"We are not daily beggars that beg from door to door

but we are friendly neighbors whom you have seen before."

I love Christmas caroling. Always have. I love the romantic image of people standing in the snow, colorful scarves, hats and gloves, candles, hot cider and steaming voices raised in familiar melody. That is why I am officially declaring December 22, 2007 as Unofficial Caroling Night. Find some scarves, print some lyrics off the internet, grab a thermos of eggnog and a parcel of friends, and get out there and sing your lungs out! Even better, let's all go wassailing - going door to door singing carols and requesting cookies and figgy pudding! Essentially, begging.

Last year I encouraged twenty of my bravest friends to come with me through our neighborhood of Westlake Hills. I bought pieces of red and green material and cut them like scarves (theatre training), bought candles that wouldn't drip wax on our delicate hands, and handed everyone a drink and a song book. Everyone already thinks I'm nuts. Off we went: little kids, old people, and even one baby - many with theatre training who can carry a sassy tune in three part harmony and some completely tone deaf yet eager to experience an old-fashioned holiday tradition.

What we discovered was fascinating.

Our "act" was this: we would sing as we walked and then stop in front of houses that had lights on; decorations or not. Some people peeked out the window, some moms opened the doors and called to their kids to come and see these relics of the past: whack jobs in red and green. Many houses never even heard us - probably had the TV on too loud.

As we sang our way to one house, a minivan pulled into the driveway. A man got out and ran screaming into the house. He sounded as if he were being burned by hot wax. There's a critic on every block. Our spirits were only slightly dampened... because of what came next.

What came next was the most important house, the one that made it all worth it, the one with the woman. The woman that we will never forget. She opened the door, listened to us, and cried. Burst into a full-fledged winter deluge. "Thank you, oh thank you!" she was saying through her tears and mascara. "Oh, you made my Christmas! I'm sorry I don't have any cookies for you!"

"That's OK!" we all yelled. We weren't doing this for cookies. We were doing it for her: her reaction, her tears, her joy. That was it, exactly. Wassailing is the act of blessing your neighbors. We all started crying too, creating one big, steamy mess of tears and mascara. And she came out on the street,hugged us, and magically we felt less like whack jobs and more like innocent characters from a nostalgic English novel. Part of a tradition. Part of a ceremony. Part of a good thing.

Most importantly, part of our neighborhood.

So on December 22, 2007get out there and sing! It's Caroling Night!

" Love and joy come to you,

And to you your wassail too;

And God bless you and send you

a Happy New Year,

and God send you a Happy New Year"

"Here We Come A-Wassailing" probably written by some English peasant from 1050, Norman conquests or something like that...older than you and me."