Mustang Club of Maryland

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"It Takes One To Catch One"
Member of:
Mustang Club of Maryland
Special Service Mustang Owner's Association
Bad Pony Club---Moderator

Nice. Thanks for Sharing.

Kinda brings a tear to your eyes doesn't it!

Midnight Blue

Awesome!

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I read this to my kids at bedtime last night. Thanks Lisa for posting it!

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1990 Mustang GT
http://www.ocstangs.com

Bob, you changed your name! Much more professional now, Pres.!!

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Hey Bob, read this one to your kids, yea right!

'Twas the nocturnal segment of the diurnal period preceding
the annual Yuletide celebration, and throughout our place of
residence, kinetic activity was not in evidence among the
possessors of this potential, including that species of
domestic rodent known as Mus musculus. Hosiery was
meticulously suspended from the forward edge of the wood
burning caloric apparatus, pursuant to our anticipatory
pleasure regarding an imminent visitation from an eccentric
philanthropist among whose folkloric appellations is the
honorific title of St. Nicholas.

The prepubescent siblings, comfortably ensconced in their
respective accommodations of repose, were experiencing
subconscious visual hallucinations of variegated fruit
confections moving rhythmically through their cerebrums. My
conjugal partner and I, attired in our nocturnal head
coverings, were about to take slumberous advantage of the
hibernal darkness when upon the avenaceous exterior portion
of the grounds there ascended such a cacophony of dissonance
that I felt compelled to arise with alacrity from my place
of repose for the purpose of ascertaining the precise source
thereof.

Hastening to the casement, I forthwith opened the barriers
sealing this fenestration, noting thereupon that the lunar
brilliance without, reflected as it was on the surface of a
recent crystalline precipitation, might be said to rival
that of the solar meridian itself - thus permitting my
incredulous optical sensory organs to behold a miniature
airborne runnered conveyance drawn by eight diminutive
specimens of the genus Rangifer, piloted by a minuscule,
aged chauffeur so ebullient and nimble that it became
instantly apparent to me that he was indeed our anticipated
caller. With his ungulate motive power travelling at what
may possibly have been more vertiginous velocity than
patriotic alar predators, he vociferated loudly, expelled
breath musically through contracted labia, and addressed
each of the octet by his or her respective cognomen - "Now
Dasher, now Dancer..." et al. - guiding them to the
uppermost exterior level of our abode, through which
structure I could readily distinguish the concatenations of
each of the 32 cloven pedal extremities.

As I retracted my cranium from its erstwhile location, and
was performing a 180-degree pivot, our distinguished
visitant achieved - with utmost celerity and via a downward
leap - entry by way of the smoke passage. He was clad
entirely in animal pelts soiled by the ebony residue from
oxidations of carboniferous fuels which had accumulated on
the walls thereof. His resemblance to a street vendor I
attributed largely to the plethora of assorted playthings
which he bore dorsally in a commodious cloth receptacle.

His orbs were scintillant with reflected luminosity, while
his submaxillary dermal indentations gave every evidence of
engaging amiability. The capillaries of his malar regions
and nasal appurtenance were engorged with blood which
suffused the subcutaneous layers, the former approximating
the coloration of Albion's floral emblem, the latter that of
the Prunus avium, or sweet cherry. His amusing sub- and
supralabials resembled nothing so much as a common loop
knot, and their ambient hirsute facial adornment appeared
like small, tabular and columnar crystals of frozen water.

Clenched firmly between his incisors was a smoking piece
whose grey fumes, forming a tenuous ellipse about his
occiput, were suggestive of a decorative seasonal circlet of
holly. His visage was wider than it was high, and when he
waxed audibly mirthful, his corpulent abdominal region
undulated in the manner of impectinated fruit syrup in a
hemispherical container. He was, in short, neither more nor
less than an obese, jocund, multigenarian gnome, the optical
perception of whom rendered me visibly frolicsome despite
every effort to refrain from so being. By rapidly lowering
and then elevating one eyelid and rotating his head slightly
to one side, he indicated that trepidation on my part was
groundless.

Without utterance and with dispatch, he commenced filling
the aforementioned appended hosiery with various of the
aforementioned articles of merchandise extracted from his
aforementioned previously dorsally transported cloth
receptacle. Upon completion of this task, he executed an
abrupt about- face, placed a single manual digit in lateral
juxtaposition to his olfactory organ, inclined his cranium
forward in a gesture of leave-taking, and forthwith effected
his egress by renegotiating (in reverse) the smoke passage.
He then propelled himself in a short vector onto his
conveyance, directed a musical expulsion of air through his
contracted oral sphincter to the antlered quadrupeds of
burden, and proceeded to soar aloft in a movement hitherto
observable chiefly among the seed-bearing portions of a
common weed. But I overheard his parting exclamation,
audible immediately prior to his vehiculation beyond the
limits of visibility: "Ecstatic Yuletide to the planetary
constituency, and to that self same assemblage, my sincerest
wishes for a salubriously beneficial and gratifyingly
pleasurable period between sunset and dawn."

Awww, say what?

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A Different Christmas Poem

The embers glowed softly, and in their dim light,
I gazed round the room and I cherished the sight.
My wife was asleep, her head on my chest,
My daughter beside me, angelic in rest.
Outside the snow fell, a blanket of white,
Transforming the yard to a winter delight.
The sparkling lights in the tree I believe,
Completed the magic that was Christmas Eve.
My eyelids were heavy, my breathing was deep,
Secure and surrounded by love I would sleep.
In perfect contentment, or so it would seem,
So I slumbered, perhaps I started to dream.
The sound wasn't loud, and it wasn't too near,
But I opened my eyes when it tickled my ear..
Perhaps just a cough, I didn't quite know, Then the
sure sound of footsteps outside in the snow.
My soul gave a tremble, I struggled to hear,
And I crept to the door just to see who was near.
Standing out in the cold and the dark of the night,
A lone figure stood, his face weary and tight.
A soldier, I puzzled, some twenty years old,
Perhaps a Marine, huddled here in the cold.
Alone in the dark, he looked up and smiled,
Standing watch over me, and my wife and my child.
"What are you doing?" I asked without fear,
"Come in this moment, it's freezing out here!
Put down your pack, brush the snow from your sleeve,
You should be at home on a cold Christmas Eve!"
For barely a moment I saw his eyes shift,
Away from the cold and the snow blown in drifts...
To the window that danced with a warm fire's light
Then he sighed and he said "Its really all right,
I'm out here by choice. I'm here every night."
"It's my duty to stand at the front of the line,
That separates you from the darkest of times.
No one had to ask or beg or implore me,
I'm proud to stand here like my fathers before me.
My Gramps died at ' Pearl on a day in December,"
Then he sighed, "That's a Christmas 'Gram always remembers."
My dad stood his watch in the jungles of ' Nam ',
And now it is my turn and so, here I am.
I've not seen my own son in more than a while,
But my wife sends me pictures, he's sure got her smile.
Then he bent and he carefully pulled from his bag,
The red, white, and blue... an American flag.
I can live through the cold and the being alone,
Away from my family, my house and my home.
I can stand at my post through the rain and the sleet,
I can sleep in a foxhole with little to eat.
I can carry the weight of killing another,
Or lay down my life with my sister and brother..
Who stand at the front against any and all,
To ensure for all time that this flag will not fall.."
"So go back inside," he said, "harbor no fright,
Your family is waiting and I'll be all right."
"But isn't there something I can do, at the least,
"Give you money," I asked, "or prepare you a feast?
It seems all too little for all that you've done,
For being away from your wife and your son."

Then his eye welled a tear that held no regret,
"Just tell us you love us, and never forget.
To fight for our rights back at home while we're gone,
To stand your own watch, no matter how long.
For when we come home, either standing or dead,
To know you remember we fought and we bled.
Is payment enough, and with that we will trust,
That we mattered to you as you mattered to us."

Christmas is coming soon and credit is due to our
U.S service men and women for our being able to
celebrate the Birth of Jesus. Let's try in this small
way to pay a tribute by asking people to stop and
think of our heroes, living and dead, who sacrificed
themselves for us and our freedom we have today.

LCDR Jeff Giles, SC, USN - 30th Naval Construction Regiment
OIC, Logistics Cell One - Al Taqqadum, Iraq

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