I’m going to a playreading tonight.  Maybe eight of us will divide up the parts and launch into “Long Day’s Journey Into Night”.  We’ll have fun, inhabiting roles that show all sorts of lives.

As Christmas approaches, I’m remembering a blessed tradition of mine: reciting the poem “Twas The Night Before Chridtmas” to kids.  Thousands of them have sat before me to hear the story of Santa Claus.

Now there are virtually no children in my life, but why not say the poem to adults?  They’re just big kids!  So at our intermission tonight I’ll ask my dramatic colleagues if I can tell them about Santa.  I think they’ll say yes.  And perhaps the light in my eyes will join with light in theirs.

I learned “Twas” in 1985 or so.  Virtually forty years of loving the old man with a red suit and a big white beard.  More than half my life making kids and beyond laugh.

I’m smiling as I think of two lines:

As dry leaves before the wild hurricane fly

It took me forever to memorize that one!

And away they all flew like the down of a thistle

Such poetry … how I’ve loved uttering those words over the years.

And tonight