An Alaskan Christmas Story 

     Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the hut, not a creature was stirring, (mainly because we hadn’t started cooking yet).
     Our long johns were hung by the heater with care. [‘Care’, meaning we had remembered to close up the flaps this year. The kids had learned that leaving them open was less than optimal when it came to getting a full load of goodies.] 
     The kids and grandkids were all crammed into what beds we could find, (both of our sons and our son-in-law were out of work so were living with us--oh joy to the world), with visions of sugared moose jerky dancing in their heads, (and let me tell you, if that goes on too long it can produce one hellacious headache), ready for what sleep they might be able to get, (what with somebody always clomping in and out of the house to use the facilities.) 
    With me in my camo pjs and Gretchen in her bullet-proof vest nightie (shoot me once, shame on you, shoot me twice, shame on me), we were preparing our brains for a long winter’s nap. [Whatever in the world that means.] 
    [We’d had a little trouble fitting Gretchen with a vest as she is quite well endowed, so we had to get a custom-made vest. She is probably the only one around who has a bullet-proof vest with “Seattle Tent and Awning” stamped on the back.] 
     When up on the roof there arose such a clatter I thought, it’s too bad that squirrels are no longer considered traditional for holiday meals. 
    We sprang from out beds and ran out in the yard. The moon on the surface (we’ll have no breasts in this epic prose), of the new fallen snow lit up the night like it was mid-day. And what to our wondering eyes should we behold, but eight huge grizzlies pulling an old pickup truck. 
    With a little old driver, so stupid and drunk, I knew in a moment it must by my neighbor Jerome Saint Dick. 

 [The grizzlies? A long but interesting story.] [On top of the house? A very short story, but I’ll not bother the reader with it here. I’ll just say that thirty-two grizzly paws, each with five long, sharp claws, can do major damage to the shingles on a hut roof.]