Merry Christmas and Happy New Year from PSF

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Well-Known Member
My shift is over in about an hour. Woo Hoo! I work in a adolescent crisis unit that was newly opened on 12/02/13. We had five clients, but four are at home with their families. The remaining young man (15 years old) has apparently been abandonded by his family, so he is spending his Christmas holiday with us. His own family has abandoned him, but we'll be damned if we will. So, we all chipped in and got him a bag of goodies and placed it under the tree in the common room. Just little stuff, but his family did list "Christian" under faith - and no Christian should have to spend Christmas alone and with nothing under the tree. The rules specify that we cannot give personal gifts to the clients, but this is Christmas and it was a group effort so (technically... I guess) it's not "personal" and in this case I think the rules of human decency trump some arbitrary set of agency rules.

So, I'm gonna go home. I'm gonna spend Christmas morning with my family. I'm gonna enjoy a meerschaum Cutty full of PS LTF. I'm gonna have a nice mug of Yuban and a big peice of monkey bread. I'm gonna open my presents, and have the joy of watching my family open theirs. I'm gonna think of you all here at PSF, and wish you a merry Christmas. Then I'm going to count my blessings, and go to bed. Merry Christmas, y'all!
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Active Member
Christmas, by John Betjeman

The bells of waiting Advent ring,
The Tortoise stove is lit again
And lamp-oil light across the night
Has caught the streaks of winter rain
In many a stained-glass window sheen
From Crimson Lake to Hookers Green.

The holly in the windy hedge
And round the Manor House the yew
Will soon be stripped to deck the ledge,
The altar, font and arch and pew,
So that the villagers can say
'The church looks nice' on Christmas Day.

Provincial Public Houses blaze,
And Corporation tramcars clang,
On lighted tenements I gaze,
Where paper decorations hang,
And bunting in the red Town Hall
Says 'Merry Christmas to you all'.

And London shops on Christmas Eve
Are strung with silver bells and flowers
As hurrying clerks the City leave
To pigeon-haunted classic towers,
And marbled clouds go scudding by
The many-steepled London sky.

And girls in slacks remember Dad,
And oafish louts remember Mum,
And sleepless children's hearts are glad,
And Christmas-morning bells say 'Come!'
Even to shining ones who dwell
Safe in the Dorchester Hotel.

And is it true? And is it true,
This most tremendous tale of all,
Seen in a stained-glass window's hue,
A Baby in an ox's stall ?
The Maker of the stars and sea
Become a Child on earth for me ?

And is it true ? For if it is,
No loving fingers tying strings
Around those tissued fripperies,
The sweet and silly Christmas things,
Bath salts and inexpensive scent
And hideous tie so kindly meant,

No love that in a family dwells,
No carolling in frosty air,
Nor all the steeple-shaking bells
Can with this single Truth compare -
That God was man in Palestine
And lives today in Bread and Wine.

From the Wakefield Second Shepherds' Pageant, 15th Century

3rd Shepherd Hail, darling dear, full of Godhead!
I pray thee be near when that I have need.
Hail, sweet is thy cheer! My heart would bleed
To see thee sit here in so poor weed,
With no pennies.
Hail! Put forth thy dall! [hand]
I bring thee but a ball:
Have and play thee withal,
And go to the tennis.
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