The Christmas Village Surprise
I love Christmas. I named my daughter Savannah NOELLE, thats how much I love Christmas. I spend hours of my life's moments creating an idealistic miniature Christmas Village every year. I painted the buildings myself. Farm animals stand next to hay bales in mangers near the barn festooned in evergreen bows. A toy shop window glints with carefully painted shiney toys. A church stands on a hill created with a shoebox laid under the mantel of angel hair snow. Pine trees line a small town square where a trio of Christmas carolers are standing side by side with their carol books in their hands, mouths wide open in whats obviously one hell of a loud rendition of "O Come All Ye Faithful". A fiddle player stands nearby, his elbow high as he draws his bow across his instrument. A drummer boy beats a rat a tat tat while his dog sits nearby, a bow tied to his collar.
One day I came home and stopped to admire my idealistic Christmas scene. It always made me smile, and dream a little dream of peace, love, and christmas cookies. My eyes sent a message to my brain. "WARNING, WARNING, CHRISTMAS VIBE AMISS, DANGER - SANTA AIN'T COMING TO THIS TOWN." - What was wrong?
I looked carefully at each and every aspect of the scene. The trees were standing, the buildings in place, the fiddler was playing, the drummer boy drumming, the carolers were.....
I leaned in for a closer look, sure I'd been mistaken. No, there it was, clear as if the drummer boy's dog had taken a dump on the pristine white snow. There was a head laying in one of the open books of the carolers. Its mouth was opened wide in what I'd previously thought of as the "OOOOOOO" in "O Come All Ye Faithful". Now it just looked like a rigor mortised scream. I raised my eyes and saw that the head lay in the open book of a caroler with a neck stem and nothing above it.
Nobody would ever admit to some sort of rough housing gone awry scenario. Then again, nobody would ever 'fess up to the cuckoo clock tragedy. But thats another story.
The Christmas Village lives on, but its a place of instrumentals now.
One day I came home and stopped to admire my idealistic Christmas scene. It always made me smile, and dream a little dream of peace, love, and christmas cookies. My eyes sent a message to my brain. "WARNING, WARNING, CHRISTMAS VIBE AMISS, DANGER - SANTA AIN'T COMING TO THIS TOWN." - What was wrong?
I looked carefully at each and every aspect of the scene. The trees were standing, the buildings in place, the fiddler was playing, the drummer boy drumming, the carolers were.....
I leaned in for a closer look, sure I'd been mistaken. No, there it was, clear as if the drummer boy's dog had taken a dump on the pristine white snow. There was a head laying in one of the open books of the carolers. Its mouth was opened wide in what I'd previously thought of as the "OOOOOOO" in "O Come All Ye Faithful". Now it just looked like a rigor mortised scream. I raised my eyes and saw that the head lay in the open book of a caroler with a neck stem and nothing above it.
Nobody would ever admit to some sort of rough housing gone awry scenario. Then again, nobody would ever 'fess up to the cuckoo clock tragedy. But thats another story.
The Christmas Village lives on, but its a place of instrumentals now.
posted by Nekyia (nom d'plume) at 11/24/2005 01:56:00 PM
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