'Twas that day before Christmas

'Twas that day before Christmas


'Twas that day before Christmas
As I looked out my house,
"This rain's never ending!" or so said my spouse.

"Get outside, hang the lights round the chimney with care,
Get it done! Hurry up, before Nicholas gets there!"

The children are no help all sleeping in bed,
No visions of sugar plums, but iPads instead.

While Mama dictates I put on a cap
I slip on my boots and a coat with two snaps.

I opened the door and stepped in a puddle.
Then slipped on the lawn and now I see double.
My wife's in the window she doubles and laughs,
I staggered and tumbled, tripped over the trash.

My keys pierce my breast ,as I've fallen you know.
The wind how it blusters then swirls and blows.
My eyes start to water, some would say tear,
I've fallen on Rudolf and other reindeers.
I'm a little old mind you, but lively and quick,
I'm up in a moment all covered in sh...shtuff?

The poop from a beagle had made a large stain.
And I yelled and I shouted and called it bad names.
Dog- gone - it, dang- blasted that dog of the Nixon's!
Uncommon, dumb stupid, ah darn it I'm freezin'.
I hobble to the porch then lean against the wall,
Ah-choo-a, ah-choo-a, I sneeze, almost fall.

"Change to dry clothes! You'll catch a cold and die!"
My wife how she shouted. Her voice how it flys.
So into the house, off trousers and boots,
My coat with two snaps all covered in poop.

And then in a twinkling I knew what to do,
For hanging and dangling of lights from my roof.
I'd wear tightie whities that's all that I'd wear!
Outside on the ladder I just didn't care.

It's only tightie whities on my birthday suit,
As I climbed up the ladder midsts laughter and hoots.
'Twas the neighbor named Floyd who lives just out back.
"Hey Santa!" he said "Where's your clothes and you sack?"

My eyes they were stinging, the rain made them blurry.
My cheeks were like roses, my nose like a cherry.
My fingers were freezing, my toes were so cold.
As I worked from the ladder, hang lights, as I'm told.

The ring of a hook I held tight in my teeth.
My hands worked the cord the lights and the wreath.
I hold tight to the ladder with my face and my belly.
The ladder it shakes! It's my wife and she's yelling.

"Hey chubby! Two lights, both match, you need help?
You’re useless at this. I could do better myself.”
With the blink of an eye I've set the screw head.
Hang green lights together her anger I dread.
She spoke not a word, didn't go berserk.
Then I climbed down the ladder " There I’m finished work!"

Then laying her fist aside of my nose,
It felt rather odd, then my face met my toes.
I then sprang to my feet, gave Floyd a whistle.
We hopped in the car, drove to town ore the trestle.

And I heard her exclaim as we drove out of sight
"Two green lights together, together green lights?!!"

Bob Niles

Golden Bells

                                                       Golden Bells


"Angelo! Angelo will you please shut up! All you do is talk, talk, talk. Nobody likes you around here because of all your tall stories you go on and on about. That and your fashion sense. You still wearing that silly Christmas scarf with the bell on it for heavens sake!"
"Oh it's not silly when it's for heaven's sake Jimbo, and my stories ain't tall, they true. My Dad is very rich. He could buy this whole place and knock it down. He said he'd send me a ticket to fly back to his place anytime if I wanted. He could buy anything he wanted. He has this mansion with three swimming pools filled with mineral water that comes from a mountain piped directly"
"Angelo! Again, will you please shut up. It's your turn next. Get your blanket and cot number and let's go to bed it's been one long day."
"Next please." Called out the social worker from the Lighthouse Mission.

"What's your bunk number Angelo?" Asked Jim. "Are you 25? I'm 27, the one by the window."
"Yup 25 same as last night and all the other nights before that. Twenty-five must be my lucky number. Say Jim weren't you born on the 25th? Funny eh? Twenty-five,....doesn't seem that long ago I was 25 Jimbo. Had a full head-o-hair. Can you believe that Jimbo? Me with hair. Big old Afro hair-doo bouncing as I walked up Yonge St. Well more of a swagger than a walk. Yup them were the days Jimbo. Time was my friend, there were always tomorrow. Yo know what Jimbo I wish they'd knock this  place down. It stinks of smoke and everything musty, and it always seems wet in here."
"Well give your Dad a call, have him knock it down for you. But then where would we sleep? This mission is all we have for our home right now Angelo. And how do you know when I was born?"
"Yo come with me Jimbo! My Dad, he got a big ole mansion. He let you stay in one of the guest rooms. Hey Jimbo iffin he like yo he build yo your own big ole house. Get yo a maid and cook,...you like that Jimbo?  Hey Jimbo?... Yo told me when's yo born, Swiss cheese fo brains."
"Great Angelo! Great. Sounds great. Your Dad building me a big ole house. Pass me my pillow will ya. We got lights out in two minutes bud. But don't think I'll take you up on your offer though. The Granddaughter and I got married and we are going to live happily ever after in the magical forest."
"Excuse me Jimbo? Yo married your Granddaughter? Don't think that's legal no matter where yo from."
"Oh it's legal Angelo. Mr Bear married us in full attendance of all the playroom guests and friends. Elmo played piano and couldn't stop laughing he was so happy. Mickey, Minnie, Bert and Big Bird - couldn't find Ernie- and an assortment of Lego friends all had tea and cookies with us. We toasted each other and wished us happiness, candy rainbows and magical unicorns till forever. Till forever Angelo,...... till forever."
"Funny thing that forever in time Jimbo, has a way of biting you in the backside letting you know it's not for-ever but against-ever. Say Jimbo where" -RING- "you from anyway? You from around here? You ain't said too much about you."
"Me? I'm from,....? Well I'm from,...well ah from north, just north of here. Or is it west? Where are we? Some flop house somewhere?  And stop your silly scarf from ringing!"
"We're at the Lighthouse Mission Jimbo. Remember? You showed up about three days ago. Looking all lost in need of a hot meal and a bed. Really mad too! You thought you'd been done wrong to and how unfair life was. 'Doctors what do they know! Bunch of liars. What do they know!' That's what you said Jimbo. All yelling and upset causing a real ruckus at the front desk."
                          "Grandpa?"
"Did you hear that Angelo?"
"Hear what Jimbo? I didn't hear nottin. But I did see you go out of focus for a second. Maybe get my peepers checked. You're one strange cat Jimbo. Don't know where you from, all lost and confused. What you all confused about Jimbo. Don't you like waiting? You got someplace better ta be? Like the place you can't even remember where it is."
"It sounded like my Granddaughter  calling me. Now she's saying a prayer I taught her for bedtime. You can't here that Angelo?.....Crash cart?? Code Blue?  What,...? Angelo is someone here sick?"
"Hey we's all sick Jimbo. Look around ya. Iffin yo heard crash cart then they is someone sick. Me I just need shut eye yo looking all blurry Jimbo. Come tomorrow I'm gonna call my Dad and yo and me, we outta here. We deserve better than this ole place Jimbo. Sound good to yo there Jimbo? Jimbo? Well I guess yo a sleeping. Yo sure do fall asleep quick there Jimbo."
"Lights out! Lights out boys." Byron the dorm super announced. "Two more sleeps till Christmas  and I know all you little darlings just can't wait till Christmas morning."
"Give us a break Byron." Came the call from a darkened room." We're not little kids all excited about a tree full of gifts you know. Just a better kick at life away from all this pain an"
"Now boys don't get all down in the dumps about waiting for something better. It will happen for many of you, but I'm sorry to say not for us all. Let's just pipe down and get some sleep. Night."
"Hear that Jimbo." Angelo whispered. "Two more sleeps till Christmas. We gotta get outta here, head on over to my Father's for Christmas. You know Jimbo it's his bestest time of year. He do love Christmas. We would have such a party at Christmas it was like birthday and Christmas combined. People from the church nearby come on by and sing songs light candles-n-stuff. They put on plays about the first Christmas with the Baby Jesus n-all. Sounds good Jimbo?.... Well yo justa go on sleeping Jimbo we'll talk in da morning. And Jimbo, when a silly ole bell ring this time of year,.....well yo know what that mean."

"Wow my chest hurts. That was some night."
"What's that Jimbo? Got some pain in yer ticker?" Angelo laughs. "Maybe it's you that needs the crash cart Jimbo. But you don't need no sleepin pill that for sure. You out like a light. Faster than a light! Light still on when you fast a sleep last night. Mr. Byron he come around a remind us it Christmas tomorrow. Probably have us some good ole turkey I bet, and mash potatoes. I do love my mash potatoes and gravy I do. Say what yo want to do today? Oh! Say I know we gotta get ready to go see my Father. We need say our good-byes to all da people here. Check outta dis place fear good now. Sound good Jimbo? ........Jimbo?
"Ya,...sure whatever. Sounds great man" Jim gets up out of bed and looks out window down to the street three floors below. "You don't hear that Angelo?"
Angelo sits up in bed and rubs his eyes and stretches. "Awwwwwwwwww (big yawn) Hear what?" As he blinks his eyes trying to focus on Jim. "I have got to get some eye drop er sumpin. Yo are one sight fer sore eyes Jimbo. Yo are out of focus again. Yo makin me dizzy.
"Funny could of sworn I heard my Granddaughter again. What would she be doing around here? And at this time of the morning? What am I thinking, she has no idea where I am because I have no idea where I am." Jim continues to stare out the window lost in thought as he ties the back of his shirt. "Angelo did you say Christmas is tomorrow?"
"So yo was listening. Ya Christmas is tomorrow Jimbo. Yous and me is getting outta here going to my Fathers fo Christmas. It's all planned. We gonna have turkey and them mash potatoes I love and collared greens with them little carrots and pumpkin pie for dessert. Sound good to yo Jimbo?......Will yo get away from that window. Ain't nobody down there. Yo making me dizzy Jimbo. Angelo says as he rubs his eyes and sits back down on his cot.
"Say Angelo old pal could you lend me a few bucks so I can buy my Granddaughter a Christmas gift? You know I'll pay you back."
"No I don't know yo'll pay me back. And besides I got no money. Iffin I did do yo think I'd be a staying here?"
"Your Dads loaded! At least that what you keep telling me and anyone else who will listen. How come you aren't rich if your Dad has it all?"
"Jimbo I am rich. But it's a different kind of rich. I'm rich in things yo can't see, things that will never wear out or go outta style or break down. I got more than I can axe for Jimbo."
" There you go again with that kinda talk that gets you in to trouble here with a few of the guys. They really get angry with all this talk you know. Keep it to yourself. You bragging about all your fine things and promises from your Father is angering some of the ones you don't want to mess with. Like the nice biker skinhead guy with all the lovely tattoos all over his face." Jim says rolling his eyes. "Say Angelo you seen my shoes? All I have is these slippers."
"That's what yous were wearing when you showed up here. That and that sickly blue kinda overcoat thingy. Don't yo have a suitcase er bag er anything?" 
"Apparently not Angelo. I guess I travel light. I'm a man of mystery,...Wow! Wow! My chest!"

               "Code Blue! Clear!" BANG "Increase to 200 hit em again.   Clear!"   BANG

"What's going on Jimbo? You having a seizure? I be calling Mr. Byron fo ya? Jim yo okay?"
"Whoa, whoa Angelo let me catch my breath here. Man that hurts. What did you do to me?"
"Me? I done nottin! Yo just about fly outta yo cot though! Look like yous layin down one second then you jump flat off the cot! Never seen nottin like it Jimbo. Say you hearing yo Granddaughter again? You going all fuzzy kinda. Funny how my peepers go all funny now when yo hear her. Yo  better just stay there in yo cot, I go get Mr Byron an check yo out. Yo lookin real pale like. I think we had just better stay round here today till yo get some colour back in yo face."
"I think you're right Angelo. I'll just lie here for a while. But don't be troubling Mr. Byron, I'm sure I just need a little rest is all. The only thing I wanted to do today is get a Christmas present for my Granddaughter and with my cash flow problem, maybe I'll just have to think of something I can do for her. That's it I'll just lie here and think of something I can do for her. Something to let her know Grandpa loves her. Grandpa still remembers. Gran....."

"Grandpa? Grandpa it's me Sophia Morgan. Remember me?" Jim's Granddaughter whispers as she takes his hand in hers."Mommy grandpa looks terrible! Hoses, bags, tubes and wires everywhere he can't  be liking what they are doing to him. Make them stop Mom."
"Your Grandpa needs all that so he can keep breathing dear. He's very sick and the hospital has to monitor how he's doing and all the hoses and wires help them do that." Jim's daughter explains as she rubs her daughters back.
"But it's been four days now and he's not better, he's even sicker than when he got here in the ambulance. Can't we just go home with him and start again all over? He's not my Grandpa laying here like this." 
"Be careful what you say Sophia Morgan." Her mother sternly warned. "It is very possible Grandpa can hear you, and you could hurt his feelings."
"Oh sorry sorry Grandpa! You're still my Grandpa and always will be but I miss the old you. Not that you're old! My Sunday School Teachers old! She remembers the old Bible days really well. You and me got more fun stuff to do. Like tomorrow at Christmas we gotta open my new bike and take it for a spin. I peaked under the tree."
"Sophia Morgan! What did I say about looking under the tree?"
" Well I didn't touch anything it's just hard to wrap a bike so that it doesn't look like a bike. It's not like wrapping the fancy underwear that dad got for you!" Sophia Morgan laughs as she pretends to walk down a models runway.
"Young lady that's just about enough from you." Her Mom jokingly scolded. "Now why don't you say your good-byes and maybe we'll come and see Grandpa tomorrow. It's awfully late"
"What,? Can't Grandpa come home with us now? He can't be here at Christmas by himself."
"Honey," her mother explained, "Your grandpa has had three heart attacks and I'm afraid he might not make it out of here. He's just so weak and tired to come home with us now. The doctor says he may never again be the same, even if he does make it out of here. I'm afraid your Grandpa might not gain consciousness again honey."
Sophia Morgan climbed up on her Grandpa's bed and smoothed his blankets out. 
"Honey I know this is hard to take, but I think maybe Grandpa is going to leave us soon. I think your Grandpa would be happier in heaven than hurting here with us. You would want Grandpa happy, right?"
"Doctors what do they know! Buch of liars. They aren't telling the truth Mom." Sophia Morgan angrily stated as tears ran down her cheek.
"Now you're sounding like your Grandpa because that's  exactly what he said after his first heart attack." Sophia Morgan's mom straightened up the cards and flowers on the bedside table and gathered her coat and purse. "Now honey I'm sorry but we've got to get going. Mommy's got a lot to do before tomorrow. I'm going to go in the hall and talk to the doctor and you can sit here beside Grandpa and wish him a Merry Christmas and say your good-byes for tonight." Sophia Morgan's mother walked out in the hall to find her Dad's doctor.
"Grandpa?" She whispered as she took his hand. "I just know you can hear me. I know you don't want to be here and I don't want you here either Grandpa if you're hurting. Cause that really makes me sad. I know we said we'd be together forever at our wedding but that was like forever ago. We laughed so much that day didn't we? You and me sure had some fun times back when I was a kid last year. Grandpa can you hear me?....sure wish I knew you could hear me. You know what Grandpa? You know what you can give me for Christmas?" Sophia Morgan wiped tears from her face with her sleeve. "Could you let me know you hear me for my Christmas present Grandpa? That would be the bestest gift I could imagine. Grandpa? I prayed my bedtime prayer the other night just before I left and it's the only prayer I really know. So I hope this helps you Grandpa. But before I do, I just want you to know that I'll be okay if you go cause I don't want you here in this stinky old hospital anymore. And especially if you're hurting. I'm a big girl now, starting school next year and I can't be around as much anymore. I'll be so busy you know. You did a real good job of taking care of me. I love you Grandpa so much. Okay I'm gonna close my eyes now. You taught me this remember? Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord my,....Mommy! Mommy! Grandpa squeezed my hand! Mommy!"
Aeeeek aeeeek aaaa aaaa-alarms and alert tones fill the hospital room -aeeeek aeeeek aaaa aaaaa RING aeeeek - as  a Code Blue is alerted. Nurses and doctors filled the room as Sophia Morgan is pushed to the rear of the room.
         "Grandpa? Grandpa can you hear me?"

December 28th
"I loved the song you sang and the wonderful story you told about your Grandpa at the service this morning." Said an elderly man to Sophia Morgan. "You were very brave, he would of been proud of you." 
"Did you know my Grandpa?" 
"Yes, but it was years and years ago when we lived in Toronto. We had met actually quite by accident. I had been living on the streets in,... Well maybe your a little young for such a story. I will say though your Grandpa saved my life. He was just a young man about 20 and he had volunteered at a mission on Yonge St. He took me under his wing so to speak. He prayed with me, worked with me got me to go back to school to complete my education. If it hadn't been for your Grandpa I'd of never become a pastor to a small church."
"Wow you worked for God?" asked Sophia Morgan.
"I sure did, and still do. Helped a lot of people too. Well I won't keep you but I just wanted you to know how much your grandpa loved you. He talked of you a lot and loved to tell about the time you two got play married."
"He told you about that?"
"Sure did. You were the light in his eyes honey. Well I really should be going your Grandma wants you. Oh, one last thing, did he get you anything for Christmas this year? He was all worried as what to get you."
"Yup. He let me know he was with me right till he went to his Fathers home in heaven. Mom says I was very special in his life."
"Yes, yes you were."
"Sophia Morgan?" came a call from the kitchen.
"Over here Grandma" she said as she made her way through the many guest that had stayed after the funeral.
"Where were you?" asked her grandma.
"I was talking to that man, that man in the picture there." Sophia pointed to a collection of pictures celebrating her grandpas life. "He's a pastor grandma."
"Oh dear you tell such tall tales. That man's name is Angelo and he died many years ago saving homeless people from a fire at,..I believe it was the Lighthouse Mission. He did his preaching there to the homeless men."
"No grandma he's over here I was just talking to him." Sophia Morgan pulled on her grandmas arm as she guided her through the crowd. "He's right in here grandma."
Angelo wasn't there. Sophia Morgan's room was empty. All except for a silly Christmas scarf with a golden bell all covered in soot and smelling like a campfire.
                        RING

Bob Niles

Fwd: This will look good under heavy boxes

           "Thank-you very much. This will look good under heavy boxes in the garage."

"Why thank-you so much, but you really shouldn't have." But because you've screwed up so much this year on the job you figured this gift under $25 should compensate for losing the Griffin contract. Oh look, you're still smiling at me. I'm thinking you want me to open this now, and here's me  run out of ways to try and sound gracious. Quick! Think of something else to say. She's waiting for you to open,..what probably is a paper weight. It's heavy. It's small. Yep it's a paper weight. Now hold it to the light. Show other people around the room and ooooo and awwwwww over it. "This is exactly what I needed! You know how windy it can get in the office." If ever a window on the 27th floor were ever to have someone jump through it trying to escape this lame office Christmas party.
Yes boys and girls it's that time of year again. A time when adults are inundated with gifts they never really wanted. Useless gifts for around $25 that retailers make 27% of their annual revenue from. Gifts so lame and unnecessary they have to be given by a secret Santa. Is it anything like a Victoria's secret? Or is Santa in some witness protection program from young school children. Little tykes who laid open their hearts to ole St. Nick at the shopping mall, who of recent years found out he was a fraud? Are the beard and suit just a cleaver disguise?
Well I know how to pick out secret Santa's in the stores. They're the ones standing in front of coffee mugs with the stupid sayings. They're the ones humming and hawing over which Chia Pet the guy in book keeping would want. Want? Or they're the ones all happy with themselves over the 'Breaking Bad' cutting board with 'Let's Cook' written on it that they got for $10 off an already over the top asking price. And to my wife, I only followed that women into Victoria Secret because I thought it had something to do with a secret Santa. It was research for this story. How was I to know she was going to ask me my opinion on bras.
Yes the good people of Asia, -who make this crap-, thank you for buying everyone you know a little something.
It's a chance for them to use up left over material from cell phones and TVs and,...well everything else you bought in the last year. Then they make some piece of crap from it, rather than filling their dump sites with it. They then ship it over here, and we give it to people we care about. Just don't let little Jessica chew on her doll as there has been trouble with the paint in past years.
And if you just can't find that perfect piece of junk to wrap up all pretty, for the love of candy canes  don't ask for help from anyone in the store. Because you have to know they've had staff meeting that morning where the boss is saying 'I've got a container load of this crap and I expect my loyal employees to move this junk -(Junk I got for $2 a unit and am selling it for $25, after $10 off coupon)- out the doors. Why they'll just love the after market ashtray for their Stairmaster.
Or worse yet you'll walk into a store with cash that you can spend anywhere and walk out with a plastic card equivalent to the cash you had in your pocket that can now only be spent in that store. And perhaps with the stipulation that you have only a limited time to do so. Thank you very much secret Santa. Now I have to go to a candle store and spend 45 minutes picking out a candle, I didn't want in the first place, and then had to lay out an extra $10 bucks to your generous $25 to pay for taxes and a vanilla scent which I can use to cover up the poop smell in the bathroom when guests come over. I mean, why else do you think a dude would want a candle.
I know I sound down on gifts. And I am. Especially when two fully grown people spend silly amounts on gifts neither one of them really needed. If I had wanted such a thing I'd of bought such a thing. Oh 'it's the thought that counts' you say. Then buy me a card from the dollar store and write it out. Or buy me a pork chop and say it. I'll eat eat it, have the memory and be satisfied and fed.
Or here's an idea, take the true meaning of this season and donate what you were going to give to me, in some form, and take a picture of what you did. Put that picture on your computer and challenge others to match your random act of kindness that you experienced for $25. Maybe we'll surprise ourselves on just how much this time of year brings out the best in us all.

Bob Niles

Christmas gone is my Christmas present

                               Christmas Gone is my Christmas Present

As I've aged, I have realized that Christmas doesn't feel like Christmas until it's over.
It's not until after all the baking ingredients are bought, baked and consumed that I find Christmas.
Christmas for me happens long after a turkey is stuffed, baked and devoured. It's not until after the gifts are all purchased, wrapped and given, and family has come and gone, that I can find that childhood Christmas peace the season's about. The gift of peace that became evident because of that first Christmas.

The house is now quiet from it's annual Christmas Day celebration. The fancy nut and chocolate dishes are left with a small array of what once was. The baking that earlier slid from overladen platters is evident only from crumbs on the many dessert plates scattered and hidden around the room. Punch glasses in varying degrees of half empty and half filled compete with dessert plates for position. The kitchen is filled with dirty plates, cups and bowls that we only use for fancy occasions. It's a special kind of mess, thats all around the house that's only at Christmas.
"Let's leave all this cleanup till tomorrow and go to bed." The wife directs as she tops the stairs. "You coming?" She asks, more out of courtesy than a need to know.
"No" I'm just going to drain the last of the coffee from this pot and enjoy the lights on the tree for a while." I respond, knowing she can't hear me anyway behind the bathroom door.
I turn off the little orange light on the Mr. Coffee maker as the upstairs goes dark leaving only the Christmas tree to guide my way back to my old favorite chair. 
Oh look, I can see the floor under the tree again. For weeks it's had a condition where colorful boxes and bags would appear at it's base, blocking floor access. And by doing so, any way of watering the now fire hazard that's been in the house for three weeks.
Tomorrow,...I'll water it tomorrow, I think to myself as my butt is halfway to the chair beyond the point of I'll stand up and do it now before I forget. But it's today! I see only three numbers on the digital display of some gadget around the TV. I was expecting four. I try to convince myself it's still Christmas Day. But, it's not.
Christmas is over. Done, complete, finished. That was a short two months, of everything and nothing but Christmas. I guess I'm glad it's over. Maybe I can breath again. That was a lot of work to get to this moment. All the 'they need, they want, they gotta have or it's not good enough', is done.
I exhale at the thought, blowing across the top of my coffee as I take the first sip. As I focus on the level of coffee in my mug I see a reflection of Christmas tree lights in the coffee. It's just me and the tree now. I don't know how I'm going to break it to him that he's now trash. The now highly decorated, illuminated but poorly irrigated, fire hazard will soon be striped of all it's illumination, man made bobbles and bangles. Soon to be tossed aside and then dumped in a yet unknown location. It's  once proud eight foot splendor has started to become a needle dripping, unloved eyesore.
Pondering on which neighbors are away on holidays, and would enjoy an eight foot  horizontal Fir on their front lawn upon their return, I'm visually drawn to a childhood memory. Back in the tree behind the 20,000 or more bright LED lights, hidden by plastic ornaments from China and Korea is my childhood Christmas memory. A glass ornament of a choir boy holding a hymn book, mouth open, eyes closed, singing Pop Goes the Weasel. Well, probably not, but as a kid it was fun to think that he was. He was with two other singers back then. The first hand painted boy band from Germany,  
They originally had been my grandmothers which would make the last remaining member of the group about 100 yrs. old. Which would make him old enough to be in the Rolling Stones. Nothing says Christmas like a little glass figurine of Mick Jagger hanging in the tree. 
As a kid I would lay under the Christmas tree and enjoy the colored lights, ornaments and the smell that the tree held. It smelt like the little cardboard tree dad had around the rear view mirror in the car. 
Ornaments would sparkle under the colored lights and compete with tinsel to see who could outshine the other. Christmas carols would play on the big stereo HiFi.  A source of pride for my Dad, who would brag that it was big enough to bury him in. 
All these sights and sounds would combine with the heavenly smell of Mom's Christmas baking. All together, creating an outdoor cinnamon kind of aroma. 
My problems back then were too few to worry, which is the luxury of the young. I had needs and wants that money could still buy. My whole life was ahead of me and it looked exciting and good. It was a time, that as a kid I could lay under a Christmas tree without someone dialing 911. Just lie there in peace and be hypnotized by the sights, sounds and smells of home comfort.
I take another sip of coffee and wish for more sugar. 
My little singing old choirboy is looking straight at me through,...I was going to say lights and ornaments, but time, seems more correct. He looks across the time that's been my life. From my youth filled with happy Christmas memories with all the family there. To what my life's become 55 yrs. later.
My Dads gone now, but we didn't bury him in the HiFi. We wished we had of though. It would of been easier having six guys carrying him out in it, than trying to recycle its 7 ft. HIFI splendor. My Mom can still bake but infrequently is her main dish now. And me, I only lay under the tree to water it now. Which if not done in a speedy manner scares the wife.
I've married, twice, and am now happily into my 25th year with my second wife. We share three wonderful children and four even better grandkids. We've worked together to build a family we're proud of. I'm lucky to have lived long enough to where money can't buy me what I want anymore. And all my problems I thought were a problem are in my pine scented rear view mirror.
The furnace kicks in and reminds me to turn down the thermostat before I make it to bed. My coffee's cooled to where gulps replace sips. And my shoulders relax as I breath deep the satisfaction of another happy family Christmas.
Was all the work and effort worth it? Yes it was. All through my life, every Christmas has been with family. Thank you Mom and Dad. You made memories that will last more than your life times. It's was your solid  foundation that you set for me, so that I can build on for my family. The one my wife and I are forming, that's being enjoyed and remembered by my kids, and their kids. We're building on solid rock, sitting strong in these stormy times.
Ahhhh I breath out and reach over to squeeze the wife's hand...Oh ya. 
All is right in my world little choirboy. Even though outside my door trouble, hate, disease, and wars abound.  I'm at peace. Bethlehem peace. An inner peace, found only because of that night so long ago. A comforting peace, that spans throughout all time. An all encompassing peace to surround the grandchildren. One to shelter and comfort their fears of wars, disease and home grown terror. A peace that's anchored by strong roots in my humble home. Now reminded by an old, still precious, almost hidden symbol. One that was once celebrated at the forefront of our family Christmas tree. So much like the real meaning of Christmas for most of us. It's still there. Once you get past all the glitz and noise of the season. Down deep behind the lights, ornaments, presents and other distractions. So precious, still valued,...that quiet kind of Christmas peace.

Bob Niles

Dedicated to my big Brother Ian who was with us every Christmas and for many more to come.

Fwd: Secret Agent Man

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> Secret Agent Man
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> It's starrrr--ted, the whole Christmas, Hanukah, Kwanzaa, Happy Festivus multi cultural onslaught of advertising we've all come to expect at this time of year. A season bombed with every imaginable product to make it all happy and bright. Magazines, television, billboards, bus stop shelters and every newspaper are heavily pregnant with gift ideas for every person you ever knew. And my granddaughter wants it all.
> She has learned, through my wife, 'Ask and You Shall Receive'.
> Now she knows better than to try that tactic out on mom and dad. They, as most parents do, give the kid the reality check and let them know 'You Don't Always Get what You Ask For'. And, to be fair to my wife, when our kids were growing up that rule applied too. But then God invented grandchildren for retail suppliers. And they with their wants, and gotta haves, fill the retail hoppers to overflowing at this time of year.
> And you're welcome! On behalf of my wife and her gold Visa card may this time of year carry you through the leaner months ahead in 2016.
> Me? I have little to do with getting out there in the trenches for the hand to hand charge card transactions. All that lining up before dawn, in single line formation out side the business you're about to invade,......not my style.
> I'm the spy kind of guy, more of a James Bond. I find out what information the grandchild posses in regards to their wants. I find out what makes them happy. Their desires. Sometimes I'll play the game of double agent and steer the kid into what they want because the wife bought it when it was on sale in July.
> Mine is not an easy life at this time of year. Me being a spy, is not all the glamor filled Casino Royale nights one would expect being a spy. No, my days are filled in front of a TV with a forty pound child standing, squirming and jumping on my lap. Preschool television to the point of brain dead boredom. Then, shockingly interrupted by a foot filled Dora the Explorer sock to the groin. This then is usually accompanied by 'Grandpa! Grandpa! I want that or Christmas!'
> The number of jumps on my swimsuit area determines how well the gift is liked. One jump being, I'd play with it until the next gift is in front of me. Two being, I'd play with it as much as the box it came in. And three being, I like it enough to take it home from grandma and grandpa's. And if there is ever a fourth jump, I've either gone numb in the once treasured swimsuit area, or it's an iPad commercial.
> This is the torture I must go through to find out what the little boogie eating, lap stomping, I need a drink (well so do I!) Beefaroni gulping, cartoon watching, I want everything kinda kid wants for Christmas. All, so I can tell grandma what to buy.
> Sean Connery never had it this rough!
> The whole 'Grandpa!..I want that for Christmas' starts about two days after her birthday in July. I soon tire of all her over information and do the old 'If you ask for one more thing you will never get anything'. To which she responds in quick fashion to,.. 'Gabriella (the other granddaughter) would like that for Christmas'. So now we're on to Gabriella would like that! Gabriella would love that!
> Apparently Gabriella would like to have a under garment to handle bladder control because 'Hey we all Pee' as the commercial says.
> "Why would Gabriella want underpants ( and here I'm assuming without a 'Barbie' on them) that these old ladies are wearing." I ask.
> "Well they're dancing and having a good time and Gabriella likes to do both of those things." she reasons.
> The conversations I have and punishment I take just to narrow down the gift field is brutal. If she could only write like Gabriella and make a Christmas list all this lap dancing she does could stop.
> But then my spy days would end. No more deciphering drawings for gift ideas or listening in on toy cell phone conversations. Me, following her around toy stores seeing what she shows an interest in. Or the hours in front of the bright lights of a television made to watch the very commercials I avoid like the plague when I'm watching TV on my own.
> But maybe I like being a spy. Maybe I don't want to turn in the remote and drink box. I like the interaction had in getting inside their little heads to see what makes them tick.
> Oh sure they lie and give misinformation. 'No! No! I don't have to go to the bathroom!"
> I won't get fooled by that one again!
> Suddenly I'm brought back to the now, and the present. The present she wants from this commercial. "Grandpa! Granda! I want that for Christmas!" Its a two jump, no three before I can stop her. So I'm shaken, not stirred by a remote T-Rex dinosaur whose eyes can change color when angry. It's a strong contender to be under the tree this year. It's, it's fourth strong showing with two weeks to go before cutoff and shopping begins. Then there'll be no more Grandpa I want this! Or I want that, it'll all be over.
> Mission complete.
> The wife, little Miss Money Penny will refer to me as The Man with the Golden Card and start her mission using my intelligence as her guide. She approaches her buying for the grandkids as The World is Not Enough. And then come January and the bills I just give them to her and say its For Your Eyes Only. That bill in that envelope is A View to a Kill and a License to a Kill if seen by me. It scares The Living Daylights out of me.
> She blames me, letting her go on her own! Me, Dr. No, is suppose to be there to hold her back.
> Me? I blame that little cute boogie eating, lap stomping, I need a drink, Beefaroni gulping, cartoon watching I want everything kind of kid! And the fact that we are lucky enough to be grandparents we can Never Say Never Again.
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> Bob Niles (007)
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Mars calling Venus, is dinner ready?

                                  Mars calling Venus, is dinner ready?


Reality TV has brought me to the realization that my wife and I live in two different worlds. We share the same house but are in different universes when it comes to likes and dislikes on TV. 
Her unscripted TV choices consist of rich catty housewives fighting each other over.....?  Then we have heavily manscaped real estate agents putting each other down so one can look more successful than the other? Then there's the every day joe, like myself, trying to renovate bathrooms and kitchens by themselves. Lost and under budgeted sinking into renovation overload. Or worse, they pay someone to do it and then they take off leaving them helpless and hopeless to finish. But then to their rescue comes a saviour  ripping it all down while repeating over and over again minimum code requirement.....Then we have couples looking to buy homes near or afar and how much work and money it will cost to make it to their liking. 
I watch Yukon, Alaskan, northern, crab catching, mining, trappers digging holes with big machines and skinnin critters in shacks.
The only thing our shows share in common is both trappers and high class housewife wear fur.
My shows make the money her shows spend the money. My guys live in an 8x8 log cabin or a trailer on wheels. Her shows aren't happy no matter where they live. My guys seem like they are dirty all the time her guys are,.....? No, her real estate guys and housewives are dirty too. Just in a different way.
My parents never entertained the thought, mind or visual senses of anything but same likeness. And if they did my brothers and I certainly weren't aware of it. My grandkids all they have to do is walk in the house to realize grandpa and grandma have nothing in common. Grandmas upstairs watching rich ladies yell at each other, and grandpas downstairs watching a hermit skin, gut and eat a member of the weasel family. The poor kids don't know where to go to watch their own programs.
And that's another thing. Kids now have their own networks. They too can zone out to their personalized tastes. And thank God for it. There's too much explaining and trauma to them viewing our TV interests. I don't think my mom or dad ever had to tread softly over any issue raised by Andy, Barney or hillbillies from where rich housewives now live in my formative years. 
TV use to bring us together, now it isolates us. My friends and I growing up shared the same three or four networks. We were a closer in our likes and dislikes because of the lack of choice. And we were happy with that. The wife and I drifted to two TVs then to two different worlds. 
The whole men are from Mars and women from Venus thing has us now back on our originating planets thanks to TV programming. Oh sure there are times when we both meet on earth to watch men fight each other on a playing surface for sports, but she just likes the fighting. Me, I think about how much gold it takes to pay these suckers to play. So really we're still off in our own little worlds. Maybe if rich housewives were to play beach volleyball we could each sit in the same room and appreciate it for what it is. Me, the little man that I am, and her enjoying the fight in the sandbox.
Maybe if they wore fur bikinis?

Bob Niles

France