As I head out for a much needed vacation, I wanted to leave you with a special Christmas gift that I’ve been working on for a couple weeks now. It’s a special version of the most famous Christmas poem just for my friends who love old houses.
I hope your Christmas is filled with joy and family, and I look forward to a fantastic new year with you all!
Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house,
Not a window would open, not even an ounce.
The pipes had been leaking as I tried not to care.
In hopes that the plumber soon would be there.
The children were nestled all snug in their cots.
Since fixing the furnace would cost us, and lots.
Exhausted from scraping the paint made of lead.
I’d just settled in to my comfortable bed.
When down in the parlor there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the hall I flew like a flash,
Tore open the door and in the wall made a gash.
I grumbled and moaned ’bout the hole I should mend,
Then walked down the stairs and rounded the bend.
When, what to my wondering eyes should I see,
But a pile of plaster where my ceiling should be.
The couch and the table were covered in lime.
The whole stinking ceiling had fallen this time!
More rapid than eagles my wife came along,
And chided how buying this old house was wrong.
“You’re scraping, you’re sanding, you’re painting and mending!
It’s rotted, it’s crumbling, the foundation is bending!
From the squeaky floor boards to the leaky old roof,
Sell it now! Sell it now! You big stupid goof!”
Like a man possessed I’d purchased this spot.
In the hopes that I’d someday better my lot.
Through toil and trouble I’d fixed up its parts
But finally tonight my patience departs.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I got to my feet, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in denim, from his head to his foot,
And wearing a tool belt made of leather to boot.
A bundle of tools he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a plumber, but minus the crack.
He pulled out a mixer and a bag of plaster.
He whipped up a batch like a genuine master.
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
As he troweled the ceiling and the elves cleaned below.
The stump of the hawk he held tight in his hand,
As the ceiling took shape and he mixed in the sand.
The drippings fell down on his little round belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly!
He finished the ceiling, it was finished right quick,
As he taught me his secret, his own special trick.
The living room cleaned our ceiling repaired,
He gathered his tools our evening now spared.
My wife in stunned silence as he said his goodbye,
Watched him so closely that I thought she might cry.
That St. Nick he was awesome, a handy old elf.
Who knew he could plaster, not even myself.
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,
“Fix that old house, don’t give up the fight.”