A "Santa For The Rest of Us" Nighthawk

Vol. 132, December 24th, 2024 Published a day early online

Santa For The Rest of Us

It’s my favorite night of the year. The glow of the Christmas tree, the anticipation, the soft carols playing in the background, all joined by the ghosts of Christmas eves past.

I know it sounds cheesy, but I’ve been lucky, and most years have brought Yuletide cheer. Still, we all grow out of the Santa phase, and sometimes the little train around the tree falls off it’s track, metaphorically speaking. Life has a way of doing that.

Yet there remains the reason we celebrate. I’ve heralded light in the darkest hour as an agnostic, and now, the salvation of mankind as a Christian. Hanukkah starts tomorrow, too. It’s a powerful time.

There’s something else in the air, too. The chance of the unexpected, the delightful surprise, Christmas Magic if I may be so “Hallmark.”

Sometimes, it’s only an excuse to use our imagination, but that’ll work. I’d like to be the conductor on The Polar Express. Or maybe a Santa for grown-ups. Imagine: a knock at the door (no chimneys), a hello, a fireside chat and discussion on workshop management. We’d all get to visit and laugh.

I guess that’s what this letter is.

Merry Christmas, and to all a good night.

My Favorite Christmas Movie?

One that never happened. But should. Did you ever hear about the time I helped Santa fly through WWII skies? Epic.

Happy Birthday “Silent Night”

Fr. Gruber debuts his new carol, 1818.

Poem of the Week

A Visit from St. Nicholas

(Clement Moore)

Take a walk down memory lane with this classic, better known as The Night Before Christmas, published in 1823.

Carol’s Appalachian Word of the Week

Kriss Kringling: Right before Christmas, adults appeared in bizarrely costumed clothes and masks with noise makers of all kind. You have to guess who each person is so they can get refreshments from you.

Quote of the Week

“For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given.”

–Isaiah 9:6, KJV

Write to Us!

The Nighthawk is a new old-fashioned way to connect, published weekly. You’re invited to write back, or just enjoy reading. Let’s have some fun! It’s a social paper! Send stories, etc to: PO Box 783, Rustburg, VA 24588 or Joshurban@protonmail.com

Letters from Josh

(A weekly update from Josh Urban’s adventures on the farm and in the city. #217)

Appearing in the Altavista Journal, etc: 2024–It Sure Ain’t A Bore

Howdy, folks, and welcome back to the show! What a year it’s been. If it had a slogan of understatement: 2024–It Sure Ain’t a Bore.

For all the fireworks of 2024, there’s something peaceful about the time between Christmas and New Year’s Eve. I played guitar once or twice in the madhouse of the NYC subway years ago. When the train is there, it’s the chaos of the mall on the 24th of December. When it leaves, there’s a hush, a silence under the city, and a slight breeze wafting in from the tunnels. This week always reminds me of that.

The light from the green traffic light spilled onto the rainy pavement last night, and I rolled southbound through another city, thinking of the year that left the station, and the one heading our way.

Remarkable people marked this season–on the news, and right here in town. Folks who keep going, no matter what, and do what needs to be done.

I saw ‘em build my house. In the time it took me to scratch my head and invent a rhyme, they’d have half the gutters hung, or a row of cinder block set.

I watched friends struggle and overcome, and others struggle and not overcome, but put their shoulder to the wheel, and try again. And all around, people were ready to help.

The more I get to know people, the more I like them.

I drove thousands of miles, gazed at millions of stars, played guitar with friends, made a mountain of sawdust in the wood shop, spun crates of old rock ‘n roll records, and even saw four Elvis impersonators.

They got in my head, so I tried to imitate the imitators at a DJ program for senior citizens: popped my collar, struck a pose, and dumped a cup of water over my head.

“Made that orange water this morning” the kitchen lady said.

“Well...smells good.” The show must go on. (Reminder: buy hair gel instead.)

Mom got chickens this year. That’s been fun. And getting to write to you every week (sometimes about the chickens)? Count me lucky.

I’m rolling down the road in the hush between the holidays, grateful we got to live it together. Thank you, 2024. And thank you.

2025 is almost here. It’s going to be good. What would ol’ Johnny say?

“I hear that train a-comin’.”

Catch you next year,

Josh

Send postcards and New Year’s wishes to P.O. Box 783, Rustburg, VA 24588 or on X

@RealJoshUrban, but hold the sardines. That’s a New Year’s tradition I’ll leave to dad.