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“I stopped believing in Santa Claus when I was six. Mother took me to see him in a department store and he asked for my autograph.”
– Shirley Temple  
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  Volume No. 14 Issue No. 12 December 2017  

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   Christmas mishaps
   "One Christmas, I somehow managed to get it together and have all my gifts wrapped and ready days in advance. I couldn't wait to head home to Maine and impress my family with my thoughtfully selected array. I was going to be a hero. But when my brother came to pick me up, I was, of course, running late. Frazzled, I threw on some clothes, loaded the bags with the gifts into my arms, and started down five flights of stairs. That's when I tripped, and the presents proceeded down two flights on their own — my heart dropped at the sound of vases breaking. And that was the year I gave my family broken glass for Christmas. But hey, since then no one gives me a hard time about assembling my gifts the night before.”
   
   “My childhood dog was about 14 and had gone blind earlier that year. I guess since he
   couldn’t see, he got confused by the tree in the house. While we were all sitting around
   the room, he peed on the tree and blew all the lights. The tree even started smoking.
   He walked away completely unfazed.”
   
   “I was a single mom dating my first boyfriend, a sweet junior high math teacher from New York City. We were flying to North Carolina for the holidays with my 18-month-old daughter. It was supposed to be an easy, two-hour flight. But things turned turbulent. The plane cut sharply to the right. I gripped my baby in my lap. My boyfriend started to swear. I gave him a look, but he swore again, louder. "We do have little ears around here," I said. If traveling together was a true test of a new relationship, what did this mean? Ironically, my little girl was the heroic one. Every time the plane plunged, she laughed. "Again!" she said. "Again!" The passengers behind us burst into laughter — and finally, we landed, safe.”
  
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