Newsletter – December 26, 2025
My brothers and I joke about our mother’s “last minute” gifts on Christmas Day. Younger brother Rich does the best imitation of her sudden squeal when she realized what she forgot to wrap.
Christmas morning always lasted for hours as we first ate Mom’s beloved cinnamon rolls, then opened all our stockings, and then distributed the gifts. The gift opening proceeded one person at a time, starting with the youngest.
When Mom’s parents and sister were there, it took eight unwrappings to complete one circuit. You see, you can’t just open it and say thanks, you have to try it on, play with it, read the blurb, or play some of the music, and then exclaim how much you’re going to love it.
Later we added spouses, then grandchildren and the morning extended right into lunchtime. Mom brought out plenty of food for people to graze on during the Christmas marathon.
Near the end of that gift extravaganza, Mom would suddenly utter her high pitched squeal and say “Hold on, one more gift!” We would share smiles that said “There it is!” because it happened every year, and then we waited for her to dig through dresser drawers for a gift she bought back in July which she presented to the lucky giftee with a story about its origins.
In the fond spirit of that squeal here are some last minute gifts for you. They’re a day late, but you’ll know I was thinking about you.
Mom loved to laugh and I hope my gifts elicit a little chuckle for the holidays.
TTFN
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“There it is again! Did ya hear it that time?”
“Definitely. I definitely heard something that time.”
* * * * *
Nothing Rhymes With Orange
Yellow is a mellow fellow and
Green is always keen,
Red is said to have some cred and
Blue is lovely, too
But
Nothing rhymes with orange.
Black is always coming back and
White is quite alright,
Gray can sometimes have its day and
Pink will never stink,
BUT
NOTHING RHYMES WITH ORANGE!
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“So, yeah, he told me what street the restaurant was on,
but I had no idea it was actually ON THE STREET!”
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Verses Versus Curses
I’ve often thought that curses were
A useful tool of language
Like mustard on the meat between
The layers of a sandwedge.
But please be careful who you’re with
And what they think of curses,
They may object, or take offense,
Or maybe something worses.
Poetry instead can be
The mustard in your kitchen,
When cursing isn’t pardoned much
And DRAT just isn’t bitchen.
[Photo Credits Above: AAA Magazine]
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Eric Margerum 