sign your book.”
After signing and watching the boy return to his seat, Tommy turned to the person sitting next to him and said “Thanks Mom!”

Actually “M” didn’t really have a name. But in the interest of keeping the story easier to follow and for the sake of alliteration, I named him “M”.
Many…and I mean many many years ago when I was even younger than you are today, my parents had a radio that was as large as a big flat screen TV. At night after supper (dinner…not sure) there used to be radio shows that ranged from mysteries and dramas to comedy and also there were programs consisting of classical music.
My Dad loved classical music and my Mom loved the story programs but we would all sit in the living room and listen to and “Watch” the radio.
Yeah I know… but we did and I still don’t have a very plausible explanation for it but we weren’t the only family that did that.
Well, when the mysteries and comedies were booming out of our large speakers there was never a sign of him. But when the classical music came on, in just a minute or so…he would sneak out from somewhere behind the radio, look around and then settle down and….you guessed it…LOOK at the radio and enjoy the music.
Occasionally “M” would came out briefly when swing music was playing (before Rock and Roll kids) but “M” quickly decided that it wasn’t classical and then he’d disappear back to wherever he’d come from behind the radio.
One time as he was leaving due to swing music being played, I’m certain and so was my Mom; he looked at us and glared as he vacated his listening spot.
This whole series of appearances only lasted a few weeks (neighbors had a cat) but the thing that is the most amazing about this entire story is that it is TRUE.

How all those animals knew when it was 8AM, let alone that fact that it was held only on Saturdays, and they all seemed to knew when that was, is still a wonder to me.
That rear garden of his was hidden, not only from the street and blocked by his big white house, but the entire perimeter of the yard was completely surrounded by a privit hedge that had been there for decades and hadn’t been trimmed for nearly as long.
It was actually by chance that I managed to spy on the scene one Saturday in the Fall when I was but eight years old. I thought that I saw something shiny in the dirt under the heavy branching that covered the ground under those privits, and when I struggled to part all of the thick underbrush and lower branches, there they were!
Old Mr. Thompkins was sitting on a wooden chair in the middle of them all with a large old book opened to about halfway, reading slowly and in a gentle voice and the circle of creatures nodding and turning to look at each other from time to time.
Once every page or so there would be a burst of spontaneous applause, but since most of the audience was furried, there was no “clapping” sound like with we humans. (I assume that you readers ARE all humans….aren’t you?)
Anyhow, there was a nearly complete circle of mostly small and medium sized animals if you can picture it, in rapt attention to the reader and his story. There were rabbits, mostly grey ones, and chipmunks, which admittedly had a hard time keeping still, and of course there were a myriad of birds. I noticed that additional birds were covering low branches with their heads turned toward Mr. Thomkins, intently listening along with the audience on the ground.
There was even a box turtle, and some animal that I’m not really sure of, but looked like a groundhog.
I heard Mr. Thompkins say…”And they all lived happily ever after…and I wish that for all of you…TOO!”
There was silent applause again and then most of the animals dispersed in many directions with a Tabby cat coming up to the old man and rubbing against his leg as he stood. The cat followed Mr. Thomkins into the house so I guessed that it was his own pet but all of the other animals were naturally wild but they all sure did love hearing the old man read  to them on Saturday morning storytime.