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The Rogue Valley Amateur Radio Club meets the first Thursday of each month (except July and August) from 7:00 to 9:00p at the Red Cross Building, 60 Hawthorne Street, Medford.
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The September "meeting" is the Annual Swap Meet on the first Saturday after the first Thursday of the month from 10:00a to 3:00p.


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A Ham’s Night before Xmas

cqsanta

 A Ham’s Night before Christmas

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the town,
The snowstorm was raging, the phone lines were down;
The wind it did howl, the tree limbs did crack,
I hope that St. Nick isn’t forced to turn back.

XYL making cookies, the kids making noise,
While away in the shack, by my rig I was poised.
The finals were glowing, the mike gain was set,
I was chasing DX to see what I could get.

The bands were all empty, the frequencies clear,
Except one lone station that sounded quite near.
He was calling CQ and my interest did pique,
When he answered me with “Old St. Nick.”

I answered back quickly, I used great dispatch,
If this were St. Nicholas, good God, what a catch!
We exchanged information, it was really quite graphic,
When I heard through the static, “I’ve emergency traffic!”

His reindeer were tired, his elves in a grump,
If he didn’t land soon, then his sleigh he would dump.
I thought very carefully, I thought very hard,
Then I gave him directions to my snow covered yard.

As he flew past my window, his hair like a mane,
He reined in his chargers and called them by name:
“Whoa, Anode! Whoa, Cathode! Whoa, Zener! Whoa, Diode!
Stop, Z Match! Stop, Grid Leak! Stop, Bias! Stop, Triode!

You’re flying too low! you’re flying too fast!
Look out, you dumb reindeer, his antenna mast!”
So into the backyard the reindeer did drop,
St. Nick, the elves, and the sleigh went kerplop!

Then at the back door, I heard this loud knocking,
“Open up in there, or I won’t fill your stocking!”
As I turned off the light and was leaving the shack,
Into the house Saint Nicholas came from the back.

His two-meter rig held to his hip with a strap,
“Hams do it in the shack” on the front of his cap.
The sack that he carried made his aged brow furrow,
And he handed me a card that read, “QSL Via Bureau”.

His clothes were all sooty, from his shoes to his vest;
I felt like a novice just taking my test.
His fingers were calloused and from what I could tell,
This came from a straight key that I’ll bet he used well.

I offered him coffee, I offered him smokes,
I tried making merry by telling ham jokes.
Then he nodded his head and raised up his thumb,
He smiled like an Elmer, did I ever feel dumb.

He grabbed up his sack and went straight for the tree,
And placed in it a new rig for me.
When he finished his work, he stood up, took a bow,
Then out the back door to his team he did plow.

But I heard him exclaim as he flew o’er the land,
“Fear the FCC, Lid, you were way out of band!”

By Whiskey Ø Foxtrot Uniform November

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