Day After Christmas
By Don Iannone

'Tis the day after Christmas, and
the snow has now decided to fall in Vermont.
Now 'tis time to make our way home to Cleveland,
which is actually a very welcome thought.
Spirits rise and fall during holidays, and
this Christmas was no exception.
The trouble with holidays,
as far as I can tell, is
we expect too much, and
somehow just miss the beauty
managing to show up each day.
Vermont we shall consider a friend from hereforth.
And so, the road has once again carried us in the right direction.

Reflections on an Early Christmas Morning in Stowe, Vermont
By Don Iannone

Dreams filled my head throughout the night before Christmas.
Gifts to myself? Maybe, but
mostly just churning waves lapping at my soul.
Each trying to awaken me to myself,
and the unknown mystery inhabiting all of us.

We went to church last night in Stowe...
something we talk about, but don’t do very often.
I haven’t seen a church so filled in a long time.
There was joy in being with others, and
celebrating something larger, and
there was also sadness in watching families together
with bright-eyed children, filled with wonder.

The awakening eastern sky drapes herself over the mountains,
like a pastel orange and gray shawl.
An omen, perhaps, that snow is on the way.
The sun will soon be up, and
the lodge will be a bustle with folks young and old,
decked out in once-a-year reds and greens.

Last night's dreams have now faded, and
the more mundane has overtaken my ability
to hold a spiritual pose on this Christmas morning.
Fresh baked cookies dipped in ice cold milk would suit me just fine;
but that would be childish of me, but
after all it is Christmas, and
why continue to hold this self-indulgent spiritual pose.
Like I really know anything...
about the unknown mystery within us all.

A voice within says just put one foot in front of the other,
brush your teeth, and let your day happen…
like every day in life.
How can one argue with that?
After all, that is the mystery of life,
and that is precisely how all Christmases happen.

Hoping Uncle Paul will Stop By On Christmas Eve
By Don Iannone

When I was a young boy,
our dear Uncle Paul would sometimes stop
at our house on Christmas Eve
after the candlelight service at the old Methodist Church.
We never knew for sure if or when he’d stop, but
it was a joyous time when he did.
For some unknown reason,
he’d always drive past our house and toot his horn,
whether he stopped or continued on home.
I guess that was just his way of announcing his presence,
and perhaps a way for our family to ready for his arrival.
Not only did we relish his presence, and
the adoring interest he showed us as kids, but
his visit was the perfect excuse to stay up much later
than we normally were allowed, and
eat an additional fist full of Mom’s special iced cookies.
Uncle Paul was our eccentric uncle,
which many families seem to have.
Who knows...maybe that’s even my role in the family today.
Every family should indeed have an eccentric uncle, or aunt,
who gives you permission to do what is uniquely you,
and nobody else in life.
As I think back,
there was a certain Santa-like quality about Uncle Paul—
one hard to put your finger on,
but you sensed an innate magic about him.
Maybe it was how his bright blue eyes even twinkled—
just like Jolly Saint Nick, when he laughed.
No, Uncle Paul wasn’t a street smart merchant marine,
or even a burly lumberjack,
who fell tall trees in the wilderness.
Instead, he sold women’s shoes at the popular Baker’s Shoe store
in downtown Wheeling, and he owned a remote Christmas tree farm,
where he often fiddled away his Sunday afternoons.
He told the funniest stories about women, and
how they’d try to convince him
that their shoe size was much smaller than
what his measurement showed.
As Uncle Paul used to say “the customer is always right,
even if they’re wrong.”
As I sit here watching the snow lightly fall upon
the trees and the mountainside here in Stowe,
I celebrate my Uncle Paul and his unpredictable,
but always wonderful visits on Christmas Eve.
For some reason,
I miss him on this particular Christmas Eve.

'Twas the Eve Before Christmas
By Don Iannone

Cold starry December night,
filled with birth-giving anticipation.
Overflowing with creative magic...
of the sort only a child can bring forth.
From deep in the soul's evergreen forest,
new life rustles into being,
rippling itself across the universe,
like the countless stars filling the sky.
In the distance a new voice is born;
its faint cry lingers,
like that of the wind
singing through the trees.
On this eve before Christmas,
as all turn young again,
magic resumes its place
in our hearts just one more time.

It's December 21st and Where's the Snow?
By Don Iannone

Bone-chilling December rain fell lightly
upon depressed red-headed cardinals, pecking
through muddy seed beneath a dripping feeder.
I overheard one redbird urge her mate
to book a flight to Billings, where
surely the snow will fly on Christmas day.
The neighbor's Christmas decorations,
hung ever so carefully a couple Saturdays ago,
looked pathetically helpless
in bringing cheer to the season.
I met the mail lady at the box this morning,
greeting her with a contrived Merry Christmas.
Mustering a bah humbug smile,
she returned the greeting, but
quickly added that everyone should try singing
"I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas"
to bring on some winter whiteness.
Why do we long so for snow on Christmas?
My Buddhist friends would say it's our conditioning...
and I'm inclined to agree, yet
I guess I'm still dreaming of a white Christmas.

The Christmas Tree
Outside Our Front Window
By Don Iannone
















Growing up in Martins Ferry in the 1950s,
there was a magical Christmas tree
just outside our front window.
Adorned with fresh driven snow,
and every bit as lovely as the tree
gracing our living room,
with its bright ornaments,
shiny lights, and sparkling tinsel.
The beautiful evergreen in the front yard,
seemed to reach forever upward,
bending whenever necessary,
but always springing back.
During the day,
the sunlight made its ice crystals glitter,
like the stars that shone so brightly
above it in the dark winter night sky.
The birds knew of the tree's specialness,
as they flocked to its branches,
like bees to honey.
I loved the mighty evergreen
for its fortitude in withstanding
the winter's brutal assaults,
and I loved its vibrancy--always green,
and always willing to give of itself
to all needing food and a place to rest.
Were it not for this wonderful tree,
I might know nothing
of the true meaning of Christmas.