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Wednesday, December 10, 2008

Stamper’s Week Before Christmas Poems

With apologies to Clement C. Moore

Twas the week before Christmas and all through the den,
were scattered my ink pads, my stamps and my pens.
The cards I had hoped to send off in the mail,
were still on the table and my hand felt quite frail.

I'd stamped through the evening in hopes I would find,
I'd finished my cards...but I was still far behind.
When out in my driveway, there arose such a clatter
that I sprang from my chair as embossing powder splattered.

The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow,
made me wish that my white ink was not running low.
When what to my tired, bloodshot eyes should appear
but a red SUV and my stamp friends so dear.

Susie, Dianne, Carol, Rita and Jill,
all from the car in the driveway did spill.
With a handful of treats they knocked at the door,
then dashed up my stairway to the second floor.

They surrounded my table with laughter and glee
and stamped up those cards as fast as could be.
Embossing guns warmed, and powder was spread,
as I felt pass beyond me my feeling of dread.

As they finished each card with a gentle, "It’s Done",
their smiles told me they were having fun.
The cards were all stacked, with their envelopes too,
and it dawned on me that my chore was now through.

They left as they'd come in the blink of an eye,
and I just murmured "Thank You" as the group hurried by.
And I heard them exclaim as they drove out of sight,
The best kind of Christmas is where Stampers Unite!

The Week Before Christmas (in a Stamper's House)

'Twas the week before Christmas and the house was a hush
Save the stamping of rubber in a last-minute rush.
The cardstock was cut with precision and care
In hopes that a greeting would soon be stamped there.

The children were tucked in their beds around eight,
But now its ten-thirty...How'd it get so late?
And I in my PJs with bleary red eyes
Had finally arranged all the stamping supplies.

It started out simple. (It does every year.)
Just make a few cards for friends who are dear.
I pressed ink to paper. (It looked crisp and clean.)
A sprinkle of powder, heat to a sheen.

When what on my green Christmas card should appear?
Why, a tiny gold Santa with sleigh and reindeer
On pigment! On powder! On heat from a gun!
Now ribbon and glitter! Can I make eighty-one?

"I can do it!" I said with all of my might
And looked at the clock -- 'twas well past midnight.
I went straight to stamping out card after card
"This might take all night, but at least it's not hard."

But after I finished, they looked a bit lame.
I didn't want fancy, but these were too plain.
And then in a twinkling, a thought came to mind:
"I'll dress them up, and then they'll be fine."

So I went to my craft room and looked all around,
Then back to the table with all that I'd found.
My Fiskars I brandished (I wasn't a quitter),
And soon I was covered in EP and glitter.

The cap of a marker I held in my teeth.
I'd lay in some color or maybe gold leaf.
My broad little face was all beaded with sweat,
But I wouldn't give up -- well, not at least yet.

There was glue on the table and ink on the floor.
I laughed at the site, though my fingers were sore.
I did not complain, just kept up my work.
When more things went wrong, I did not go berserk.

When finally finished, one card about six,
It looked pretty good after all of my tricks.
"I'm keeping this one. My work on it shows."
So clutching my card, up the stairs I arose.

I crawled into bed at the crack of dawn.
Creativity all spent, motivation gone.
But to make no mistake, I promise one thing:
You'll all get your cards, but not till next spring!