[Janet Kenny]

It's by O. Henry and it has a lovely title which I must check up on. Something like "The Gift of the Magi".

YES. That's the one. I love it. Thanks for reminding me of it Janice.

[This message has been edited by Janet Kenny (edited December 14, 2008).]

[Julie Steiner]

Gotta have "The Tex-Mex Night Before Christmas"! I've posted it once before, a bit down this thread:
http://www.ablemuse.com/erato/ubbhtm...ML/000579.html

Today was my daughters' final performance of The Nutcracker--hooray!--which puts me in mind of Noel Coward's poem about being a child actor in Christmas plays...I'll see if I can find that one, despite its certain damnation around here for rhyming "remember" with "December".

(My big moment came yesterday, when our Czar Mouse had the flu but performed his role anyway because he is seven feet tall and the costume only fits him--anyway, he "died" early and in the wrong spot onstage (he later explained that he had actually fainted). The two people who usually drag him offstage during the stage blackout were trapped on the wrong side of the big fog machine. I was the only stagehand close enough to run out and drag him offstage before the spotlight came off the weeping Clara to show the transformed Nutcracker Prince. Mind you, I am a very scrawny, bony, unathletic person, and the guy weighs at least twice what I do, but I DID IT! Ah, the miracle of adrenaline! Fortunately he felt much better today.)

Julie Stoner



[This message has been edited by Julie Stoner (edited December 14, 2008).]

[Julie Steiner]

Apparently there's video of Noel Coward reciting it:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Mv7VftdtAw

Anyway:

The Boy Actor
by Noel Coward

I can remember, I can remember,
The months of November and December
.....Were filled for me with peculiar joys
So different from those of other boys
.....For other boys would be counting the days
Unitl the end of term and holiday times
.....But I was acting in Christmas plays
While they were taken to pantomimes.
.....I didn't envy their Eton suits,
Their children's dances and Christmas trees.
.....My life had wonderful substitutes
For such conventional treats as these.
.....I didn't envy their country larks,
Their organized games in paneled halls:
.....While they made snowmen in stately parks
I was counting the curtain calls.

.....I remember the auditions, the nerve-wracking auditions:
.....Darkened auditoriums and empty, dusty stage,
.....Little girls in ballet dresses practicing "positions,"
.....Gentlemen in pince-nez asking you your age.
.....Hopefulness and nervousness struggling within you,
.....Dreading the familiar phrase, "Thank you, dear, no more."
.....Straining every muscle, every tendon, every sinew
.....To do your dance much better than you'd ever done before.
.....Think of your performance. Never mind the others,
.....Never mind the pianist, talent must prevail.
.....Never mind the baleful eyes of other children's mothers
.....Glaring from the corners and willing you to fail.

I can remember, I can remember,
The months of November and December
.....Were more significant to me
Than other months could ever be
.....For they were the months of high romance
When destiny waited on tip-toe,
.....When every boy actor stood a chance
Of getting into a Christmas show.
.....Not for me the dubious heaven
Of being some prefect's protégé!
.....Not for me the Second Eleven.
For me, two performances a day.

.....Ah, those first rehearsals! Only very few lines:
.....Rushing home to mother, learning them by heart,
....."Enter Left, through window"--Dots to mark the cue lines:
....."Exit with the others"--still it was a part.
.....Opening performance; legs a bit unsteady,
.....Dedicated tension, shivers down my spine,
.....Powder, grease, and eye-black, sticks of make-up ready
.....Leichner number three and number five and number nine.
.....World of strange enchantment, magic for a small boy
.....Dreaming of the future, reaching for the crown,
.....Rigid in the dressing-room, listening for the call boy
....."Overture Beginners--Everybody Down!"

I can remember, I can remember,
The months of November and December,
.....Although climatically cold and damp,
Meant more to me than Aladdin's lamp,
.....I see myself, having got a job,
Walking on wings along the Strand,
.....Uncertain whether to laugh or sob
And clutching tightly my mother's hand.
.....I never cared who scored the goal
Or which side won the silver cup,
.....I never learnt to bat or bowl
But I heard the curtain going up.

[Janice D. Soderling]

Thank you, Janet, for sharing your smarts. I found it in my series collecting O. Henry's stories, published 1906, in the book titled "The Four Million".

(...) Now there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs in which they both took a mighty pride. One was Jim's gold watch that had been his father's and his grandfather's. The other was Della's hair. Had the Queen of Sheba lived in the flat across the airshaft, Della would have let her hair hang out the window some day to dry just to depreciate Her Majesty's jewels and gifts. Had King Solomon been the janitor, with all his treasures piled up in the basement, Jim would have pulled out his watch every time he passed, just to see him pluck at his beard from envy.

And it ends:

The magi, as you know, were wise men--wonderfully wise men--who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for eah other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the wisest. Of all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi.

[Janice D. Soderling]

Thanks to Julie also. I am a devotee of Noel Coward.

Wonderful to get all the literary clips abounding around your referenced one, I drown, I drown.

The middle short poem by Hemingway (here)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MFRuh8eaj1k

has a Christmas connection as well.

Everybody, don't miss Julie's link above. If you did not look, go back and do it NOW.

The Tex-Mex Night Before Christmas

Jim and Nita Lee (Dec. 1972)

'Twas the night before Christmas and all through la casa
Not a creature was stirring. ¡Caramba! ¿Qué pasa?
Los niños were all tucked away in their camas,
Some in vestidos and some in pijamas.
(...)

(PS. Hooray for the Czar Mouse! A real troooper.)

[annie nance]

One of my favorite Christmas card sentiments. sent to my husband by an old school buddy:

Merry Christmas, times are hard,
Here's your f---ing CHristmas card!

[Roger Slater]

One Christmas Eve, Santa confused
his spreadsheets and carelessly used
... a list of exclusions,
... which led to confusion
when all of the gifts went to Jews.

[Martin Rocek]

Who can forget this immortal gem?


It has always seemed to me after all, that Christmas, with its
spirit of giving, offers us all a wonderful opportunity each year
to reflect on what we all most sincerely and deeply believe in--
I refer of course, to money. Yet none of the Christmas carols
that you hear on the radio or in the street, even attempt to
capture the true spirit of Christmas as we celebrate it in the
United States, that is to say, the commercial spirit. So I should
like to offer the following Christmas carol for next year, as
being perhaps a bit more appropriate.


CHRISTMAS TIME
(Tom Lehrer)

Christmas time is here, by golly,
Disapproval would be folly.
Deck the halls with hunks of holly,
Fill the cup and don't say when.

Kill the turkeys, ducks and chickens,
Mix the punch, drag out the Dickens.
Even though the prospect sickens,
Brother, here we go again.

On Christmas Day, you can't get sore,
Your fellow man you must adore.
There's time to rob him all the more
The other three hundred and sixty-four.

Relations, sparing no expense'll
Send some useless old utensil,
Or a matching pen and pencil.
("Just the thing I need, how nice!")

It doesn't matter how sincere it is,
Nor how heart felt the spirit,
Sentiment will not endear it,
What's important is the price.

Hark, the Herald Tribune sings,
Advertising wondrous things.
God rest ye merry merchants,
May ye make the Yuletide pay.
Angels we have heard on high,
Tell us to go out and buy!

So let the raucous sleigh bells jingle,
Hail our dear old friend Kris Kringle,
Driving his reindeer across the sky.
Don't stand underneath when they fly by.!

Actually I did rather well myself, this last Christmas.
The nicest present I received was a gift certificate
good at any hospital for a lobotomy. Rather thoughtful.

Listen to it Here

[This message has been edited by Martin Rocek (edited December 17, 2008).]

[Gail White]

Robert Benchley could also be delightfully cynical about the holidays, notably in his essay "A Good Old-Fashioned Christmas".