I have to apologize for not keeping up my end of the bargain of writing three times a week. It’s just too much between owning a business, building another business, teaching two fitness classes a day five times a week and writing articles for our health and wellness blog. Check out www.AgingYouthful.com for tips and pointers on healthy eating, fitness, motivation and personal development.

To keep up the tradition, I just HAD to re-post my Off The Beaten Path “Twas the Night Before Christmas” poem. We hope you all are having an awesome winter so far and do a snow dance for us. It’s been pretty sparse and there is only two and a half months before Mush for a Cure!!!

(December 25, 2008) Merry Christmas everyone!!! We hope Santa Claus was good to you all. I had a dream last night that Mel came running over this morning with the following story:

T’was the night before Christmas and all through the forest,
not a creature was stirring, not even a moose.
The dog booties were hung by the woodstove to dry,
in hopes that another snowstorm would pass Off The Beaten Path by.

We, the handlers, were nestled in our beds,
while visions of indoor plumbing danced in our heads.
Me in my PJ’s and Rob in his tidy whities,
had just settled in for a late night cup of coffee.

When out in the dog yard there arose such a howl,
I sprung from the futon to see what was a-foul.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
tore open the door and fell on my a#%.

The moon on the breast of new fallen snow,
gave the luster of mid-day objects below.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
but a giant dog musher and tiny sled dogs so dear.

With a giant driver, so tall and so dark,
I knew in a moment that it must be Mark.
Faster than Fast E Streeper dogs his sleddogs they came,
when he whistled and shouted and called them by name.

Now Tucson, Zena, Amber, Bree, Calvin, Caribou, Carstenz, Cassie, Falcon, Lily, Maggie, Matty, now Denali.
On Deuce, Devil, Elbrus, Foreman, Hercules, Mons, Moon, Moon Pie, Murphy, Ophir, PJ, Rose, Skittles, Spock, Stealth, Star, Takum, Trout, and on Worf.
To the top of the outhouse, to the top of the garage beam,
he said “hike away, hike away, hike away team”.

As light and fluffy snow with snow-devils fly,
when met with an obstacle the team mounted to the sky.
So up to the cabin top the sled dogs they flew,
with a sled full of dog snacks and Mark in it too.

Then in a twinkling, I heard on the shed full of straw,
the trotting and loping of each little paw.
With coffee cup in hand, when I turned around,
down the stovepipe Mark went, with a bound.

He was dressed all in beaver fur from his head to his foot,
and his clothes were all tarnished with Buster fur and soot.
The bundle of dog snacks he flung on his back,
he looked like a sourdough opening his sack.

His eyes how they squinted, his hair how gray,
his cheeks were all frost-nipped, his nose peeling away.
His mustached mouth was drawn like a bow,
and the beard on his chin was as white as new fallen snow.

The butt of a smoke he held tight in his lip,
and the smoke it encircled his head like a ship.
He had a shot of whiskey to warm his belly,
that shook when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.

He was a tall drink of water, a crabby (but with a big heart) old elf,
and scowled when I saw him, in spite of myself.
With a sh*#-eating grin and a twist of his head,
I knew I had nothing to dread.

He spoke not a word, went straight to his work,
and filled the dog booties then turned with a jerk.
And laying his finger on the side of his nose,
and giving a nod of his head, up the stovepipe he rose.

He limped to his sled, to his team gave a yell,
and away they all flew like angels from He#@.
He gave out a shout as he took off down the trail and went out of sight,
“Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night”.

Merry Christmas to all of you from all of us at Off The Beaten Path!