We all know about the night before Christmas, which is tonight.  But we don’t pay much attention to the following evening — The “Night After Christmas”?

Here is my contribution.

‘Twas the Night After Christmas by Alan C. Fox

‘Twas the night after Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even my spouse;
The stockings were carried outside to the trash,
In hopes that most gifts would soon turn to cash;

The children were quarreling about who got the best,
The teenagers sure that young siblings were blessed;
But mamma in her bathrobe, and I with my beard,
had made it through Christmas, in our bedroom we cheered,

When out in the kitchen there arose such a clatter,
I left my TV to see what was the matter.
Away to the freezer I flew like a flash,
Tore open the door – they had stolen my stash.

Oh, not what you’re thinking, (my stash was See’s candy;
At the top of the freezer, I’d hoped safe but handy),
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But my four-year-old grandson, his face just a smear,

Chocolate all over his fingers and nose,
His mom would be glad he was wearing old clothes.
The See’s box was empty, his smiling face rapt,
The young boy inside me suddenly snapped;

“No CHEWS! no DARK CHOCOLATE! no ALMONDS! no NUTS!
Ben had eaten them all, no IFS, ANDS, or BUTS!
But how could I help it, my face had a smile!
Delayed gratification was just not his style!

As dry leaves before the wild hurricane fly,
When tossed by the wind they mount to the sky,
I lifted Ben up, chocolate stuck to my beard,
The day after Christmas, merry but weird.

And then, in a twinkling, I gave him a kiss
See’s candy important, but family, bliss.
I drew him up close, an affectionate hug,
When St. Nicholas knocked, a grandfatherly mug.

“Ho ho ho! I am weary, but thought you could use
A one-year subscription to Santa’s Good News;
I email it weekly, why wait for year’s end,
My Elves type it up, I just edit and ‘Send.’”

My grandson was laughing, feeling just great,
not only because of the candy he ate.
“Thanks very much, Santa,” I said with a grin,
“I’ll fill up on joy, and end next year thin;”

“You’re sure welcome Alan,” he said, launching a drone,
“I retired the reindeer, they’re resting at home;
That’s why I’m late, I was working alone,
With Mrs. Claus waiting, so I’ll say shalom.”

“I’m glad you’ve updated,“ I said, “see you next year,”
Ben cheerfully added, “Santa was here.”
Then St. Nick climbed up to his blimp with his gear,
“HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD-YEAR!”

Alan

p.s. Feel free to share this blog or read it aloud as your gift to friends and family.  Everyone can easily sign up for my weekly blog at alancfox.com.

If you had stopped by my office last week you would have seen the conference table spread with a white tablecloth covered with costume jewelry. The photo that accompanies this blog documents what was left after many members of my staff had already taken about half of what was available.

So how did all of that jewelry get there? And why? And perhaps there are a few lessons in this – lessons far more valuable than a few hundred costume bracelets, necklaces, and rings.

The jewelry got there because a close friend of mine brought it to generously give to anyone in my office who wanted it.  She has been on a rampage recently, clearing out all of her closets, storage space, and garage.

I was amazed when I saw such a vast hoard. “That’s a lot of jewelry,” I said.  You must have acquired one or two new items a day for twenty years.”

“Only a few pieces are mine,” she said. “Most belonged to my mother and my aunts. I just hope someone takes it all.”

So what did I learn from this experience that I’d like to share with you?

1. The jewelry was accumulated by several women over their lifetimes. I’m sure each piece had a story, and meant something to them. Now it has no value to them and, apparently, little value to anyone else. Looking at all of that “leftover” jewelry I felt sad. The lesson I take is that the sum total of our habits and preferences is ours alone. When we are gone, our things won’t matter to us anymore – quite possibly they won’t matter to anyone else either.
2. It’s easy to acquire a lot of stuff, but always remember – it is only stuff. Years ago, while traveling in Scotland, I purchased a tea set just before boarding my return flight. When I arrived home I stored it in my closet for five years.  Then I took it to a vacation house I don’t even own anymore.  I seldom drink tea, and I can’t remember what the tea set even looked like or where it is today.  There must be a short circuit in my brain when I buy a material item, because I never consider in advance what will become of this new “treasure.”  Maybe someday they’ll all wind up on someone else’s “give-away” table.
3. Be generous. Give it away as soon as you don’t need it.  As a recent best-selling author suggests, keep only those things which bring you joy.
4. Life’s journey is personal, unique, and temporary. Enjoy each day while you can. Pay attention to all the non-material treasures in your life: your family, your friends, and the time you spend with those you love.

I’m sure you have already learned most of these lessons. The problem is– we tend to forget.  At least, I do.

At the end of each day I review in my mind all of the joyful experiences from that day. This gives me pleasure, and helps me look forward to tomorrow.

And most of my joy does not involve things.

Alan

Last week I wrote about the lesson I learned from my high school Latin teacher, Mrs. Agulia.

This week I’m sharing a lesson I learned from my friend David Beaird who was a writer, actor, and director of plays and movies.  In 1973, before he moved to Los Angeles, David won the Jefferson Award for best supporting actor in the Chicago production of Hot L Baltimore.

I owned a small retail building near my office that David transformed into The Whitefire Theater. It also served as a sound stage for shooting movies.

One morning I was sitting next to David in the third row of the theater as he auditioned actors for a new play he was directing.

The first two actors auditioned well. About a minute into the third audition David turned to me and said, “The first two were pretty good.”

I was horrified. In turning his attention away from the stage, he had literally turned his back on the actor. I had been taught to listen to others respectfully but could do little more than nod my head as David continued talking to me during the rest of the audition.

As soon as the actor left I asked David, “Why did you ignore him?” I did not say that I thought it was really rude.

“Alan,” he said, “it’s up to the actor on stage to hold my attention. If he doesn’t hold my attention at an audition, I don’t want him in my play. So I’m only going to pay attention when he does his job.  It’s entirely up to him.”

David had far more experience in theater than I did, and while I didn’t expect his response I did remember that I had walked out of several plays because I was bored when the actors didn’t hold my attention.

“But you could have been polite and listened,” I said.

“Then how would he have learned anything?” he said.

Wisdom is where you find it. That morning I learned that I have to earn the attention of others, not just assume it, and I’m not going to receive your continuing attention unless you find what I’m saying, or doing, worth your time.

This larger life lesson I learned from Mrs. Agulia, David Beaird, and others, is this: none of us are entitled. We each have to earn our way in this world by being the very best person we can be – in a job, in friendships and with our families.

Thanks for giving me your attention – and reading what I have to say.

Alan