The Brussels Post, 1977-12-21, Page 91
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THE BRUSSELS POST, DECEMBER 21, 1977 —9
SECOND PLACE WINNERS The bed race team
made up of members of the Belgrave Kinsmen Club.
came second in the bed race Saturday in Brussels.
A visit from St. Nicholas
'Twas the night before
Christmas, when all
through the house
Not a creature was stirring,
not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by
the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas
soon would be there.
The children were nestled
all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-
plums danced in their
heads;
And Mamma in her
kerchief, and I,in my. cap,
Had justletled.our brains
for a long winter's nap. ,.
When out on the lawn
there arose such a
clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see
what was the matter.
Away to the window
I flew like :a flhsh,
Tore open the shutters
and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast
of the new -fallen snow
Gave a lustre of mid-day
to objects below,
When, what to my
wondering eyes did
appear,
But a miniature sleigh,
and eight tiny reindeer.
With a little old driver,
so lively and quick, •
I knew in a moment
it must be St. Nick..
More rapid than eagles
his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and
shouted, and called them
by name.
"Now, Dasher! now,
Dancer! now, Prancer
and Vixen!
On Comet! on, Cupid! on,
Donder and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch!
to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash
away! dash away all!"
•.. • ,•
His eyes, how they
twinkled! his dimples,
how merry! •
His, cheeks were like roses,
his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was
drawn up like a bow;
And the beard on his chin
was as white as the snow.
♦ • •
He spoke not a word, but
went straight to his work,
And filled all'the stockings;
then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger
aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the
chimney he rose.
• • •
He sprang to his sleigh, to
his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like
the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim ere
he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all .. .
and to all a goodnight!" •
Clement C. Moore
Gthelo• • II
May Santa find your home
the most joyous of all on
this Christmas holiday! •
MacLEAN HOME
IMPROVEMENT
Egmonidville
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Open Every Weekday
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Box 1583 WINGHAM JOHN MALLICK
They are, from L, Lloyd Mickie, Murray Black, Roy
Taylor, Ron Cook and Brian Black.
(Photo by Langlois)
Sugar and Spice
by Bill Smiley
'The Boys
We got an early Christmas present at
-our place this year. My daughter, who is
training to be a teacher, was heading into a
hairy week of practice teaching real kids in
areal school. My wife, in a sudden burst of
compassion and stupidity, volunteered to
take The. Boys for a week.
`At time of writing,, we've had them for
three•days. And nights: It hasnt seemed an
hour more than three years.
My old lady has aged a decade, hasnt
spoken a civil world to me for 48 hours, and
is threatening to move into a hotel and
leave me stuck with the pair.
This morning, in a desperate effort to
obtain a little peace, she got up at six
o'clock and went downstairs to make a cup
of tea and read for a few minutes, in
blissful solitude. She'd just settled in a
chair when she heard this horrible,
familiar sound, the thump thump of tiny
feet descending the stairs.
It was No. 2 son, armed with a big grin, a
loaded diaper and a hearty appetite for
breakfast. Her gijoan awoke me, all the way
upstairs, where I was trying to snatch 40
wiriksafter sleeping, or attempting to, with
No. i son. He sleeps crossways, upside
down, or kitty corner, and kicks the clothes
off both of us every five minutes.
It's not that they are bad boys. It's just
that there are two of ahem: Either, by
himself, is a delight to have for a visit. But
when they're together, it's like a dnearmed
man trying to cope with a cage of monkeys.
We brought two large boxes of their
favorite toys and teddy bears and puppets.
They can litter two floors of the house with
these in two minutes, then ignore them
while you pick them all up.
It's much more fun getting into Gran's
innumerable cupboards and drawers and
nooks and crannies, and dragging out
everything that is not nailed down or
cemented over.
lOn my desk, as I write, are: one baby's
battle, one large strainer from the kitchen,
one fire iron, and our only flashlight,
carefully taken apart. On the floor behind
me is my.chesslset, 80 spools of Gran's
thread, mainly unwound, and the baby's
potty ;chair, completely virgin.
I am way behind with my mail, and I
haven't read a paper since The Boys
arrived. Trouble is, it takes one of us to
police then, while the other is frantically
trying to get something essentail done, like
honing a shirt or cooking some grub.
It isnt that they fight a lot. They fight all
the time. The older one is very intelligent
and very curious: he'll find something like
the short step ladder; climb it, and see how
! heard he can jump on the floor. The
younger
younger one tries to emulate him, gets in
the way, gets a kick in the face from big
bmther, squeals in mingled' rage and pain,
bites big brother on the calf, and they're
into it.
Last night, after dinner, they wanted
their mitts. on. One of us wearily struggled
them on, anything for peace, and the two
immediately started boxing. For real, The
little guy would absorb a punch on the ear,
go down laughing, struggle up, rush his
. bmther, and overwhelm him with a flurry
of punches. He's two years younger, bur
just as strong and twice as pugnacious.
This sort of thing is hell for a mild,
middle aged couple who believe that little
children should be kind and sweet and
generous with each other.
I was almost drowned the other .night
when I tried to give them both a bath at the
same time. I used to bath them singly when
they were tiny, and it was a lovely
experience, being so gentle and careful
that the little heads didn't get a bump, or
the eyes get soap in them.
Now it's a cross between catching a
greasy pig and being an octopus with six
tenacles missing. They wrestle at one end
of the tub and do belly flops. They have
splashing matches in which both get soap
in their eyes and yell fiercely. It ends only
when one or other slips on the soap and
cracks his noggin on the tub.
It isnt as though we aren't used to
children. We had two of our own, and while
they were trying at times, they'd get a slap
onthe bum if they tried to be as boisterous
as The Boys.
But this is the new generation which
thinks that a kid's whole being is warped
' and stunted if he gets an occasional belt on
the backside. They think the little guy
should be allowed to go bare bottom a
couple of hours a day, so he won't ferel
repressed by his diaper, or something. So
he prompty stands in the middle of Gran's
newly cleaned rug, gets a faraway look in
his eye, and pees a golden stream. Put
him on his pot, of course, and he just
grins.
And this crowd is not taught any respect
for property.- They are used to banging.
around in rented quarters, and their
parents haven't anythingworth breaking
anyway, so they are given free rein to that
vandal that is hidden in all of us.
Thank the dear goodness i' have to go to
work everyday and have eight hours of
comparative peace. But I'm worried about
Gran Another couple of lamps knocked.
I over, another box of oatmeal sprinkled into
the downstairs john, and she's off to the
, bug house.