A Christmas Past…

The ever-festive ladies of 1741 - a good porch or roof will entertain us for hours


3 years ago I was celebrating Christmas in shorts and a tee-shirt with my roommates Carrie, Erin and Kristina in a little house close to the ocean and bay in Pacific Beach, San Diego, CA. It was a modest little place and a modest XMAS – but there was a lot of love there. It had it’s faults (a roof rat infestation after the wildfires, a pair of obnoxious neighbors and their loud dogs Brady and Brewski, a sub-par lock on the back door that led to a couple break-ins and lots of stranger danger)….but for every negative, there was a positive that trumped it – and no matter WHAT – we got a good story and better laughs out of almost everything that came to pass during those few unforgettably special years.

One of our favorite re-tells was the night our crazy Italian next-door-neighbor/restauranteur/neighborhood “local crop” grower & distributer (keen on referring to us all collectively as his “BELLAS!”)  followed up a scary break-in by notifying the police and letting us know afterward that had the intruder come one step closer to us…”there WOULD HAVE BEEN BLOOD, my bellas”.

That Christmas Eve a copy of “”Twas the Night Before Christmas – 1741 Hornblend Style” was tucked into everyone’s tiny felt stocking as a reminder of all the good times…

‘Twas the Night Before Christmas

(1741 Hornblend Style)


‘Twas the night before X-Mas and all through the pad

Not a creature was stirring, not even a rat

The stockings were hung on the wall with care

In hopes that fatty Santa would soon be there


The ladies were passed out on couches and beds

While visions of wine night still spun in their heads

And Nesta in his sweatshirt and Cleveland Browns cap

Had just settled down for a long winter’s nap


When out in the backyard there arose such a clatter

We sprang from our pass-outs to see what was the matter

Carrie and Kristina ran to the window in a flash

Amanda slept through it, and Erin made a mad dash


The moon on the glass of the unlocked back door

Gave a luster to the plastic chairs and tikis outdoors

When what to our wondering eyes should appear

But a bum who was high and had had too much beer


One look at us robed ladies and he “arose” pretty quick

We knew in a moment – it must be St. Dick

More rapid than eagles, his pitched tent it came

And he whistled, and shouted, and yelled out a name


“On Brady, and Brewski, on neighbors dogs

Fight off this scary stranger with the dirty yule log!

To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall

Now dash away homeless man – go harass a pub crawl!”


As dry leaves that before a wildfire fly,

When they meet with an ember, they mount to the sky

So up to the backyard the dogs they flew

Except for Nesta – who hid in the bathroom


And then in a twinkling I heard on the roof

The prancing and pawing of tiny street shoes.

As we drew in our hands and were turning around,

Down the ladder an Italian man came with a bound!


He was dressed in Euro denim, from his head to his feet

And his clothes were all smelling of newly harvested backyard weed

A bundle of Parliaments he grabbed from the back

And he looked like a crazy man opening the pack


His eyes how they twinkled – his dimples – how merry!

His cheeks were like roses – he grabbed and hugged Carrie

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow

And it never stopped moving – “Go, Bellas, GO!”


The stump of a doobie he held tight in his teeth

And the smoke, it encircled our house like a wreath

He had a thin build, but a round little belly

That shook when he laughed like a bowl full of spaghetti


He was loud, and drugged up, a right jolly old elf

And we laughed when we saw him in spite of ourselves

A wink of his eye, and a twist of his head

Soon gave us to know we had nothing to dread


He spoke unknown words, and went right to his work

He called the cops, started yelling, and threw out the jerk

Laying his finger inside of his nose

And giving a yell, up the ladder he rose


He sprang to the roof, to his dogs gave a whistle

And fell off the other side, like the down of a thistle

But we heard him exclaim as he hit with a thud

“Merry Christmas to my bellas…THERE WILL BE BLOOD!”



Merry Christmas Nesta + Hippy



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