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‘Twas The Night Before Christmas

Posted on 22 December 2009 by Lynda Ziemba

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Every creature was steaming, even the mouse.
The bathrobes were draped on the towel warmer with care,
In hopes that our new sauna room soon would be there.

The children were wrapped in towels of red,
While visions of sauna boards danced in my head.
Hubby talking upgrades and I doing the math,
Had just settled ourselves for a long soothing bath.

When down in the basement there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bench to see what was the matter.
Away to the stairway I flew like a flash,
Tore open the door and hit the light in a dash.

The bulb overhead radiated a soft glow
Giving a luminous view of the objects below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But Dave and his Service Techs loaded with gear.

With their hefty hammers, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be Accurate.
More rapid than builders his helpers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!

Now Marc! Now Mike! Now Steve and Myra!
On Kevin! On Dean! On Nick and Lynda!
To the top of the studs! To the top of the wall!
Now Steam ahead! Steam ahead! Steam ahead all!

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So off to the weight room the helpers they flew,
With a cart full of boards and Dave Sadowski too.

And then, in a twinkling, I thought this must be a spoof
But the pounding and nailing provided me proof.
As I stepped up the stairs and was turning around,
Through the door Dave Sadowski came with a bound.

He was dressed all in denim, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with sawdust and soot.
A bundle of tools 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,
But his words channeled Henry David Thoreau.

The stump of a pencil he held tight in his teeth,
While viewing plans for the room being built underneath.
He ran to his truck, parked out in the alley,
Then returning, pronounced “This will be better than Bally!”

He was detailed and helpful, a right jolly young elf,
And I relaxed when I heard 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 no more and went straight to his work,
He hung the bath brushes, then turned with a jerk.
And laying a finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the stairs his team rose!

He sprang to his truck, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim as he drove out of sight,
“Wonderful Bathing to all, and to all a good night!”

(The original poem attributed to Clement C. Moore)

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