It was a dark and starry night when the ghost of Christmas past, that old curmudgeon Ebenezer, made his way across the street to the seaside shiny Boardwalk, awash with white lights and blinking bulbs, over the river and through the woods and into World Showcase. Entering Epcot at the UK, he made his way deftly; avoiding the crowded cobblestone dead-end cul-de-sacs, walking across the English Channel bridge to Paris and wound his away around Santa-sized couples, through candy cane striped lampposts, too sweet for the moths. Through Morocco he traveled, like a carpet a-flying, then to Japan and beyond where there were fat kids a-crying. Now dash away traveler, on to the best- home to America; no time for the rest. The free, the brave, the fat and indignant all found their way including a kid in his sniglet.
Clicking his heels and kicking them up, this man in his earnestness foregew a cup. No jolliness here, nor sprits of liquid, for the man feels poor and doesn't want to be sick-ed. He wound his way through the crowd to wait in his place and marveled with wonder at the look on each face. Behind braided rope he stood in a line to hear the Good News for the two-hundredth time. It never gets old as the trumpets they blare, the strings sing with pathos and he thinks "Yes!" He is there.
And Ana with no kerchief and without any cap, took the stage like a pro and so no one napped. She threw open the shutter, at least I will say, she got the ball rolling and held us in sway. The sign language lady all lively and quick, motioned word after word, not mentioning Saint Nick. The motion I know, that looks like a sash, means Lord to some but just makes me laugh. I think of Miss America or a guerrilla in fight whenever I find that sign in my sight. When singing his name, I noticed each time, the word Jesus means sacrifice, paid once for all time. We here of hearing, unless we do look, have no thought of pain so soon in the Book. The shepherds today, seem lovely and quaint but those at the time scrubbed and polished they aint. The kings from afar, gifts and camels (not toe), show up to the party with false plastic snow. But for those who will see, for signs do surround, the true story of pain through love will abound.
I sat next to a singer, who knew all the French which he pronounced with glee so snug on our bench. He sounded so good, the choir sounded better, the crowd loves the songs, the story and weather. The lady up front, so sincere and good looking, used all the right vowels and kept things a-cooking. So pretty in black, and good in her role, she kept things on point, the show not to stole. From Saturday Night to the place that I saw her, the difference was clear and I'm glad that they brought her. So funny on screen, but so right for that story, she gave us a gift full of glitter and glory.
The carols they rang and the songs filled the night as she was whisked off the stage and wished all a good night. And I heard her exclaim as she brought down the house, "No one does it better. Thank God for the Mouse."
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