When I drove up to the parking lot at the River this afternoon, I wondered, "Who's the joker running in the Santa hat?"
Upon closer inspection, that joker was of course my running partner, Fellows. We (he) got some funny looks from some people along the trail, but obviously they just didn't have enough yuletide cheer.
The rest of the day (and the past three days) was filled with quality low-stress family time.
To everyone else, may tonight bring you visions of sugar plums dancing in your head. Also, I have no idea what a sugar plum is, nor have I ever eaten or seen one.
Speaking of the same poem, evidence in a few lines of "T'was the night before Christmas" clearly shows that Ol' St. Nick was nothing but a carbon-emitting, baby-seal-clubbing tobacco smoker:
"He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot/
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot."
"The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,/
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath."
But for bringing joy and hope to billions of people around the world, I suppose he gets a mulligan. It is Christmas, after all.
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