Our town...

We have a charming annual tradition here in our town, and every year I somehow manage to forget about it. Until I'm bombarded with a cacophony of multiple sirens and horns and wonder what all the commotion is about and where the heck the fire is. And then suddenly, it dawns on me - Santa Claus is coming!

Clement Moore's Santa, raising all that clatter out there on the lawn, didn't have nothing on our local fire department. Sometime during the week before Christmas (in this instance, last night,) our modern-day Santa rides through town and the nearby developments on the back of a big ol' pumper or hook and ladder truck. There he sits, in all his glory, waving, Merry Christmas-ing, and ho-ho-ho-ing while the sirens and horns of four or five companion firetrucks go blaring and blasting through the streets, announcing his arrival.

Talk about clatter! Shoof! It's enough to wake the good Mr. Moore from his eternal rest! When you're absent-minded like yours truly, and fully engrossed in something else, it's enough to make you grab your most prized possessions and run for your life! The kids love it though, and their happy little squeals of delight can be heard up and down the street as they rush outside to greet and wave to the jolly, chubby gent. By the time I make it to the front porch, I can usually muster up a hearty wave back and a "Merry Christmas to you too, Santa!" as I finish gathering my wits about me.

This is taking a toll on my aging nerves... I gotta be ready next year.