For the sake of old times, it was only a dream. A reoccurring dream, at that. One that started young (middle-school years), and didn’t actually come to be physically, happen until much later. Not the only time this has occurred and, not sure how it’s even possible; but I will describe it the best I can. I will be frank, not the human, but the sentiment. As honest and forthcoming, even though, like most women, we aren’t supposed to “speak” of our age; didn’t actually occur till I turned 40 on the dot (Shush). Christmas time, to be exact.
There used to be a myth, that women once 40; everything goes downhill. We’re sent “packing”, out to pasture, and apparently, traded in for younger models, because we can’t learn new tricks. My mother held 40 over me, like a looming death threat, prophesized by none other than Nostradamus, himself in 1543, at or near the same age as me (being facetious). I was supposed to expect something heinous, and I actually feared turning another year older, closer to doomsday, and a “cashed in” life insurance policy, with my name on it. We’ll it’s all hogwash and hooey, I say. Quite the contrary; at least I quit chasing my tail.
In my dream, I’m walking through what clearly is a residential street, full of normal looking houses of typical America, planet Earth, Northern and Western Hemispheres; coordinates are 38° 34′ 32.7504” N and 121° 28′ 43.8636” W. We’ll “talk-shop” on other “special” coordinates, later. I don’t recognize any one particular house, but I “feel” I’m kind of lost, sad, and a little confused: discombobulated.
Obviously, what makes this reoccurring dream different from all the others; is that it’s Christmas. Weirdly, every house is decorated, to the hilt! I mean, Santa, Mrs. Claus, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph all came to town or was on tour. Rudolph, all the reindeers, had brought the entire north pole and Jerusalem, with them; elves, the isle of misfits, and three wise men on a sleigh, over-filled magic abound.
Staggered by so much beautiful opulence and sheer imagination, I gaped and seemed awestruck, while walking the sidewalk, by myself. Dreams typically only last nanoseconds, so it’s beyond me that they can be so impactful and can herald a moment into the future.
Christmas music is playing faintly and eerily in the background, from nowhere or an unknown angelic source, everywhere. The lights are glorious, and I cannot help (like a moth to flame), but revel, and gush to myself at how exquisite it all is. Wait, there’s no one here, with me. I keep searching, and walking. Endless searching! I can’t find a soul and start to become alarmed. How can this be?
My surroundings are beyond noteworthy and I’m so in my element, yet distraught, because there’s no one to share it with. Where’s my family? Usually, I awoke from this nightmare, sad and sometimes in tears. Baffled, bewildered, and perplexed by this nightmare’s contradictions, I figured Christmas time can be lonely for me and a lot more haunting instead. Was I cursed; do curses even exist? Bah humbug!
Can you imagine going to a famous attraction based park, at Christmas time, and you are entirely on your own; completely alone? I’m a quasi, blasé artistic, introvert; so this sounds like a brilliant way to spend some well earned time off. The problem is: (A) how long does this last, and (B), no one, nada, zilch; to share it with? Quite the conundrum, and I would be curious as to your answer someday.
“I awoke only to find that the rest of the world was still asleep.” Da Vinci’s quote is spot on, and I eventually lived the nightmare before this Christmas carol, in Lincoln, California on an empty street. My last Christmas with the only family I ever knew. No wonder, I was so sad and blue.
My mother lived in a very beautiful, affluent, country club atmospheric, senior community. During the day, I took care of every waking, exhausting, tumultuous, maladjusted, moment. Every need, demand, and desire she had for herself and anyone who dared enter her queendom.
For this was a monarch tyrannical dictatorship, and you were either considered a lessor than, a target, an employee at best, or a liability about to be “knocked-off”. Sadly, for me, all of the above. Bit of a control freak, obsessed with absolute rule, murder novels, news, and executioner type programming, neurotic to her core, deranged, and a time or two, a murderous, delusional, lunatic. There, “said” (written only here); finally.
At long last. Instead of a partridge in a pair tree, the empress pulled a gun out on me. At night, once things “felt” “safe”; I would go out walking (Patsy Cline in my ear) to clear my cluttered, tormented mind, lift my heavy heart, and try to compartmentalize my thoughts. I must contemplate, by no mistake, and find a way to escape.
There was a street called Mill Pond Court and it was perfect! I loved walking the pathway up to this quintessential, absolutely ideal, cul-de-sac of real estate, at its finest. I felt at times like the white rabbit in “Alice in Wonderland”; for there was a bridge covered in surrounding poppies, that lead to a bird sanctuary and wildlife preserve. White cranes, and huge geese, along with every other kind of fabulous bird. They would fly by in formation and left me to ponder their amazing evolution.
Walked past the perfectly maintained and manicured, exquisite sprawling golf course. Artful and useful; benches lined, adequate distance apart from each other, along the sidewalks and walkways, under the fanning of cherry and maple trees. “You” always had a place to sit and enjoy the serene surroundings. Not to mention, these colossal water fountains that cascade into an enormous pool. I like to imagine them as the famous Trevi Fountain in Rome, Italy and wish a spell so true.
It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas, and everywhere I walked; I could hear music, laughter, excited anticipation, and general joy displayed openly. These weren’t actors, no one was “faking”, or pretending to be something they were not. They did wear Santa hats, and elf ears, too my amusement, whilst golfing, lunching, bocce balling (retirement “ballers”), flirting, dog walking, carting, and loving life!
“Bocce is closely related to British bowls and French pétanque, all having developed from games played in the Roman Empire.” It was developed in Italy. It’s a European ball game, played “ruthlessly” in Northern California, and great fun. Nothing to worry about, Ruth is there too with blue streaks in her hair. It’s good to see some traditions made it passed all the gory Roman games of glory and the bloody history retelling.
Up until Christmas Eve, they, spirit fully and whimsically decorated every trim, bush, hedge, driveway, window, door, garage, sidewalk, and home. Every inch of lawn adorned. Lights of every color, brightness, arrangement, sequence, pattern, garland, animatronics, and electrical cords donned every chimney sweep and keep; inside and out. It was extraordinary! A must see!
It started to mist on my walk through, and that’s when the “Einstein” moment grew. The overhead streetlamp lightbulb came on and, in that flash, my memory came back. This was that dream! I walked for a long, long time, maybe hours, alone. Crying in the rain, I realized how prophetic that dream was. Never have had that nightmare of Christmas again, and I haven’t seen my “family” either, since then. That fateful time period, of a moment in Christmas’ past, not so long ago; vividly and nostalgically, I will remember that lonely stroll.
“Should Old Acquaintance be forgot, and never thought upon”. Whist you enjoy the festivities, dancing, merriment, and delight; comes a silent moment in the middle of the night. The sheer drapes of white rustling past the stroke of midnight; seemingly to whisper, you’ll be visited by three kings of glory, light, and might.
It’s the most wonderful time of the year and I got “casted” for the Christmas play, that year (1980’s – ish). My most exciting and lucrative gig yet. The choir was my enthroning achievement thus far. Previously, I had dabbled in the arts, as an actor in theatre. I was, proudly and originally one of, the, much sought after; three French hens. Mind you the one on the end, not to be confused, with the cute middle hen. It was a ruffled, feathers, kind of play. No squawking: more singing, I heard them say!
For this play, I was the Angel of the Lord in the nativity scene, and my nerves almost shot, got the best of me. This role of a lifetime was bigger than anything before. The nativity is an essential time in Christianity. It is the birth of Jesus, the Messiah, evermore. Tis, the entire reason for the season; that everyone materializes instead of giving, immersing, rejoicing, and memorializing of the Holy Ghost. Always try and be a gracious host.
The season for giving and for children; do not get confused and start giving away children. Too plant the seeds for tomorrows reap. We should follow the Christmas star, just like the Magi from Persia did from afar; turns out, there might be two Bethlehem’s. Thusly watch the road, we don’t want to miss any signs or humble abodes. Why, you ask? Because we are in the desert between humps on a camel, with no name.
The Zoroastrian priests, remarkable and mysterious, hailed from the east and followed a star to Jesus. This implies a person of huge significance would be born. The Book of Matthew says, “Magi following the star and after listening to the king, they set out, and the star they had seen in the east went ahead of them until it came and stopped over the place where the child was.” “We have seen his star in the east and have come to worship him.”
We “know” (from ancient scrolls, clay tablets, papyrus, the Word, oral traditions, plus) that three gifts were given: Gold, Frankincense, and Myrrh, from the endless sand and dust. Their names perhaps, Gaspar, Balthasar, and Melchior. There’s much conjecture and debate still, on the date, the manger, thy mother and thy father, the circumstances, the taxes, the infant, the shepherds; their flock, location, and actual historical significance. Uniquely in regard to the “otherworldly” “guiding light” Christmas star, many have believed and calculated that it was none other than Jupiter. Now that seems like an impossibility, but I’m learning more about probabilities.
“Then an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, ‘Do not be afraid; for see-I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people.’” (Lk 2:9-10) Sent by God to alert the shepherds of the birth of Christ. I said my lines and even though I felt great inflection, I sounded more like a monotone android intercepted, for it was I who was terrified.
My friends were Mary and Joseph, and Jesus was one of the parishioners babies and even though this was a school performance and I used garland for my skewed golden halo; I felt the Holy moment. Reenacted poorly, but the spirit flowed through me, and it was a Christmas miracle. What came next was an unholy flurry.
After the performance, the entire family headed “home”, which consisted of condos in a high-rise (14th and 16th floors), downtown, Sacramento. My parents and I on one side, while my sister and brother had their own palace apart, on the other side. We came together for our big feast and so happened to be the last time my family unit was ever together around Christmas or at peace.
Stocking stuffer for you; another reason to stay alert, stay focused people, in parking garages; they’re spooky and they are very scary. Also ensure a few dollars in that coin purse of yours; the parking ticket is always costly. Be prepared; saves time. Be safe, God speed, and bring a buddy along!
My sister made fudge that she pined over, my mother’s recipe. Mom liked to leave important ingredients out or sneak them in; very contrary. I never really found out, then; just a guess, I assumed something was amiss. Must have been an inside joke and super hilarious, none of which, I got or was ever privy. Coco was so excited to give the gift of chocolate decadence, surely to magnify the Christmas joy and traditions; or merely attuned to her own guilty aspirations.
“A moment on the lips equals a lifetime on the hips”; what my Gram would so lovingly say, just as I was sashaying a sinful nibble away. My father, on the other hand, had a severe physiological allergic reaction; took one bite and literally collapsed to the floor, from extreme exhaustion and hypertension.
We rushed him to the emergency room, and he was immediately ushered into surgery. Every Christmas thereafter, we spent at a hospital, and repeat the same horrific story. I would locate the chapel and find quiet comfort on a cold winters’ night, that was so deep.
Dad had to spend the week in the E.R. and New Year’s Eve was now upon us. My brother and sister were fortunately enjoying New Year’s with my Gram and Dick Clark and I spent it with my mother, in the dark. She seemed unfazed, watched television, snacked, and was on the phone most of the night. I went outside on the balcony, so I could be alone, not “bother” her, and stay out of sight. Watching the passerby’s, I wondered what their reasons for the season were as they hurriedly ran inside.
Blustering wind and cold ran through downtown’s corridors. Downtown looks scary, when you are a kid, but it’s really perception, sensory overload, to my chagrin. The lights, the honking, the fire alarms, the hustle, the bustle; it’s electrifying. There’s so much to observe. Leave it to me, but I noticed a “bum”, sitting on the curb. Many walked past him, and no one stopped. I didn’t dare interrupt my mother, so I stayed high and dry above alone, in the dark.
Oddly at midnight, I prayed someone would notice this homeless man’s plight. I hoped something magical would “save” him at the stroke of midnight. New Year’s Eve, I was only eight. I could hear my mother calling the hospital again, late. A kind sounding voice, assumed nurse, answered the phone and she said my father had been “moved”, no harm had come. I heard commotion and my mother, mood suddenly altered; hurriedly hung up the phone, her heart a flitter.
Phones aren’t what they used to be; “look them up” (quick internet search, *boggling*), just don’t get “hung” up. My mother never realized how perceptive I am and that I have hearing and can comprehend. No, she glazed right over that fact gleefully, and thought it was better, to consider me “inept and unworthy”; a less than flattering portrayal and more like betrayal.
Excited as all get out, she ran out to the balcony and said, “your father is dead!” It was a serious voice, laced with exhilaration; completely “bass-akwards”, in my opinion. I was hoping for a Happy New Year instead, but I should have known better, and looked ahead.
She didn’t even wait for a reaction, she jumped on the phone again and called my grandmother with elation. I knew she was lying, and just then, I watched the homeless man slump over for what appeared to be, his last New Year’s and haunting mine ever since.
The phone rang, and I answered it. It was my dad! He wanted, us to know, he had been moved to another room, and that he wished us, all, a Happy New Year’s, abloom. He was so sorry he had “ruined” Christmas and missed being together, and in fact; that’s why, he had been “detained” (short, for hospitalized) for so long, at the hospital. He had a ruptured appendix, but didn’t want to “spoil” our Holidays, so he tried to muster through, thinking he would be “okay”, and not bother.
My mother grabbed the phone from me, and the “performance” was something to behold. She went into an act, “like no other”, before; stunned, I watched it unfold. Told him, the nurse said he was gone (que the soap opera music, drama on). She had thought his apparent death, I couldn’t believe it. She told him, we were sobbing, when an Angel of mercy must have phoned from the “other side”, to stop our uncontrollable grieving.
Usually, on an average day, my mother (we’ll call her Queenie of the black hearts), had a complete dead pan expression, never liked to show emotion; unless it was bartered, contracted, or manipulated at someone else’s expense, she thought best. My first introduction to embezzlement 1A and pre-blackmail 101 (took a “full load” that semester) for flight learning up ahead, and way down the road.
Sleight of hand tactics; lightly sprinkled and “powdered” with a ton of calories, 8 gluten fruitcakes, 7 dairy milk maids milking, and soy so on, and so on. Sugar plum fairies danced in dangled “entrapment”; off in the distance, and “elves”, scurried around and about, like a loose mouse in the house. Money is what “maketh, her world go round”. Queenie felt love was “too gushy”, “clingy”, and crying wasn’t aloud.
She most assuredly, couldn’t and wouldn’t say the words audibly, out loud ever, (drum roll); I love you. And I am so happy to be able to, not only, have the ability, but the optimism of inspiring durability and imperishability. “Love conquers all”, I say! I mean that phrase, not the way Virgil meant, by the way. I meant “God is love”, kind of way. “John 4:8 – But anyone who does not love does not know God, for God is love.”
Queenie’s go-to phrases, “you can bet your bottom dollar,” followed up with an unveiled threat, mixed in my fodder. Her favorite device, however, while “teasing” (her term), was her emphasis on saying; “I gave you life, I can take it away.” I didn’t find it funny in any way.
With each stroke of ultimatums, strategizing, and secretiveness; I saw my mother as misunderstood, complex, comical in social situations, witty, and enchanting in a sorcerer, kind of way. Fleeting moments and memories of actual love, but it was there. At least on my end and many years with despair. She could “make anyone do anything”, she said. I believed her, without a shadow of doubt; she meant what she said, not so round a bout.
I wish I had the knowledge and the wherewithal to have responded with the words of John 10:18 “No man taketh it from me, but I lay it down of myself. I have power to lay it down, and I have power to take it up again.” But I was meek and subservient and entirely at her will. For I was still a child with fever chills, who spills out of suffering from excessive “pills”.
“Boredom was a sign of low intelligence”, and “if you need me, to find you, something to do; you won’t like it!” Needless to say, she wasn’t the warm, fuzzy, motherly kind. Not to say, I didn’t love her. I did and still do, but it comes from a different “understanding” and a long distant view. “Meeting of the minds,” better from afar and better late than never; put a lid on that jar.
Hard to go through life with such a disconnect from one’s own mother, but me mum, like many moms out there, experience “disconnects”, wherever. With so many people in the world, wake, path, day; it’s difficult to say. Where it comes from and where it’s going; somehow, I think a guy by the name of cotton-eyed Joe would know more about this story.
While, the “good” boys and girls were, “rocking around the Christmas tree”; the following year, my father and our family experienced a gallbladder attack, and again almost certain death due to more misery. The stitches reopened a “stem to sternum”, inch wide; infected, bloody, surgical scar. I didn’t even go out and look for the Christmas star.
He was actually ripped apart at the seams, briefly, and so painfully. Excruciating to endure; and anguish to watch. Dad was “cheating” the grim reaper, every year, at every turn, and with every crop. So, I started to think, maybe we were cursed, indeed. How can I thwart the inevitable and stop the profusive bleeding?
As I hope and wish, you out there somewhere, was/is/were, having a holly jolly Christmas; my dad died on the operating gurney/table for the first time, I witnessed. He awoke in the middle of the surgery unable to speak or breathe. You think, “it” can get “crazy” at your holidays, says ye? This takes a whole new meaning to the “Nutcracker” and “chestnuts roasting on an open fire.” Frost was nipping at our toes.
He physically thrashed, clawed, and kicked and injured many good doctors, nurses, and medical professionals albeit; really just trying to “help” him still exist, keep him alive and “tickin'”. The next year consisted of more surgeries and ended that year sliced, ear to ear. No cheer to be had with a thyroid removal; not from laughing, or bowls of jelly, or rather a barrel of eggnog, milk and cookies.
Afterwards a diabetic coma, then a stroke. Every year, every holiday, every Christmas, we spoke. The stroke, diabetes, diverticulitis, PTSD, bi-polar, and sleep apnea, among other things, caused major complications to his quality of life and major, life altering and mind altering, symptoms that interfered with my quality of life, or lack thereof, on both accounts. All I can say, is I didn’t go down easy or without a fight, and neither did he with all his might.
“Surely he took up our pain and bore our suffering, yet we considered him punished by God, stricken by him, and afflicted. But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was on him, and by his wounds we are healed.” ~ Isaiah 53:4-5 When hardships befall you, which they will; use this verse to help heal you.
Eventually the diagnosis was colon cancer. Queenie had already “identified” and labeled him hypochondriac, in an instant. The prognosis, however cursed; radiation, chemotherapy, two heart attacks, dialysis, a pick, and eventual surrender to death. Not just yet, dad survived that Christmas and was “brought back”; given umpteen chances to repent. We must continue on, for we are in the long bitter cold, “home stretch” and in dire need of refreshments.
Sleigh bells ringing, jingling, all the way, and bells, whistles on display; “all that glitters isn’t gold”. Had to bring up Shakespeare; me pappy’s favorite go to verse. “You’re only as sick as your secrets”, they say. We pondered, puzzled, and quizzed each other, day to day. As to, how and why things happened for these reasons, the causes for the abrasions, and utter unknown lesions. Deep down, we all knew the “secret”; couldn’t be revealed, due to no-one having the strength, courage, compulsion, conviction, faith or fortitude.
We should head out and up North. Bundle and layer up, it gets cold. I want to see earmuffs, beanies, scarves, and mittens; oh, and do you remember cotton thermal stitching (long johns)? We are on the quest as to the origins of Christmas and a monk named Saint Nick.
Quick jaunt through Italy and Rome, Patara, presumed to have been born, by a port, on the Mediterranean Sea; modern day Turkey, for me. He was generous and devoted to God. He gave away his wealth, to the children, the poor, the sick, and the downtrodden along.
The good kids get toys, and the naughty get coal. Ironically, Coco (then nineteen years old) gave birth to twin boys. New Year’s Eve, named them Nick (Nicholas), and Cole (different spelling than the “sedimentary deposit composed predominantly of carbon that is readily combustible”). God ensured they came out, both perfect and healthy galore. Santa has always said, they were “good” boys.
Today one studies psychology and the other morphology. Both are charismatic, intelligent, compassionate, harmonious, humorous, highly gifted, and exceptional nephews. We were and are blessed, that they are here and share a love that’s rare. Divine intervention truly exists. Thank you, Lord, for such wonderful gifts.
This so-called curse must be broken and never come near. I kept that to myself, in hopes that these beautiful babies, never experience or witness for themselves the darkness that follows this family of misfits, “boars”, and ne’er-do-wells.
I realized early that genetics are “key”, and our “breadcrumbs” left behind on a treacherous trail through a snaky forest of forever, full of trees. Inescapable, and possibly predetermined. All without conscious effort, that’s a confession. That’s why you have to let Jesus drive, he understands the circumference. “Let him know that whoever brings back a sinner from his wandering will save his soul from death and will cover a multitude of sins.” James 5:20 Keep that verse in your back pocket, whenever you are “out and about” and in need of an outlet.
We are on our way to visit Father Time, for he awaits. I definitely need a new battery too get my watch up to date. St. Nick replaced the last one, and it’s always efficient and great. Long lines await, but I enjoy wandering the clock store, as of late. I love winding up and hanging out with those grandfather clocks. Also known as Kris Kringle, and most notably, the man of the hour; Santa Clause who makes it all, worthwhile, “in the flesh”, with Christmas zest!
It’s looking foggy; must activate the fog lamps, and wind shield defroster. Oh, there’s butt warmers! I apologize, seat warmers, to unthaw my chill. Let’s get nestled in. Check out the etymology on “snug as a bug in a rug”; we will be, warm and cozy, for a long “polar” nightcap on a train, headed out of the mud.
That phrase alone is another bedtime story in itself; but I’m going to catch 50 winks and have a good sleep; sneak some well-deserved energy relief. Don’t doze off for too long, we’ve got much to do. Last minute shopping express, so gather those credit cards and we’ll depart from the west.
The large steam locomotive trains back in the day, were a “sight to see!” The famous, well-dressed conductor in full garb and uniform, belts from the caboose “5600 horsepower” says thee! The Union Pacific’s Challenger, with a 14-wheel build and the capacity to carry 25,000 gallons of water, uphill; was beyond a thrill.
Wikipedia says, “A steam locomotive is a rail vehicle that provides the force to move itself and other vehicles by means of the expansion of steam. It is fueled by burning combustible material (usually coal or oil) to heat water in the locomotive’s boiler to the point when it becomes gaseous and its volume increases 1700 times.” That’s a lot of hot air!
Ah, for this special Christmas, there’s no time to wait; a “bullet train” shall make our escape. Please vote yes; if you see it on a ballot, near your residing home, or Pasadena to Miami, and every town in between. Over houses, chimney’s, bridges, structures, and time; over hills, the mountains, this train climbs. High speed railways are our “jam”; we’ll be there, in a jiffy, before you can baste the Christmas ham.
This high-speed railway has seats a plenty and an open roof, starry night canopy; you can look and snoop. Hot chocolate on tap, cool whipped cream on everything. Candy canes in every lane. Music in the air. Glitter between my toes, instead of snow.
What’s the commotion coming from the back? A stoic distinguished woman by day, and through magic, a grey and white kitten named Sofie Loren. She does cabin checks, knocks your coasters to the floor, and will adamantly take a scrunchy for later décor. While reading Christmas folklore, imagination a flutter; Sofie Loren will run across your head, leaving you but to chuckle.
Jimmy, Tammy, and Kimmy all said; “we don’t want to leave, we could stay here all day”. I want to stay on the train and watch for snowflakes when it rains, said others from another. “Then you won’t skate, and that’s also really great”, said an elfin attendant. “There’s so much yet, you have to see and explore, we’ve worked all year, so you can enjoy!”
To my wonderment and implore; I didn’t know how to skate anymore. Really never learned thoroughly before, and thus was expecting a tumbling, down the hill or more. “I don’t have any skates,” I gasped. The elf attendant said, “yeah you do, look down at your shoes.”
Amazement and sheer magic is all I can say, for shining back at me were, ruby red sparkle skates. Maybe it’s Santa or from up above, I skated off, like a thousand times before. I glided, and twirled past the snowy trees, without every feeling the cold or my knees. Excitement and bliss twas all that existed. I even did a triple axel and twisted. Landed perfectly with a pirouette and exactly in front of the best-looking Christmas tree, yet.
We spent hours skating, singing, and holding mittens. I had to admit, I have never been more smitten. Admiration abounds as I pined over this year’s frock. Every tree limb adorned with a sacred touch. Looking up to the endless night sky, I found the Christmas star, like a beacon shining bright; a diamond sparking off the light.
Awestruck and jubilation, what a combination! Snowflakes from above floating down from the heavens; landed on my nose. “Snowflakes taste like skittles”, coming from the little, littles. So, I stuck out my tongue and aimed for a big one. Oh, my goodness, she was right, raspberry delight.
Just when I thought, things couldn’t get any better; the Christmas tree split in half and a stairwell ascended. Seemingly appeared from out of nowhere. Rolled out before me, was red velvet plush stairs, and the happiest I have ever felt. At the top a glorious crescendo awaits. Applause from every direction and smiles agape.
Everyone jumping with glee and running in all directions; having to “see” everything. I like to stroll and take my time; so, I hung back, in the line. So, this is the North Pole; I see. A small, quaint, snowy town of perfection appeared around the same Christmas tree. Before, every color of the rainbow, and oh so bright. Now, silver and gold shining platinum white.
The stores were filled with toys, antiques, and fine jewelry; nothing to spare. On the outside one story. On the inside, up to eleven levels of absolute glory. How, that’s an entirely different tale. Distracted, I saw fabric of every texture, pattern, and felt. Trinkets, gems, tchotchkes, and games galore. Filled up every bag, baskets, and drawers.
Candy from floor to ceiling thick, I’m pretty sure it was used in the mortar to stick. Smelled of chocolate and fruit, swirled and twirled, the senses of my heavenly snoot. Almost lost my whole objective, while transfixed on a cinnamon roll the size of my tuffet. “Oh dear”, said a pretty little elf, “no need to fret, calories don’t exist; not here, not yet.”
Such a sight to see when my wondering eye appeared on a magnificent ice castle glaringly blaring, back at me. Now, I know why the imagination is so near and dear, for you have to see it to believe, unless you’re me. There really isn’t anything to compare, so you’ll have to imagine it, from here. Grand ice doors, sparkling with sugar spirals, I can only assume, opened to a foyer, you could fit a platoon.
Greeted with a booming heartfelt, and warm welcome. Stood before me like magic incarnate; Father Time, Saint Nick, or as I like to call him, Santa Claus. A bear hug, I get and couldn’t resist. Felt three again, automatically. “No time has passed”, he said. “I know why you are here, my very best”. “I can answer your questions and clear the air; for the spirit lies within us, all, to share.”
Why do some boys and girls get toys, and others not? Why aren’t all children good and deserving of light? “Oh, oh, oh”, said Santa, with might. “Where do you think, I get the big book of names; naughty and nice?” “Where does the list come from, obtained”? “For I am spirit, in another form, from up above so bright, like a diamond shining off the light.” “God makes us who we are, and easier by far.” “Follow love and hold it near, for that’s what’s glory to my ears”.
“No one who seeks me, shall go without; for I can come through a song, a gong, or a sonic bong, day and night.” “I can herald, a note, a boat, or a coat; a rhyme, a time, a lime, and “on a dime”. “I can be seen or unseen; I can wink a blessing, sneeze a sonnet, or wish a mountain along.” “I want all children, big and small, young and old, alike or unalike; joyful and hopeful, happy and healthy, all their lives and years long.” “Spirit is in everything and everywhere, at any time, or anywhere.”
“Come with me, dear girl; there’s something you must see.” I waltzed with Santa to the next room, and in awesome fashion, I could see “everything”. Rows upon rows of shelves up on shelves; snow globes for miles and miles, you could even smell! Cinnamon, nutmeg, mulberry, and apple spices; dazzled every sense imaginable. “Santa, how is this even possible”, I exclaimed? “Ha, Ha, Ha,” Santa chuckled and smiled again. “Anything and everything is possible, when you are aligned with God.” “You should look at it again, the picture of the pale blue dot, and reflect within.” “We are all specs of art, dancing through space, time continuum, from thy heart”.
He stepped up an intricately carved, wooden ladder; quietly to himself, a chatter. “Ho, Ho, Ho”, Santa blurted from his giant belly. “Here’s the snow globe, I want you to see”. Displayed with holy glory. I looked inside and it was me! I was three, riding my rocking horse, gallantly! “Shake it once more”; “what do you see”? I was walking by an empty street. Santa proclaimed, “even though, you think you’re alone; spirit beholds truth forevermore”. I marveled at how this miracle could possibly be. It was like a wave of magic poured over me.
Out of insatiable curiosity, I explored as many snow globes, as one could. I laughed and cried at all the charming, snowy globed, moments, I passed by. I must confess, I could get lost here for years. “Oh, I do”, said the man in the red suit. “God gave me what I asked for, and I’m grateful to He”. “Mrs. Claus, the elves, fairies, angels on high, and I are all here, for the children at be.” “It’s our calling, our purpose, and we honor our paths; by filling children with hope, light, and joy, all to be had.” Especially, seen during Christmas, this is true, but anytime there is a need throughout the year, Santa comes through.
Dumbstruck, my mouth agape, I tripped over a poinsettia by mistake. Red petals, so delicate and pure; as red as my ruby red shoes, for sure. “My favorite flower”, I let out a squeal, with glee! Santa guffawed at me, “you say that for every flower, plant, and tree you see”. A couple of ticks and tocks later, Santa presented my up-to-date watch made from pleather. “You are good to go,” said the man of the hour. “I can’t thank you enough, Father!” “Your time is immeasurable!”
A massive bell rang and chimed through the halls, like a wave of angels soaring by enthralled. I immediately looked up to see it’s source and in a fantastic, dizzying display arranged perfectly were the planets, stars, and milky way, of course. “My dear golden girl, my advice to you has always been, to reach for the stars from within,” Santa explained. “We have much to discuss about your future plans; like a book for my nook, and a music store, I must implore, on hand.”
“Oh, least I forget”, he reached for his bag full of “tricks”. “Remember Pegasus”, he said? My blue and white glass flying horse, “of course”! I was flabbergasted, that he remembered and taken off-guard, more likely than not, completely shocked, “off my rocker”.
Santa remembers everything, he totally rocks! “Here is a teddy bear, for you know who, and a unicorn for another girl, you hold so true.” “For if I can sway just one mind; I have done my job for all of time.”
Thank you, thank you, thank you, dearest Santa; for tis all true! Have yourself a Merry Christmas, Joyeux Noel, ¡Feliz Navidad, Merii Kurisumasu, 크리스마스 잘 보내세요, Gëzuar Krishtlindja, glædelig jul, Hyvää joulua, Frohe Weihnachten, Καλά Χριστούγεννα, Nollaig Shona, God jul, Veselé Vianoce, חג מולד שמח, मेरी क्रिसमस, کریسمس مبارک, مِيلَاد مَجِيد, Heri ya Krismasi, Jwaye Nowèl, Nizhónígo Késhmish Adííłeeł, Mele Kalikimaka, from me to all of you!
I got a job that Christmas, employed ever since. My boss is now good Ol’ Saint Nick. I’ve worked for him, a few years now; best job, I ever have had, by far. Many ex-employers with lofty namesakes and banks; none of which can take Santa’s cake. I mean, that in the literal sense; figuratively, philosophically, metaphysically, and metaphorically speaking. Doing good deeds and works, doesn’t feel like work at all!
I’ve even cooked for him, the elves, and Mrs. Claus. Trying to lose those last minute, way you down, pounds. Keep light on your trails and swift on your feet, for tidings are coming to bestow and replenish the meek. We have many new magical projects, patterns and designs, as of late. Floating about like icing on a cake. Gadgets and gadgetry of every geometrical kind and shape.
Instruments, emblements, and implements coming this fall, and you won’t want to miss all the progress, bar none. Toys, books, and balls for everyone enthralled. For the beauties, brawniest, brownies and the brains, intellects alike, sports enthusiasts, and starving artists, we have everything and then some in between!
New technology coming down the chimney line, along with infinite inspiration to enlighten, confound, and compound. We need more artists, chefs, gardeners, housekeepers, painters, programmers, engineers, scientists, writers, musicians, poets, and bakers out there, people from all different squares.
Uplift, engage, and cherish each other, for it is with them; we’ll achieve heavenly glory. We need to implement a compassion-based society and help ensure a better humanity. It’s never too late and you are never too old; to find true happiness and bliss forevermore. Give to others, as much as you can; we must leave this world better than once had.
From every avenue, corner store, street lane in life, island or isle, or mountaintop you are on high, sand dune and sand trap alike, from every treetop climbed, and asphalt walked by; my wish to you and yours, from my heart made pure, is live a life lighthearted, with lots of lifelong joy. Sleep well and dream often, for this Christmas is coming; there’s no stopping.
The momentous flurry will blow by with the wind, so make sure; you go out on a limb and catch a snowflake, on a whim! I cannot end this delightful tale of The Nightmarish Christmas, without saying, infinitely and emphatically, “have yourselves a merry little Christmas any time of year you please, and to all a resounding goodnight.”
That thou canst never once reflect, On old long syne. *** The End *** This is a disclaimer for anyone, who needs one. A work of fiction, straight from Mrs. Claus’s oven; baked in goodness! *** Please come back for more delicious morsels of tales, miracles, and nuggets of pearly wisdom. ***
The End …. For Now, More To Come, Just Around The Corner …