It was a typical Thursday in December. Typical, except for the fact that tomorrow will be Christmas Eve. Lea and Heneka, The Gutierrez Girls, were busy doing their homework, Aunt Silvia was cooking dinner, Chimichanga, their pet burro, and Churro, their giant puppy dog, were playing tug-of- war over an old sock. Uncle Jesse and his friend Josh were watching wrestling on TV. The wrestling program they were watching was sponsored by a national department store. The advertisement came on between wrestling matches. A kindly looking old gentle man came on the screen....
Hello, My name is Grinchwell S. Duggins for The Grinchwell Department Stores. I would like to invite you to come in and see the wonderful deals that we have for the holidays. We have all of the latest toys for girls and boys at the Grinchwell Department Stores. Bring the Kids in on Saturday to meet the Grinchwell Holiday Elf…..
Lea thought it was kind of odd that the department store had the Grinchwell Elf instead of Santa Claus, but, oh well….The family had a nice dinner that evening, Lea said the prayer, and everyone was happy.
Suddenly the phone rang. Heneka said, “may I be excused” as she got up to answer the phone. The voice at the other end of the phone sounded familiar. “Aaaaaah, hello, aaahhhh, is this the Gutierrez Girls?” Heneka answered, “This is Heneka Gutierrez, can I help you?” Yes this Bo Yamma.” Heneka said “Bo Who?” “You know, President Obama!!, that is my code name when I call you.” “oh, right” Heneka said, what can I do for you President Obama?” President Obama said “Heneka, there is an impending crisis and your nation needs the help of the Gutierrez Girls.” “How can we help?” Heneka replied. President Obama went on to explain “Our foreign intellegence agency has uncovered a covert operation taking place in the northern hemisphere.” Heneka asked “do you mean Canada?” “No, further north” President Obama said. Heneka said, “but if you go north of Canada, you’re at….”
“That’s right,” President Obama said, “THE NORTH POLE.” President Obama went on to explain, “We’re getting credible intelligence that someone is trying to disrupt businesses and bring down the economy of the entire northern region. That could have far reaching effects on the economy of the rest of the world.” Heneka said “The Guiterrez Girls will go up there and see what we can find out.”
Heneka gave Lea the secret Gutierrez Girls signal to let her know that that it was time to go on another mission. The girls ducked into their bedroom, to the trap door under Chimichanga’s bed in the closet and down into their secret hideout. Heneka said, “quick, let’s fire up the flying BMW.” But Lea had a different idea. “Why don’t we take the Rocket Bikes with lazers and rocket launchers? That way we’ll have more weaponry in case we have to fight our way out of a bad situation.”
They hopped on their Rocket Bikes and The Guiterrez Girls were off on another mission. As the rocket bikes drifted into the arctic air space of the northern hemisphere, Lea and Heneka noticed that there was a giant factory surrounded by a village of small cottages and there was snow everywhere. The one thing they didn’t see was people, no one.
Even the factory appeared to be closed. Lea said, “we’d better go look around”. They put on their protective winter gear and walked through the village. As they approached the dark dingy factory the girls looked in the windows and saw that nothing was going on. What appeared to have once been an active and thriving production line had come to a complete halt. Suddenly to her dismay, Heneka noticed piles of unfinished and incomplete toys on the floor. Then it hit her like a ton of bricks as she cried out to Lea in dismay “Oh No, It’s Santa’s workshop!!!!” Lea became very upset as well. “What will happen to Christmas?” she cried, but there was no one there to answer. As they made their way around to the front of the building they saw a large chain on the door and a sign that said….
“CLOSED BY ORDER OF THE NEW OWNER….. THE GRINCHWELL DEPARTMENT STORES INCORPORATED.”
Heneka cried to Lea, “This can’t be happening… The Gutierrez Girls have to save Christmas!!”
Lea found a rusty crow bar laying in the snow. The girls used all of their strength to pry open the chained up door to the factory. Once inside, Lea said, “we need to set up an office and command center.”
Heneka looked around and found just the spot. There was a big room with phones, computers and a giant map of the world. Heneka flipped a switch on the wall and the map lit up. It had lights that showed time zones and flight patterns all around the globe. Lea said, “This is it. This is where all the magic happens. This is where they track and control Santa’s journey every year.” Heneka said “Yeah, but not this Year.” Lea said“We’ll see about that one little sister.”
As the girls rummaged around the command center looking for clues, Heneka started getting distracted. There were just too many toys and stuffed animals that she couldn’t resist playing for a while. She set up a tea party with the Fairy Princess Doll and for the prince she found a stuffed doll dressed like a Gnome. She would have them dance and then she sat them at the table and shaped their little arms to hold the tea cups. She took the gnomes little hand and placed it around the cup.
She thought heard something, a voice saying, “ouch”, but she wasn’t quite sure. She heard it again…”ouch, it’s too tight”. Now, Heneka loves to talk to her toys, but this was even freaking her out.
“I’m sorry little gnome” she said. The little voice said, I’m not a Gnome, I’m an elf, and I don’t appreciate you treating me like a toy.
Heneka said “do you have a name mister elf?” He said , “of course, doesn’t everybody have a name?. I’ll bet they even gave you one.”
“Well yes, she replied, they call me Heneka.” Heneka? He said, hmmmmmmm, let me see, you live on Middletown Rd. and as I recall, you were just a little bit naughty this year.” Heneka said, “I guess it’s true, Aunt Silvia doesn’t like it when I roll my eyes at her, and I’m trying to control that because I know that Aunt Silvia deserves my respect.” Just then Lea came bursting out of the office, “ I’ve got it, all we have to do is find one of Santa’s Help---pers” as she noticed Heneka and the little elf standing there. “Allright”, he said “you’ve found one of Santa’s helpers. They call me Withers. At your service.”
Withers the Elf told Lea and Heneka a very sad story. It seems that old Mr. Grinchwell S. Duggins came to the North Pole and convinced Santa to go into a partnership of sorts. Grinchwell would use his trucks to get all of Santa’s toys to local distribution centers where Santa would pick them up for each local area and deliver them. That way Santa’s sleigh would not be so heavy and it would save him a lot of work. Grinchwell convinced Santa to mortgage the toy factory to buy into the deal. Santa neglected to read the fine print in the contract and within a week Grinchwell took over the factory and shut it down.
Lea said, “that’s enough, Grinchwell took advantage of a kind and jolly man through means of fraud and deception and that will never hold up in court. Suddenly, the giant computer moniter on the wall started flickering and Grinchwell appeared on the screen. “Why have you ruined Christmas?” Heneka yelled. “I haven’t ruined Christmas” said Grinchwell, “I’ve only made it more profitable for meeeeeee. Tell me, how can I make a profit on toys if that jolly old fat man is just giving them away?” Lea said “I want to see the contract that Santa signed.”
Grinchwell got very mean and said, “we’re beyond that now, you have 2 minutes to get out of my factory.” “Or what” Lea said. “you’ll see” said Grinchwell, “You’ll see”. Suddenly The Guiterrez Girls heard a loud buzzing noise outside. They ran outside only to see that the air was full of Grinchwell’s flying holiday elves. There were hundreds of them and they weren’t really elves at all, they were more like the flying monkeys from the Wizard of Oz and it looked like they were in attack mode. Lea yelled to Heneka and Withers, “we had better run for the rocket bikes.”
As they ran toward the area where they left the rocket bikes, it was like a combination of a video game and the worst 3-d movie you’ve ever seen. They ran as fast as they could. They jumped over fences and ran under bridges but the flying monkeys kept on coming. Finally they got to the bikes. Heneka grabbed Withers the Elf by the arm and said “you’re riding with me.” Now that they had the rocket bikes things changed. They could not only out run the monkeys, but they had fire power. Lea and Heneka started firing their lazer guns at will. It was just like playing a game in the arcade, except it was real and flying monkeys were falling out of the sky everywhere. Finally the flying predators formed a hasty retreat. All except for one. Lea grabbed one of the Flying Monkeys by the scruff of the neck and took him back to the abandoned factory.
Lea asked the prisoner “Where is Santa Claus and what have you done with all the rest of Santa’s Elves?” He didn’t say anything. “I’m going to ask you one more time.” Lea said, “What have you done to Santa and his Elves.” The little flying monkey got a very sad look on his face and started crying. “Can’t you see” he said, “We are Santa’s Elves. Grinchwell turned us all into these hideous creatures and we have to do his bidding.”
Withers said “Blinky?, Is that really you?” They hugged and Blinky told Withers how lucky he had been to escape when Grinchwell captured the others. “You see”, Blinky said, “Grinchwell has a plan to dominate Christmas and take the place of Santa, except he’s not only going to charge for the toy’s, He’s going to triple the prices.” Heneka said, “parents won’t be able to afford that. It will destroy the spirit of giving.”
Lea asked Blinky, “Where is Grinchwell holding Santa?” Blinky said, “What? He’s not holding Santa anywhere. Santa is in his own home behind the toy factory. The poor fella hasn’t been out of his bed since this whole thing began.” Lea said, “that’s were we have to start. If we’re going to save Christmas, we have to get Santa to lead the way.” Lea, Heneka, Withers the Elf and the newly recruited Blinky made their way to the end of the street to the big stone house behind the toy factory. A kind elderly lady answered the door. Heneka said, “We would like to speak to Santa Claus.” Mrs. Claus said “Oh I’m sorry, but that isn’t possible. He isn’t taking Christmas wishes any more.” Lea said, “we’re not here to ask for our Christmas wishes, We’re here to deliver his. We are here to win Christmas back for him.” Mrs. Claus said “well, I don’t know….” Before She could get the words out of her mouth, the four intruders ran past her and up the stairs to the bed room.
“Darling, is that you?” said Santa. “Would you please bring some more of those soft cookies and a glass of milk?” Lea said, “I think you’ve had enough milk and cookies. Now it’s time to win back Christmas.”
“What” said a startled Santa, “Who are you?” “We are Lea and Heneka, The Gutierrez Girls, and I think you already know these two guys.” Santa said “Heneka? I know that name. Weren’t you just a little bit naughty this year?” Heneka said, maybe I was, but I’m going to make up for that now.”
Santa was under the covers. His beard was all tangled and gnarley. He did not look one bit like the heroic figure of Christmas lore. They pulled Santa to the side of the bed. Heneka said “Let’s hear it….Let’s hear a Ho, Ho,Ho.” Santa said, “I’m sorry, I can’t” and started to lie back down. Lea said “we’re serious Mr. Claus, let’s hear your best HO, HO, HO.” Santa said “O.K., I’ll try.” He took in a big deep breath and reared back and went, “Ho, Hi, Hi ,Hi, Hiiii, I can’t.” “I can’t do it anymore, I can’t. I can’t be jolly.” Heneka said, “you have to be jolly, you have to be Santa Claus for all the boys and girls around the world.”
Santa said “I’m sorry, I just can’t do it anymore.” Just then Mrs. Claus appeared in the doorway with a big red box. “I think you can do it” she said. I think that with the help of these girls it isn’t too late to save Christmas.”
With the encouragement of Mrs. Claus, Blinky, Withers the Elf and The Gutierrez Girls, Santa led them back down to the abandoned toy factory. “Well” he said, “where are we going to find a work force able to get this factory up and running?” Blinky said “I think I can help. I don’t think all the elves really want to work for Grinchwell, even if he did turn them into flying monkeys, I think their hearts are with you Santa.” Lea said, ‘why don’t you and Withers go out and recruit the other elves while Santa, Heneka and I stay here and get this place back up and running.” Santa went to the basement and flipped the giant main switch and suddenly the conveyor belt started moving again.
Creakily at first, but then it started to pick up speed. Before it got up to maximum speed the elves started returning. And within an hour it was like nothing bad had ever happened. Christmas looked like it was back on for good. Everything would be merry after all. Suddenly Heneka heard something she had longed to hear for a longtime… “Ho, Ho, Hoa, Whoaaa, Ho, HoHoooooo. Ho, Ho, Hoooo, Ho, Ho, Hoa, Whoaaa, Ho, HoHoooooo. Ho, Ho” Santa just could not stop laughing. The Gutierrez Girls had done it, they actually saved Christmas……or did they?
Everything seemed to be right with the world. The toy factory was in full operation. Christmas lists from all over the world were being sorted by zip codes and being directed to the head elf of each individual department. The fabricating department was making the parts and putting them on the conveyor belt to the assembly department. All the while the elves were singing happy Christmas songs as Santa and Mrs. Claus looked on. The Guiterrez Girls were saying their farwells, but not before checking with Blinky and Withers to make sure that they had received their own wish list. Suddenly there was a commotion on the floor. Work stopped and the elves were frozen solid in fear. “He’s back” Lea said. And sure enough on all of the computer screens was Grinchwell. His threats were echoing throughout the factory.
“Christmas will be mine, I say…All mine and only mine…Haaaa, haaaaaaa, haaaaaaaaaaaaa.
Santa grabbed a microphone and said “I’m not afraid of you anymore and there is nothing you can do to stop Christmas.” Grinchwell said, “Oh you, of course not, I won’t touch a hair on your chubby little head. But tell me laughing boy…. How are you going to deliver all of those presents with no reindeer?? Haaaa, haaaaaaa, haaaaaaaaaaaaa.”
Heneka said “you better not harm those reindeer, you’ll be in big trouble.” Grinchwell said “oh, no I wouldn’t harm them at all, I just mixed little sleeping powder in with their feed so they can get some well deserved rest. They should be waking up, oh about New Years Day, Haaaa, haaaaaaa, haaaaaaaaaaaaa.” Quickly the computer moniters switched back to the Christmas music but no one was in a mood to sing. Heneka took the news hardest of all because she loves her animals and didn’t want to see the reindeer hurt. Suddenly she had a brainstorm. She said “Come on Lea, I have a plan. Santa, keep the factory going at full speed. Lea and I will be back in 2 hours.” Lea and Heneka hopped on the rocket bikes and were gone in a flash. While they were gone Santa found some left over magic dust from last year and poured it in the heating vent to circulate it throughout the room. His plan worked.
There were no more flying monkeys, only happy productive elves, making toys and having faith that the Guiterrez Girls would be back with a way to deliver them. Suddenly Santa heard the roar of a rocket bike outside. He looked out the window and saw that Heneka was towing a large trailer. She yelled to them “everyone come outside for a moment.” Heneka said “I want you all to meet this years reindeer.” you to meet Jackie Black the bunny and next we have Ertle the turtle. Behind him is Wiley the Bear. Next to him is Lola the Hedgehog, Next to her is Churro the giant puppy dog and this years head reindeer will be my own pet burro Chimichanga”.
Heneka handed Santa a remote control and said “push this button.” Santa pushed the button and heard “Heeeee-Haaaawwww.” Heneka said “see if you come upon a flock of geese, Chimichanga will clear them out for you”. Santa pondered for a moment “yes, I suppose with enough magic dust they could pull the sleigh, I think we’re back in business”. The Elves let out a loud cheer and everyone went right back to work, singing Christmas carrolls and filling wish lists. The Gutierrez Girls said their goodbyes. Heneka gave Chimichanga a great big hug and said “Christmas is Saturday, tell the others I’ll be back to get you on Sunday” and with the flash of a rocket Lea and Heneka were headed back home.
It was a typical Friday evening. Typical except for the fact that tonight is Christmas Eve. Aunt Silvia was surprised that Lea and Heneka had slept in until after noon today, but now they were wide awake and filled with anticipation about Christmas. Aunt Silvia mentioned that she “might run down to Grinchwell’s Department Store after dinner "because they’re having a gigantic Christmas Eve sale”. Heneka said “I’ts too late, they’re closed.” Sylvia said “No, I saw the advertisement on TV, it said Open until midnight on Christmas Eve”. Uncle Jesse said “The newspaper says that Grinchwells is closed for good and that Grinchwell S. Duggins has been brought up on charges of fraud and racketeering. It says the President Obama Himself appointed a task force to look into Grinchwell’s criminal activities.” Aunt Silvia said “really, but how would Heneka know anything about that?” Heneka said “gee, I don’t know, I’m just a little girl”. It was all that Lea could do to keep from laughing out loud. When the girls went to bed that evening they weren’t sure if they were dreaming or not, but they both heard it outside their window…. “Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good….Heeeeeeeeeeee-Haaaawwwwwwwww”.
12/18/10
37 Reindeer Poison
It was the Christmas Grandma and Grandpa were in the Philippines on their mission. Instead of going to Grandma and Grandpa’s house for the holidays, Uncle Grant drove down from school to our house. I idolized Uncle Grant. Everything he did, I did. Everything he said, I repeated five minutes later. Every joke he told, I remembered. He was the perfect combination of grown-up and kid. He was old enough to drive but not too old to have fun.
I could hardly contain myself when Dad told me Uncle Grant would be coming for Christmas. He said that Grant’s girlfriend had uninvited him from meeting her parents, but that was gibberish to me. All that mattered was that he was coming. It was like getting Christmas a week early when he strode through our front door, a duffle bag thrown over his back just like Santa’s sack. Then he dropped the duffle, scooped me up in a big hug, and tickled me until I couldn’t breathe.
Uncle Grant was the exact opposite of Dad. Dad hadn’t picked me up since I was four because of his back, but Uncle Grant picked me up every time he saw me. Dad’s work made him shave every morning; Uncle Grant had so many whiskers that they scratched me every time we wrestled. And Uncle Grant didn’t talk about boring adult things. Mom, Dad, and my other relatives just talked about kids, work, and politics. Uncle Grant talked about sports, video games, and girls. I wasn’t interested in girls, but I loved sports and video games. After Dad showed Uncle Grant his room—it was right next to mine—he sat down and watched me play Mario Kart. He even jumped in as the second player and we spent an hour racing together until Mom called us down for dinner. He even showed me some shortcuts that I didn’t know.
The best thing about Uncle Grant was that he wasn’t gone all day at work. That week was a flurry of playing football in the snow, watching Christmas movie after Christmas movie, and playing Mario Kart until the Wii overheated. Once he stopped in the middle of a race to take a call from his girlfriend. He didn’t come back for an hour, but when he did, he drove like crazy. He even created a third player called Kristie that he’d smash into every chance he got. I asked him who Kristie was, but he didn’t want to talk about it.
The climax of Uncle Grant’s visit came on Christmas Eve. We spent the afternoon putting up a tent in my bedroom that was big enough for two. Uncle Grant tied a rope to the top of the dresser so we could drape a blanket over it. During dinner, Mom and Dad kept telling us to go right to sleep, but Uncle Grant just winked at me. I knew I would never, ever get to sleep with Uncle Grant camping in my room.
Our goal was to stay awake until Santa came so we could hear the reindeer. Uncle Grant had heard the reindeer for at least five years running. Each time Mom and Dad came to check on us, Uncle Grant would flip off the flashlight and we’d dive under the covers. He really fooled my parents with his loud snoring noise. As soon as they were gone, we’d pop our heads out from under the covers and he’d tell me another story. He knew so many stories I’d never heard before. Stories like the one about Blizzard—Frosty’s evil twin brother that terrorized the town until Santa came and ran him over with his sleigh.
It was almost ten o’clock when I started to get super tired. Uncle Grant really wanted me to stay up to listen for the reindeer, but I just couldn’t keep my eyes open. He thought Dad slipped a sleeping potion into my glass, which explained it all. Finally, Uncle Grant agreed that I should probably get some sleep, and he settled into his blankets too. Tomorrow was a big day for him, he said. He was going to be really rich.
I cracked open an eye and asked him if he’d asked Santa for money.
Oh, no. There was a rich hunter in Montana that wanted Rudolph’s head on his wall. For years, people had tried to capture Rudolph, but he was so smart that they never could get him.
This caught my attention, and I sat straight up.
Every year, Uncle Grant said, more and more people tried to capture Rudolph, but they all failed. Two years ago a group of guys had used a modified bear trap. They caught Dasher, but the rich guy, whose name was Stonerfeller, didn’t want just any of Santa’s old reindeer, he wanted a reindeer with a red nose. This year, Mr. Stonerfeller had raised the bounty for Rudolph.
I pleaded with Uncle Grant to tell me how much it was.
Five hundred dollars.
I couldn’t believe it. That was probably enough to buy every video game ever made. But how would Rudolph ever survive with such a bounty on his head?
Uncle Grant explained that Rudolph had learned not to trust anyone or anything. Instead of landing on roofs, he just hovers in mid-air so he doesn’t land in a reindeer trap. And he never eats anything unless it comes right from Santa’s own glove. He doesn’t want to be poisoned.
I nodded vigorously through this entire explanation, because I knew a lot about Rudolph—I’d watched the movie before Uncle Grant had come over and another time while he was on the phone with his girlfriend.
Then he put his hands behind his head. But that’s why he was going to be rich tomorrow. He had figured out how to catch Rudolph. I waited for more, but he didn’t say anything, he just lay there smiling up at our tent.
I was aghast. I couldn’t believe it. I felt betrayal and awe swell up in me in the same moment. I loved Rudolph like—like—almost as much as Uncle Grant.
My mouth was dry. Somehow I gasped out a question: How was he going to get Rudolph?
Elementary, he said. Reindeer poison.
Reindeer poison? What did that mean?
He rolled over on his side. I couldn’t believe it—he was actually smiling. Rudolph only eats out of Santa’s hand. That was the trick. The lettuce out by the fireplace wasn’t just lettuce. It was tainted with Uncle Grant’s special blend of poison. When Santa came up from the chimney, he would hand it right over to Rudolph and—Uncle Grant raised his hand and let it fall on the blankets. Thump. There was enough poison in that lettuce to kill an elephant.
There was only one thing to do. I had to save Rudolph. I had to stop Uncle Grant’s evil plan. I leapt from my blankets and ran to the door. Uncle Grant called out to me, but I didn’t listen. I careened into the hall and I heard him bounding after me. He ran in front of me and blocked the hall. Don’t go into the front room, he said. He was just kidding. No reindeer poison, no Mr. Stonefeller, it was all a story, a joke.
I almost believed him. Then I heard a noise come up the stairs. It was Santa. I could hear him talking. He was probably picking up the lettuce right now.
I yelled to Santa as I ran under Uncle Grant’s arm. I tumbled down the stairs two at a time with Uncle Grant grasping at me. Just as I was about to run into the front room, a man came around the corner. It wasn’t Santa, it was Dad. He started to say something, but I didn’t stop. I dodged around him and right into the living room where I stopped dead in my tracks.
There was my mom, sitting next to the mantel piece. It wasn’t the startled look on her face that stopped me. It was the bit of lettuce she was had in her hand. She had almost eaten it all.
“Quick, quick! Spit it out! Spit it out!” I screamed.
“What?” Mom said. “Spit what out?”
“The lettuce! Spit out the lettuce!”
Mom smiled. Oh, she hadn’t eaten it; these were just the leftovers Santa hadn’t taken.
I gasped. I was too late. Santa had come and gone. There was only one thing to do. I dashed out of the living room, past Dad and Uncle Grant, to the kitchen. I grabbed the phone, and did what they had told me to do since kindergarten. I dialed 9-1-1.
The kitchen exploded with the voices of my parents as they followed me as Uncle Grant frantically tried to explain everything. Mom was laughing heartily, but Dad didn’t think this reindeer poison thing was very funny. I felt proud of my Dad.
While they talked I spluttered an explanation to the emergency receptionist on the phone. I’ve never heard anyone sound so confused. It took my parents about a minute to figure out Uncle Grant’s story enough to focus on what I was doing. When they found out who I was calling, the kitchen erupted into chaos once more. This time Mom was scowling while Dad roared with laughter. Uncle Grant dashed for the phone and tried to explain what was going on. Evidently the ambulance was faster than Uncle Grant, because before he had finished explaining, an ambulance was in our driveway and two EMTs ran into our house in hopes of saving Rudy from being poisoned.
Uncle Grant tried to explain what was going on when three firemen ran in. He started over, and then had to start over once again when a squad car arrived with its sirens blazing. By this time, several neighborhood parents had arrived, some in funny Santa outfits. Our kitchen was a riot of explanation and re-explanation until one of the firemen piped up. A few blocks away, they found Rudolph on the side of the road. He wasn’t looking good, but luckily they had an ample supply of reindeer antidote on hand. It had only taken Rudolph thirty seconds to be back on his feet and flying again.
Everyone laughed, and then the EMTs and policemen took turns telling stories about the other reindeer they’d rescued on Christmas Eve. Mom boiled water for hot chocolate in her biggest pot while Dad handed out Christmas cookies. Eventually the neighbors had to go check if Santa had visited their houses, and the fireman had to get ready in case someone else tried to poison Rudolph again. When the house finally quieted down, Dad suggested that we just open presents then. Mom wondered aloud if Santa had left Uncle Grant coal for what he had done, but apparently Santa felt more forgiving than I did.
Uncle Grant left two days later. I hoped he’d come back the next year, but he didn’t. Instead we drove to Oklahoma for his wedding. The following year, he and Aunt Kristie came to visit us, but it wasn’t the same. He said he had pulled his back and couldn’t lift me up anymore. He sat down to play Mario Kart with me, but he got bored after one game, and went to talk with Mom and Dad about kids, work, and politics. And every morning he shaved.
I could hardly contain myself when Dad told me Uncle Grant would be coming for Christmas. He said that Grant’s girlfriend had uninvited him from meeting her parents, but that was gibberish to me. All that mattered was that he was coming. It was like getting Christmas a week early when he strode through our front door, a duffle bag thrown over his back just like Santa’s sack. Then he dropped the duffle, scooped me up in a big hug, and tickled me until I couldn’t breathe.
Uncle Grant was the exact opposite of Dad. Dad hadn’t picked me up since I was four because of his back, but Uncle Grant picked me up every time he saw me. Dad’s work made him shave every morning; Uncle Grant had so many whiskers that they scratched me every time we wrestled. And Uncle Grant didn’t talk about boring adult things. Mom, Dad, and my other relatives just talked about kids, work, and politics. Uncle Grant talked about sports, video games, and girls. I wasn’t interested in girls, but I loved sports and video games. After Dad showed Uncle Grant his room—it was right next to mine—he sat down and watched me play Mario Kart. He even jumped in as the second player and we spent an hour racing together until Mom called us down for dinner. He even showed me some shortcuts that I didn’t know.
The best thing about Uncle Grant was that he wasn’t gone all day at work. That week was a flurry of playing football in the snow, watching Christmas movie after Christmas movie, and playing Mario Kart until the Wii overheated. Once he stopped in the middle of a race to take a call from his girlfriend. He didn’t come back for an hour, but when he did, he drove like crazy. He even created a third player called Kristie that he’d smash into every chance he got. I asked him who Kristie was, but he didn’t want to talk about it.
The climax of Uncle Grant’s visit came on Christmas Eve. We spent the afternoon putting up a tent in my bedroom that was big enough for two. Uncle Grant tied a rope to the top of the dresser so we could drape a blanket over it. During dinner, Mom and Dad kept telling us to go right to sleep, but Uncle Grant just winked at me. I knew I would never, ever get to sleep with Uncle Grant camping in my room.
Our goal was to stay awake until Santa came so we could hear the reindeer. Uncle Grant had heard the reindeer for at least five years running. Each time Mom and Dad came to check on us, Uncle Grant would flip off the flashlight and we’d dive under the covers. He really fooled my parents with his loud snoring noise. As soon as they were gone, we’d pop our heads out from under the covers and he’d tell me another story. He knew so many stories I’d never heard before. Stories like the one about Blizzard—Frosty’s evil twin brother that terrorized the town until Santa came and ran him over with his sleigh.
It was almost ten o’clock when I started to get super tired. Uncle Grant really wanted me to stay up to listen for the reindeer, but I just couldn’t keep my eyes open. He thought Dad slipped a sleeping potion into my glass, which explained it all. Finally, Uncle Grant agreed that I should probably get some sleep, and he settled into his blankets too. Tomorrow was a big day for him, he said. He was going to be really rich.
I cracked open an eye and asked him if he’d asked Santa for money.
Oh, no. There was a rich hunter in Montana that wanted Rudolph’s head on his wall. For years, people had tried to capture Rudolph, but he was so smart that they never could get him.
This caught my attention, and I sat straight up.
Every year, Uncle Grant said, more and more people tried to capture Rudolph, but they all failed. Two years ago a group of guys had used a modified bear trap. They caught Dasher, but the rich guy, whose name was Stonerfeller, didn’t want just any of Santa’s old reindeer, he wanted a reindeer with a red nose. This year, Mr. Stonerfeller had raised the bounty for Rudolph.
I pleaded with Uncle Grant to tell me how much it was.
Five hundred dollars.
I couldn’t believe it. That was probably enough to buy every video game ever made. But how would Rudolph ever survive with such a bounty on his head?
Uncle Grant explained that Rudolph had learned not to trust anyone or anything. Instead of landing on roofs, he just hovers in mid-air so he doesn’t land in a reindeer trap. And he never eats anything unless it comes right from Santa’s own glove. He doesn’t want to be poisoned.
I nodded vigorously through this entire explanation, because I knew a lot about Rudolph—I’d watched the movie before Uncle Grant had come over and another time while he was on the phone with his girlfriend.
Then he put his hands behind his head. But that’s why he was going to be rich tomorrow. He had figured out how to catch Rudolph. I waited for more, but he didn’t say anything, he just lay there smiling up at our tent.
I was aghast. I couldn’t believe it. I felt betrayal and awe swell up in me in the same moment. I loved Rudolph like—like—almost as much as Uncle Grant.
My mouth was dry. Somehow I gasped out a question: How was he going to get Rudolph?
Elementary, he said. Reindeer poison.
Reindeer poison? What did that mean?
He rolled over on his side. I couldn’t believe it—he was actually smiling. Rudolph only eats out of Santa’s hand. That was the trick. The lettuce out by the fireplace wasn’t just lettuce. It was tainted with Uncle Grant’s special blend of poison. When Santa came up from the chimney, he would hand it right over to Rudolph and—Uncle Grant raised his hand and let it fall on the blankets. Thump. There was enough poison in that lettuce to kill an elephant.
There was only one thing to do. I had to save Rudolph. I had to stop Uncle Grant’s evil plan. I leapt from my blankets and ran to the door. Uncle Grant called out to me, but I didn’t listen. I careened into the hall and I heard him bounding after me. He ran in front of me and blocked the hall. Don’t go into the front room, he said. He was just kidding. No reindeer poison, no Mr. Stonefeller, it was all a story, a joke.
I almost believed him. Then I heard a noise come up the stairs. It was Santa. I could hear him talking. He was probably picking up the lettuce right now.
I yelled to Santa as I ran under Uncle Grant’s arm. I tumbled down the stairs two at a time with Uncle Grant grasping at me. Just as I was about to run into the front room, a man came around the corner. It wasn’t Santa, it was Dad. He started to say something, but I didn’t stop. I dodged around him and right into the living room where I stopped dead in my tracks.
There was my mom, sitting next to the mantel piece. It wasn’t the startled look on her face that stopped me. It was the bit of lettuce she was had in her hand. She had almost eaten it all.
“Quick, quick! Spit it out! Spit it out!” I screamed.
“What?” Mom said. “Spit what out?”
“The lettuce! Spit out the lettuce!”
Mom smiled. Oh, she hadn’t eaten it; these were just the leftovers Santa hadn’t taken.
I gasped. I was too late. Santa had come and gone. There was only one thing to do. I dashed out of the living room, past Dad and Uncle Grant, to the kitchen. I grabbed the phone, and did what they had told me to do since kindergarten. I dialed 9-1-1.
The kitchen exploded with the voices of my parents as they followed me as Uncle Grant frantically tried to explain everything. Mom was laughing heartily, but Dad didn’t think this reindeer poison thing was very funny. I felt proud of my Dad.
While they talked I spluttered an explanation to the emergency receptionist on the phone. I’ve never heard anyone sound so confused. It took my parents about a minute to figure out Uncle Grant’s story enough to focus on what I was doing. When they found out who I was calling, the kitchen erupted into chaos once more. This time Mom was scowling while Dad roared with laughter. Uncle Grant dashed for the phone and tried to explain what was going on. Evidently the ambulance was faster than Uncle Grant, because before he had finished explaining, an ambulance was in our driveway and two EMTs ran into our house in hopes of saving Rudy from being poisoned.
Uncle Grant tried to explain what was going on when three firemen ran in. He started over, and then had to start over once again when a squad car arrived with its sirens blazing. By this time, several neighborhood parents had arrived, some in funny Santa outfits. Our kitchen was a riot of explanation and re-explanation until one of the firemen piped up. A few blocks away, they found Rudolph on the side of the road. He wasn’t looking good, but luckily they had an ample supply of reindeer antidote on hand. It had only taken Rudolph thirty seconds to be back on his feet and flying again.
Everyone laughed, and then the EMTs and policemen took turns telling stories about the other reindeer they’d rescued on Christmas Eve. Mom boiled water for hot chocolate in her biggest pot while Dad handed out Christmas cookies. Eventually the neighbors had to go check if Santa had visited their houses, and the fireman had to get ready in case someone else tried to poison Rudolph again. When the house finally quieted down, Dad suggested that we just open presents then. Mom wondered aloud if Santa had left Uncle Grant coal for what he had done, but apparently Santa felt more forgiving than I did.
Uncle Grant left two days later. I hoped he’d come back the next year, but he didn’t. Instead we drove to Oklahoma for his wedding. The following year, he and Aunt Kristie came to visit us, but it wasn’t the same. He said he had pulled his back and couldn’t lift me up anymore. He sat down to play Mario Kart with me, but he got bored after one game, and went to talk with Mom and Dad about kids, work, and politics. And every morning he shaved.
36 The Lone Airman
Man, I haven't seen these guys in years. It's gonna be great to finally get back together with 'em; it's been nearly 13 years since we were out there, flying air superiority missions over Russia. I pulled into the parking lot and put on my winter coat. It was that time of the year again, everyone's in the Christmas spirit, and with it came the gifts, laughter, and fun, which I sorely missed.
The year was 2035, and my old Air Force buddies were having a Christmas party at a local bar. I had only stayed in contact with one of my former squad-mates since the war with Russia, 13 years earlier. James Macmillan was his name. He spoke with a stereotypical Scottish accent, being a second-generation American citizen. We had been the best of friends since our junior year of high school. He invited me to this party on December 17th, and there was no way I could say no to my best friend.
December 17th. That date has a significant meaning to me, but I'd rather not remember why. Something had happened on that day, years ago (and not just once, either) but it was too painful to think about.
As I stepped into the bar, everyone stopped what they were doing, looked up at me, and unanimously broke into a round of applause, like I was some sort of hero. Wow, it seems they really missed me.
“Hey, hey! There's the fighter ace himself!” James remarked, “Why don't ya come have a seat over 'ere?”
“Whatever you say, Jim. I'm no ace, just got lucky a couple times,” I replied as I sat down next to my brother-in-arms.
We went on with an ordinary conversation: sports, politics, etc. Gradually the topic shifted to the war, and what our lives were like before fate happened. Like any war veteran, we each had our fair share of stories.
“So, what's your story?” One of them inquired.
“Uh, I don't think you guys would really want to know,” I replied.
“Come on man, I think it'd be cool to hear what you've got to say,” my friend, Dave, said.
“No, I'm serious, I really don't want to talk about it.”
“Please, man. I haven't talked to you in 10 years.”
“Are you sure? Do you really want to know what I went through? This is a painful thing for me to talk about. But, you know, maybe it's time for me to get this off my chest. I can't hold in my emotions forever. And I'd hate to let a friend down. ”
“It all started back in '21. I was 25 years old, fresh out of the Air Force Academy with a degree in Aeronautical Engineering, at the top of my class, too. My life was going great,” I began, my buddies listening intently to this rarely spoken-of chapter in my life, “I felt like I was invincible. And I had plans. Plans to do a lot of cool stuff.”
“Hey, Taylor,” Dave interrupted, “didn't you have like... a Camaro or something too?”
“Yes, Dave, I did. A 1969 Z/28, with the small-block 302 and the 4-speed transmission. It was stolen a week after we were sent to Europe. The only thing left was the Z/28 emblem from the front grille. I had taken it off and kept it with me as a reminder of home. I considered getting rid of it, but I have held on to it all of these years, in hope that I find my car some day.”
“Where was I? Oh, right, plans. I was gonna change the world, or so I thought. I wanted to be an astronaut. I had someone, backing me up every step of the way. She was the best girlfriend a guy could ever have. She was hot and feisty, yet cute and sweet at the same time. She was incredibly smart, too. I swore to myself I was gonna marry her someday. But, for whatever reason, she decided I wasn't worth her time anymore. On December 17th, she left me. Ah, that's it. That's the memory I tried to erase, but now it's come back to haunt me again. I still remember the last thing I ever said to her, 'No, please don't leave, I... I love you.' I haven't talked to or even seen her since. That year was the last 'real' Christmas I'd had up until now. 13 years, 3 of which were spent literally freezing in the Russian winter.”
“Wow, that's some pretty depressing stuff. I see why you never told any of us about this,” Dave responded quietly, everyone nodding in agreement.
“Yeah, but that's not the end of it, either. After my heart was broken and my dream shattered,” I said, trying not to get choked up, “that recession hit and I lost my defense contractor job at Boeing. I had absolutely nothing. Then, as y'all know, China declared war on Russia, and our brilliant president decided he wanted a piece of the pie. You know what they say, 'Never get involved in a land war in Asia', 'course this is Eastern Europe, but same theory. We ran into the same two problems Napoleon and Hitler did: logistics, and the Russian winter. Our boys on the ground were doing great until uh... December 17th, 2023. They tried to get to Moscow before winter hit, but they didn't make it and were completely screwed. Then some genius had the great idea to send a squad of F-15s to attack some random towns. Seriously, F-15s. They should have retired those things 20 years ago! Flying nearly blind over hostile territory, in a 30-year-old jet. What could go wrong? Jim and I, we were the only ones that made it out of there alive. Barely. We were shot down just outside of St. Petersburg. A whole lot of bad stuff went down after that. Jim knows exactly what I'm talking about.”
“My friends,” James said, “What Taylor and I went through over there, nothing can describe it. Every time I think about that day and the weeks after, it send shivers down my spine, and I realize that God and John Browning are the only reasons we made it back to Germany without spending 50 years in a prison camp or being crushed by a Russian tank. You really get to know a man when you're alone with him, with nothing except a pistol and the clothes on your back, for three weeks.”
“After we found each other,” I continued, “I knew we had to get away from there as soon as possible. Trust me, you do not want to be taken prisoner by the Russians. Actually, after we had been on the ground a week, we were almost captured by a bunch of Russian soldiers. They went on a patrol right through our little camp we had set up. I can't believe they didn't find us. If they had, we'd most likely be dead. A Christmas miracle, I suppose. We spent the next two weeks walking west. January 7th was the day we were rescued. I was about to give up hope, when we came across the Army's First Infantry Division. When I saw them coming to help us, I literally fell to the ground and cried tears of joy. I had never been happier to see the ol' US Army. They fixed us up, and we went back to flying combat missions. Then, the war ended in a stalemate and we got sent back home. I guess that's the end of my story.”
“Wait, dude, I wanna know what you did after you came home,” Dave said.
“I went home and tried to live a normal life, but I just couldn't do it. I hated having a desk job. My passion was for flying. I've been trying to find my car, too, but I never have been able to. What also sucks is that, every Christmas, I'm reminded of these two events, so I haven't really been able to have a 'real' Christmas ever since, but I have a slowly-fading hope, that maybe some day, I'll be able to find my Camaro and my girl.”
After the party, Jim and I talked for a while outside. He invited me to go to dinner with him and his wife the next day. He said his wife was bringing along a friend, who I might like to meet.
“Okay, I guess I could try meeting someone new,” I replied., “I'll go with you, it's worth a shot.”
I sighed as I got into my truck. You know, maybe it's time to give up. 13 years without any luck with either problem. Maybe I need to move on. My mind says I should, but my heart isn't sure if it's the time for that yet.
When I arrived home, I noticed a note on my doorstep. Curiously, I walked over and picked it up.
“Don't give up hope. What you seek is closer than you think,” is what it said.
That's really strange. Why is that here? What could this mean?. I gave the note no further thought that day, but deep inside, it reignited the flame of hope.
The next night's dinner date went fairly well. I had a good time with my best friend and this new girl. She seemed like a nice girl, and was exactly my type, but there was something missing. I felt no real love towards this woman. The 'spark' wasn't there. My mind wandered back to the note on the door, and I realized that I could love no one else. There was only one person that I could ever truly love, and she had left me over a decade earlier.
Feeling slightly depressed after dinner, I returned home and was about to go to bed, when the phone rang.
“There is a package on your doorstep. Open it immediately,” stated a deep, unknown voice.
Indeed, there was a package on the doorstep. There was a date on it: December 17th, 2021. What's the deal here? Why would somebody taunt me with this date? Oh well, I guess I'd better open it and see if there's anything inside. I opened the box, and inside was a second note, and a Chevy Super Sport logo from... 1969!
“Turn on the radio and set it to 93.3 FM,” is what was written on this new note. Hmm... that's my favorite station. This is pretty weird.
Wanting to find out what the big deal was, I turned on my radio, already tuned to the classic hard rock station. “Why Can't This Be Love” by Van Halen was playing. “Wait a second... that's our song! We always used to listen to them, and this song reminds me of her every time I hear it,” I thought aloud, “I don't think today could get any stranger.”
I glanced out the window, and I couldn't believe what was happening. There was a truly surreal feeling as I watched a blue and white 1969 Z/28 pull into my driveway. There was no front emblem on the car. I turned the radio off and went to go sit down for a minute. No way, there is no way this is happening. That's my car out there. My car... it's back. What if she...
I didn't have time to finish my thought, as there was a knock at the door. I hesitated, wondering if I should answer, it felt like the outcome of the rest of my life depended on this very moment. I knew I had no choice, I opened the door, and there she was. She looked as though she hadn't aged a day since I last saw her.
“Hello, Taylor,” she said.
“Why... how did you... what are you doing here?” I stammered, “I... I'm so glad to see you. Where have you been all these...”
“Slow down sweetie, I'll explain everything in just a minute,” she replied, “why don't we go for a drive?”
“Oh, yes, I'd love to.”
I was ecstatic. My Camaro and my girl, both returning on the same night. I quickly hopped into the driver's seat, and I immediately felt right at home. I listened to the rumble of the engine, felt the cold of the leather seat, and a surge of power and joy as she sat down next to me. I switched on the radio. The name of the song was “Caught Up In You” by .38 Special. How fitting. An awesome 80's love song, in an awesome 60's car, with the girl of my dreams.
“Okay, I know you've gone through a lot over the last few years,” she began as we cruised down the road, “I know you feel like I abandoned you. But it was all for a good reason. I'm probably not allowed to tell you this, but a week before I left, I was contacted by the CIA. They made me an offer I couldn't refuse. They wanted me to work for them, as an intelligence officer in Eastern Europe. What you said to me the day I left, it has stuck with me ever since. I loved you since the day we met, and I couldn't wait to return. I was supposed to come back the day you deployed to Russia. I knew you weren't gonna be at home, so I decided to continue my work. I kept an eye on you ever since, like a guardian angel. That mission you and James flew, it did a lot of damage to the Russians. When I heard the news that you two went missing, my heart was broken. I thought for sure you were dead, but my heart had a little piece of hope that said you were still alive.”
“Wow, I can't believe it. I had no idea. I thought you were dumping me,” I said, dumbfounded.
“Of course not, silly. The day you were almost captured, I had some knowledge of the Russian army movements in that area. For some reason, I had a feeling that something bad would happen if I didn't do anything. I persuaded your commander to send a mission to try and stop the Russians. It looks like it worked. They stopped a tank division from rolling through there. And you're clearly still alive.”
“That's amazing,” I responded, “It really was a Christmas miracle. But why didn't you return until now?”
“I wanted to come back sooner. I really did. But, as fate would have it, Congress ordered my team to stay over there for an extra 9 years after the war to spy on the Russian government.”
“But what about the 10th year?”
“I spent that whole year looking for your Camaro. I knew that this car meant a lot to you, and it made me really sad to find out it was stolen, but I found it! It's, as far as I know, exactly the same as you left it.”
“How did you find it, and who told you it was stolen?”
“That's another story, for another time, dear,” she stated, “Now, let's go home and have a real Christmas.”
“Oh, I love you.”
“I know you do.”
With my dream girl by my side, and my dream car in my driveway, I had the greatest Christmas of my life. It was the happiest day I'd had in a long time. My heart had healed and all my desires were fulfilled. Thus, from December 25th, 2035 forward, I was no longer a lone Airman.
The year was 2035, and my old Air Force buddies were having a Christmas party at a local bar. I had only stayed in contact with one of my former squad-mates since the war with Russia, 13 years earlier. James Macmillan was his name. He spoke with a stereotypical Scottish accent, being a second-generation American citizen. We had been the best of friends since our junior year of high school. He invited me to this party on December 17th, and there was no way I could say no to my best friend.
December 17th. That date has a significant meaning to me, but I'd rather not remember why. Something had happened on that day, years ago (and not just once, either) but it was too painful to think about.
As I stepped into the bar, everyone stopped what they were doing, looked up at me, and unanimously broke into a round of applause, like I was some sort of hero. Wow, it seems they really missed me.
“Hey, hey! There's the fighter ace himself!” James remarked, “Why don't ya come have a seat over 'ere?”
“Whatever you say, Jim. I'm no ace, just got lucky a couple times,” I replied as I sat down next to my brother-in-arms.
We went on with an ordinary conversation: sports, politics, etc. Gradually the topic shifted to the war, and what our lives were like before fate happened. Like any war veteran, we each had our fair share of stories.
“So, what's your story?” One of them inquired.
“Uh, I don't think you guys would really want to know,” I replied.
“Come on man, I think it'd be cool to hear what you've got to say,” my friend, Dave, said.
“No, I'm serious, I really don't want to talk about it.”
“Please, man. I haven't talked to you in 10 years.”
“Are you sure? Do you really want to know what I went through? This is a painful thing for me to talk about. But, you know, maybe it's time for me to get this off my chest. I can't hold in my emotions forever. And I'd hate to let a friend down. ”
“It all started back in '21. I was 25 years old, fresh out of the Air Force Academy with a degree in Aeronautical Engineering, at the top of my class, too. My life was going great,” I began, my buddies listening intently to this rarely spoken-of chapter in my life, “I felt like I was invincible. And I had plans. Plans to do a lot of cool stuff.”
“Hey, Taylor,” Dave interrupted, “didn't you have like... a Camaro or something too?”
“Yes, Dave, I did. A 1969 Z/28, with the small-block 302 and the 4-speed transmission. It was stolen a week after we were sent to Europe. The only thing left was the Z/28 emblem from the front grille. I had taken it off and kept it with me as a reminder of home. I considered getting rid of it, but I have held on to it all of these years, in hope that I find my car some day.”
“Where was I? Oh, right, plans. I was gonna change the world, or so I thought. I wanted to be an astronaut. I had someone, backing me up every step of the way. She was the best girlfriend a guy could ever have. She was hot and feisty, yet cute and sweet at the same time. She was incredibly smart, too. I swore to myself I was gonna marry her someday. But, for whatever reason, she decided I wasn't worth her time anymore. On December 17th, she left me. Ah, that's it. That's the memory I tried to erase, but now it's come back to haunt me again. I still remember the last thing I ever said to her, 'No, please don't leave, I... I love you.' I haven't talked to or even seen her since. That year was the last 'real' Christmas I'd had up until now. 13 years, 3 of which were spent literally freezing in the Russian winter.”
“Wow, that's some pretty depressing stuff. I see why you never told any of us about this,” Dave responded quietly, everyone nodding in agreement.
“Yeah, but that's not the end of it, either. After my heart was broken and my dream shattered,” I said, trying not to get choked up, “that recession hit and I lost my defense contractor job at Boeing. I had absolutely nothing. Then, as y'all know, China declared war on Russia, and our brilliant president decided he wanted a piece of the pie. You know what they say, 'Never get involved in a land war in Asia', 'course this is Eastern Europe, but same theory. We ran into the same two problems Napoleon and Hitler did: logistics, and the Russian winter. Our boys on the ground were doing great until uh... December 17th, 2023. They tried to get to Moscow before winter hit, but they didn't make it and were completely screwed. Then some genius had the great idea to send a squad of F-15s to attack some random towns. Seriously, F-15s. They should have retired those things 20 years ago! Flying nearly blind over hostile territory, in a 30-year-old jet. What could go wrong? Jim and I, we were the only ones that made it out of there alive. Barely. We were shot down just outside of St. Petersburg. A whole lot of bad stuff went down after that. Jim knows exactly what I'm talking about.”
“My friends,” James said, “What Taylor and I went through over there, nothing can describe it. Every time I think about that day and the weeks after, it send shivers down my spine, and I realize that God and John Browning are the only reasons we made it back to Germany without spending 50 years in a prison camp or being crushed by a Russian tank. You really get to know a man when you're alone with him, with nothing except a pistol and the clothes on your back, for three weeks.”
“After we found each other,” I continued, “I knew we had to get away from there as soon as possible. Trust me, you do not want to be taken prisoner by the Russians. Actually, after we had been on the ground a week, we were almost captured by a bunch of Russian soldiers. They went on a patrol right through our little camp we had set up. I can't believe they didn't find us. If they had, we'd most likely be dead. A Christmas miracle, I suppose. We spent the next two weeks walking west. January 7th was the day we were rescued. I was about to give up hope, when we came across the Army's First Infantry Division. When I saw them coming to help us, I literally fell to the ground and cried tears of joy. I had never been happier to see the ol' US Army. They fixed us up, and we went back to flying combat missions. Then, the war ended in a stalemate and we got sent back home. I guess that's the end of my story.”
“Wait, dude, I wanna know what you did after you came home,” Dave said.
“I went home and tried to live a normal life, but I just couldn't do it. I hated having a desk job. My passion was for flying. I've been trying to find my car, too, but I never have been able to. What also sucks is that, every Christmas, I'm reminded of these two events, so I haven't really been able to have a 'real' Christmas ever since, but I have a slowly-fading hope, that maybe some day, I'll be able to find my Camaro and my girl.”
After the party, Jim and I talked for a while outside. He invited me to go to dinner with him and his wife the next day. He said his wife was bringing along a friend, who I might like to meet.
“Okay, I guess I could try meeting someone new,” I replied., “I'll go with you, it's worth a shot.”
I sighed as I got into my truck. You know, maybe it's time to give up. 13 years without any luck with either problem. Maybe I need to move on. My mind says I should, but my heart isn't sure if it's the time for that yet.
When I arrived home, I noticed a note on my doorstep. Curiously, I walked over and picked it up.
“Don't give up hope. What you seek is closer than you think,” is what it said.
That's really strange. Why is that here? What could this mean?. I gave the note no further thought that day, but deep inside, it reignited the flame of hope.
The next night's dinner date went fairly well. I had a good time with my best friend and this new girl. She seemed like a nice girl, and was exactly my type, but there was something missing. I felt no real love towards this woman. The 'spark' wasn't there. My mind wandered back to the note on the door, and I realized that I could love no one else. There was only one person that I could ever truly love, and she had left me over a decade earlier.
Feeling slightly depressed after dinner, I returned home and was about to go to bed, when the phone rang.
“There is a package on your doorstep. Open it immediately,” stated a deep, unknown voice.
Indeed, there was a package on the doorstep. There was a date on it: December 17th, 2021. What's the deal here? Why would somebody taunt me with this date? Oh well, I guess I'd better open it and see if there's anything inside. I opened the box, and inside was a second note, and a Chevy Super Sport logo from... 1969!
“Turn on the radio and set it to 93.3 FM,” is what was written on this new note. Hmm... that's my favorite station. This is pretty weird.
Wanting to find out what the big deal was, I turned on my radio, already tuned to the classic hard rock station. “Why Can't This Be Love” by Van Halen was playing. “Wait a second... that's our song! We always used to listen to them, and this song reminds me of her every time I hear it,” I thought aloud, “I don't think today could get any stranger.”
I glanced out the window, and I couldn't believe what was happening. There was a truly surreal feeling as I watched a blue and white 1969 Z/28 pull into my driveway. There was no front emblem on the car. I turned the radio off and went to go sit down for a minute. No way, there is no way this is happening. That's my car out there. My car... it's back. What if she...
I didn't have time to finish my thought, as there was a knock at the door. I hesitated, wondering if I should answer, it felt like the outcome of the rest of my life depended on this very moment. I knew I had no choice, I opened the door, and there she was. She looked as though she hadn't aged a day since I last saw her.
“Hello, Taylor,” she said.
“Why... how did you... what are you doing here?” I stammered, “I... I'm so glad to see you. Where have you been all these...”
“Slow down sweetie, I'll explain everything in just a minute,” she replied, “why don't we go for a drive?”
“Oh, yes, I'd love to.”
I was ecstatic. My Camaro and my girl, both returning on the same night. I quickly hopped into the driver's seat, and I immediately felt right at home. I listened to the rumble of the engine, felt the cold of the leather seat, and a surge of power and joy as she sat down next to me. I switched on the radio. The name of the song was “Caught Up In You” by .38 Special. How fitting. An awesome 80's love song, in an awesome 60's car, with the girl of my dreams.
“Okay, I know you've gone through a lot over the last few years,” she began as we cruised down the road, “I know you feel like I abandoned you. But it was all for a good reason. I'm probably not allowed to tell you this, but a week before I left, I was contacted by the CIA. They made me an offer I couldn't refuse. They wanted me to work for them, as an intelligence officer in Eastern Europe. What you said to me the day I left, it has stuck with me ever since. I loved you since the day we met, and I couldn't wait to return. I was supposed to come back the day you deployed to Russia. I knew you weren't gonna be at home, so I decided to continue my work. I kept an eye on you ever since, like a guardian angel. That mission you and James flew, it did a lot of damage to the Russians. When I heard the news that you two went missing, my heart was broken. I thought for sure you were dead, but my heart had a little piece of hope that said you were still alive.”
“Wow, I can't believe it. I had no idea. I thought you were dumping me,” I said, dumbfounded.
“Of course not, silly. The day you were almost captured, I had some knowledge of the Russian army movements in that area. For some reason, I had a feeling that something bad would happen if I didn't do anything. I persuaded your commander to send a mission to try and stop the Russians. It looks like it worked. They stopped a tank division from rolling through there. And you're clearly still alive.”
“That's amazing,” I responded, “It really was a Christmas miracle. But why didn't you return until now?”
“I wanted to come back sooner. I really did. But, as fate would have it, Congress ordered my team to stay over there for an extra 9 years after the war to spy on the Russian government.”
“But what about the 10th year?”
“I spent that whole year looking for your Camaro. I knew that this car meant a lot to you, and it made me really sad to find out it was stolen, but I found it! It's, as far as I know, exactly the same as you left it.”
“How did you find it, and who told you it was stolen?”
“That's another story, for another time, dear,” she stated, “Now, let's go home and have a real Christmas.”
“Oh, I love you.”
“I know you do.”
With my dream girl by my side, and my dream car in my driveway, I had the greatest Christmas of my life. It was the happiest day I'd had in a long time. My heart had healed and all my desires were fulfilled. Thus, from December 25th, 2035 forward, I was no longer a lone Airman.
35 A Soldier's Story
On a cold Christmas night, a mother sat alone in a hospital room holding her newborn son. She rocked the infant in her arms.
“I’d sing you a lullaby, my love, if I had a song.” The mother stroked the face of her baby. “But my voice is weak and I have no rhythm.” She gazed out the window, a longing in her eyes. Then the mother reached into the pocket of her robe and withdrew a folded slip of paper. “I have something much better than music,” she said meekly. “You’re father made me promise I’d share this with you.”
With a tender voice she read from the page in her shaky hand.
“I know we met, once long, long ago
In a place called heaven because I know
Without any doubt we had great joy
In our home above, my sweet little boy.
We lived there and loved without any pain
Without sorrow, or sadness or financial gain.
Then called to earth to grow and to learn
Our unmarked paths were hard to discern.
But I met your kind mother, a woman so true
Without her and great faith, there wouldn’t be you.
Although our family is one that’s quite small
I hold it dear, most precious of all.
I may not be there with you to play games
Or cards or watch sports or build stations with trains.
I will miss your first words, the giggles and smiles
Each step, your accomplishments and even the trials.
It’s adverse but true, my sweet little boy
That life brings us lemons along with the joy
I know that the journey will be long and quite rough
Be there for your mother, stay strong, kind and tough.
For those who are smart and tender and meek
They learn when they’re hurt to turn their cheek.
They comfort the weary, the sick and the sad
They find ways to be happy when things turn out bad.
There’s comfort in knowing we’ll meet once more.
It’s a grand place called heaven with a welcoming door.
We lived there before and were filled with great joy
I’ll see you someday, my sweet little boy.”
The mother gazed into the face of her baby and a tear rolled down her cheek. “In the morning we’ll go home and you’ll meet your daddy,” she said. Then she placed the baby in the bassinette and lay down to sleep.
When the morning’s rays seeped into the room the mother gathered her infant son and her things, then drove to her small apartment. A Christmas wreath hung on the door and baskets of flowers flooded the steps. Although she was grateful for the thoughts and wishes, she left them in place, never touching them or reading their cards.
Inside her humble home, she noticed the undecorated tree, the boxes of ornaments still strewn on the floor. She continued past it, to her room, chose a blue dress – the one her husband always said made her eyes sparkle – and slipped it on. After she put up her hair, she walked with her infant son a quarter mile to the chapel.
“Mrs. Chambers,” the Chaplain said as he shook her hand.
The mother nodded without saying a word, then gazed around at all the people seated in the pews. She walked slowly down the aisle straight towards the pulpit. “Thank you,” she said simply. There were no other words.
She took her seat and listened while the Chaplain spoke. His words filled her head and she struggled to make sense of it all. But as he testified of bravery and valor, Mrs. Chambers felt a stirring within.
When the Chaplain finished, Mrs. Chambers stood. “Chaplain – wait.” She raced towards the pulpit. “I have something else to say.”
He stepped back and waved his hand, guiding Mrs. Chambers forward. “Of course,” he said gently. “Take all the time you need.”
She approached the microphone, unsure of what to say or how she’d hold herself together. She reached into the pocket of her dress, curling her fingers around the folded slip of paper. “I’d like to recite a poem.” With a confidence she didn’t know she had, she patted her pocket and withdrew her hand. “My husband wrote it before he left,” she said. “However, I’ve made a few changes.” She stroked the face of her baby, holding back the tears which waited to make a display down her cheeks. Then, gazing out at the crowd, she recited, from memory, a poem.
“I know we met, once long, long ago
In a place called heaven because I know
Without any doubt we shared a great love
One that was divine, a gift from above.
We lived there and loved without any pain
Without sorrow, or sadness or financial gain.
Then called to earth to grow and to learn
Our unmarked paths were hard to discern.
Mine brought me to you - a man true and brave
Who saluted the flag with each and every wave.
A soldier so noble, with valor and honor
You’d make a great husband, friend and sweet father
You may not be here for the journey ahead
Some soft words of love will be left unsaid
I’ll miss your great warmth, your love, your kind smiles
Each hug, each kiss and even the trials.
It’s adverse but true, my sweet husband dear
That life won’t be the same when you are not near
I doubt not, that you are without pain and grief
It is my only comfort, my solace, relief.
For you were smart, tender and meek
You learned when you hurt to turn your cheek.
You comforted the weary, the sick and the sad
You found ways to be happy when things turned out bad.
There’s comfort in knowing we’ll meet once more
It’s a grand place called heaven with a welcoming door.
For we lived there before in the blue sky above.
We’ll join hands there again, forever, my love.”
When she finished speaking, she listened briefly to the soft sobs of her friends and family. But she tried her best to maintain her composure and walked back to her seat in the front row of the chapel.
The Chaplain stood again and said some final words which Mrs. Chambers never really heard. Her broken heart was aching too much.
At the end of the service after everyone had gathered their things, paid their respects and given their condolences, she sat in quiet reflection. After a while she walked to the front of the chapel and knelt on the low bench at the side of the casket. “Nicholas,” she said softly as she held the baby close to his father. “I’d like you to meet your daddy.” The mother soothed her baby and looked into the sweet face of her husband. “Nick, meet your son.”
With all the strength she had, she kissed her husband’s cheek one last time. She ran her fingers against the fabric flag strewn across her husband’s casket. “I’ll see you once more,” she said. “It’s a grand place called heaven with a welcoming door.”
“I’d sing you a lullaby, my love, if I had a song.” The mother stroked the face of her baby. “But my voice is weak and I have no rhythm.” She gazed out the window, a longing in her eyes. Then the mother reached into the pocket of her robe and withdrew a folded slip of paper. “I have something much better than music,” she said meekly. “You’re father made me promise I’d share this with you.”
With a tender voice she read from the page in her shaky hand.
“I know we met, once long, long ago
In a place called heaven because I know
Without any doubt we had great joy
In our home above, my sweet little boy.
We lived there and loved without any pain
Without sorrow, or sadness or financial gain.
Then called to earth to grow and to learn
Our unmarked paths were hard to discern.
But I met your kind mother, a woman so true
Without her and great faith, there wouldn’t be you.
Although our family is one that’s quite small
I hold it dear, most precious of all.
I may not be there with you to play games
Or cards or watch sports or build stations with trains.
I will miss your first words, the giggles and smiles
Each step, your accomplishments and even the trials.
It’s adverse but true, my sweet little boy
That life brings us lemons along with the joy
I know that the journey will be long and quite rough
Be there for your mother, stay strong, kind and tough.
For those who are smart and tender and meek
They learn when they’re hurt to turn their cheek.
They comfort the weary, the sick and the sad
They find ways to be happy when things turn out bad.
There’s comfort in knowing we’ll meet once more.
It’s a grand place called heaven with a welcoming door.
We lived there before and were filled with great joy
I’ll see you someday, my sweet little boy.”
The mother gazed into the face of her baby and a tear rolled down her cheek. “In the morning we’ll go home and you’ll meet your daddy,” she said. Then she placed the baby in the bassinette and lay down to sleep.
When the morning’s rays seeped into the room the mother gathered her infant son and her things, then drove to her small apartment. A Christmas wreath hung on the door and baskets of flowers flooded the steps. Although she was grateful for the thoughts and wishes, she left them in place, never touching them or reading their cards.
Inside her humble home, she noticed the undecorated tree, the boxes of ornaments still strewn on the floor. She continued past it, to her room, chose a blue dress – the one her husband always said made her eyes sparkle – and slipped it on. After she put up her hair, she walked with her infant son a quarter mile to the chapel.
“Mrs. Chambers,” the Chaplain said as he shook her hand.
The mother nodded without saying a word, then gazed around at all the people seated in the pews. She walked slowly down the aisle straight towards the pulpit. “Thank you,” she said simply. There were no other words.
She took her seat and listened while the Chaplain spoke. His words filled her head and she struggled to make sense of it all. But as he testified of bravery and valor, Mrs. Chambers felt a stirring within.
When the Chaplain finished, Mrs. Chambers stood. “Chaplain – wait.” She raced towards the pulpit. “I have something else to say.”
He stepped back and waved his hand, guiding Mrs. Chambers forward. “Of course,” he said gently. “Take all the time you need.”
She approached the microphone, unsure of what to say or how she’d hold herself together. She reached into the pocket of her dress, curling her fingers around the folded slip of paper. “I’d like to recite a poem.” With a confidence she didn’t know she had, she patted her pocket and withdrew her hand. “My husband wrote it before he left,” she said. “However, I’ve made a few changes.” She stroked the face of her baby, holding back the tears which waited to make a display down her cheeks. Then, gazing out at the crowd, she recited, from memory, a poem.
“I know we met, once long, long ago
In a place called heaven because I know
Without any doubt we shared a great love
One that was divine, a gift from above.
We lived there and loved without any pain
Without sorrow, or sadness or financial gain.
Then called to earth to grow and to learn
Our unmarked paths were hard to discern.
Mine brought me to you - a man true and brave
Who saluted the flag with each and every wave.
A soldier so noble, with valor and honor
You’d make a great husband, friend and sweet father
You may not be here for the journey ahead
Some soft words of love will be left unsaid
I’ll miss your great warmth, your love, your kind smiles
Each hug, each kiss and even the trials.
It’s adverse but true, my sweet husband dear
That life won’t be the same when you are not near
I doubt not, that you are without pain and grief
It is my only comfort, my solace, relief.
For you were smart, tender and meek
You learned when you hurt to turn your cheek.
You comforted the weary, the sick and the sad
You found ways to be happy when things turned out bad.
There’s comfort in knowing we’ll meet once more
It’s a grand place called heaven with a welcoming door.
For we lived there before in the blue sky above.
We’ll join hands there again, forever, my love.”
When she finished speaking, she listened briefly to the soft sobs of her friends and family. But she tried her best to maintain her composure and walked back to her seat in the front row of the chapel.
The Chaplain stood again and said some final words which Mrs. Chambers never really heard. Her broken heart was aching too much.
At the end of the service after everyone had gathered their things, paid their respects and given their condolences, she sat in quiet reflection. After a while she walked to the front of the chapel and knelt on the low bench at the side of the casket. “Nicholas,” she said softly as she held the baby close to his father. “I’d like you to meet your daddy.” The mother soothed her baby and looked into the sweet face of her husband. “Nick, meet your son.”
With all the strength she had, she kissed her husband’s cheek one last time. She ran her fingers against the fabric flag strewn across her husband’s casket. “I’ll see you once more,” she said. “It’s a grand place called heaven with a welcoming door.”
34 Dauphine the Christmas Doe
Now you have all heard the story about Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, the biggest misfit in all the North Pole, who managed to find his place when he saved Christmas by leading Santa’s sleigh through a terrible blizzard. There is a lesser known story however, about Rudolph’s granddoe, Dauphine, a misfit just like him.
You may not have noticed it, but Santa’s sleigh is traditionally pulled by all male deer, or bucks. Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, Blitzen, and of course the most recent addition, Rudolph. Does weren’t considered strong enough to pull Santa’s sleigh with all the children of the world’s toys. Instead, they were expected to stay home and raise the fawns. For the most part, the does were all very satisfied with their lot in life, tending their young and making Christmas fun for all of the North Pole.
But Dauphine was different; she always knew she wanted something else for herself. The bucks just always seemed to be having so much more fun! They had all these special reindeer games to help them learn to fly Santa’s sleigh, and she so wanted to join in! The other does were always playing house and dress up, things she had very little interest in; she wanted to fly, to run, and someday to travel the world. The bucks would never let her join in though! They all laughed at her, saying she was too weak, she could never join in any of their reindeer games. The other does picked on her too, saying that she was a misfit, who would never fit in with either group.
Dauphine was very unhappy, she felt like she didn’t fit in anywhere, and she didn’t see anything changing, this was the way things had always been. One day, she went to her Grandbuck Rudolph for advice, for who else could truly understand what she wanted to do and the reactions of the other deer? Rudolph told his granddoe that she must keep working towards her goal, building up her skills so that she could match any of the bucks. Rudolph told her that as long as she worked hard, and kept an eye out for any chance to prove she could equal any other reindeer, things should work out. She could only do her best; there was no way to force the other deer to accept her.
So Dauphine did what her Grandbuck Rudolph had told her, every chance she got she would go off alone and practice her flying, even carrying increasingly heavy objects with her and upping the distance she flew, to improve her endurance. Her confidence was growing, she knew she was now as good as the members of Santa’s team, and she hoped that the opportunity Grandbuck Rudolph had told her to wait for would come soon.
The day of the tryouts for Santa’s sleigh team had arrived, and nothing had changed for Dauphine. She was sorely disappointed; she had so hoped something would have cone up by now! She couldn’t stand to sit with the other does and watch the backs showing off for Santa, and getting the one thing she had always dreamed of. So Dauphine decided to go to one of her favorite practice spots, Santa’s Icy Trail, a frozen river near a few of the dens further out of town. There had been a surprisingly warm spell in the North Pole that year and the river was now more of Santa’s Slushy Trail, because of which the fawns had been ordered to stay away from it. This order allowed her the needed privacy to practice without ridicule.
Dauphine had gotten so used to the river being isolated, that she didn’t even pay attention to her surroundings as she approached. Suddenly, she heard terrified screams and a cracking noise. She looked around for the rope she had used to practice carrying things with, then dashed towards it. Running along the bank to catch up with the fawns, she took off and landed neatly on the moving ice chunk. Dauphine instructed the fawns to try to tie the rope to a chunk of ice sticking up from the piece they stood upon, using their teeth to maneuver it, a method she had practiced to perfection. With her guidance the fawns succeeded, and then tied the other end around Dauphine, their hopes rising after witnessing her skillful flying.
Dauphine did a stationary take off, no easy feat, just as Jingle Falls came into sight. She flew with all her might, upstream and towards the river bank. It took every last bit of strength she possessed, the fawns and ice had been much heavier than anything she had practiced lifting, especially against the current of the river. She managed to pull the ice close enough to the bank for the fawns to hop off. With a sigh of relief, Dauphine landed, and all her energy spent, collapsed to the ground. The eldest fawn, Flash, whose father just happened to be Comet, dashed for help, quickly returning with some panicked mothers, and a large gathering of other bucks and does. They gathered up Dauphine and the younger fawn, and took them to be checked out by Santa!
While Santa checked the younger fawns out and Dauphine slept, the eldest fawn told the group the whole story of Dauphine’s daring rescue. The does and bucks were astounded and ashamed of the way they had treated Dauphine, just because she had different dreams than the other does. Santa was extremely impressed, she had shown the qualities he valued most on his reindeer team; innovation, determination, strength, and concern for others. As the auditions for his team had been disrupted by the emergency, Santa came up with an idea, which he ran by the gathering of reindeer. He felt the best reward for Dauphine’s heroism was to award her a spot on his team, and the reindeer agreed unanimously!
The first thing Dauphine saw upon awakening was her Grandbuck Rudolph, who happily informed her of the new developments while she had been sleeping. She couldn’t believe it, her dream had come true! She was a member of Santa’s team of reindeer, and she had won her place among their other herd members. Dauphine the doe had followed her Grandbuck Rudolph’s footsteps as a former misfit, who now felt like the happiest doe that ever lived.
You may not have noticed it, but Santa’s sleigh is traditionally pulled by all male deer, or bucks. Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, Blitzen, and of course the most recent addition, Rudolph. Does weren’t considered strong enough to pull Santa’s sleigh with all the children of the world’s toys. Instead, they were expected to stay home and raise the fawns. For the most part, the does were all very satisfied with their lot in life, tending their young and making Christmas fun for all of the North Pole.
But Dauphine was different; she always knew she wanted something else for herself. The bucks just always seemed to be having so much more fun! They had all these special reindeer games to help them learn to fly Santa’s sleigh, and she so wanted to join in! The other does were always playing house and dress up, things she had very little interest in; she wanted to fly, to run, and someday to travel the world. The bucks would never let her join in though! They all laughed at her, saying she was too weak, she could never join in any of their reindeer games. The other does picked on her too, saying that she was a misfit, who would never fit in with either group.
Dauphine was very unhappy, she felt like she didn’t fit in anywhere, and she didn’t see anything changing, this was the way things had always been. One day, she went to her Grandbuck Rudolph for advice, for who else could truly understand what she wanted to do and the reactions of the other deer? Rudolph told his granddoe that she must keep working towards her goal, building up her skills so that she could match any of the bucks. Rudolph told her that as long as she worked hard, and kept an eye out for any chance to prove she could equal any other reindeer, things should work out. She could only do her best; there was no way to force the other deer to accept her.
So Dauphine did what her Grandbuck Rudolph had told her, every chance she got she would go off alone and practice her flying, even carrying increasingly heavy objects with her and upping the distance she flew, to improve her endurance. Her confidence was growing, she knew she was now as good as the members of Santa’s team, and she hoped that the opportunity Grandbuck Rudolph had told her to wait for would come soon.
The day of the tryouts for Santa’s sleigh team had arrived, and nothing had changed for Dauphine. She was sorely disappointed; she had so hoped something would have cone up by now! She couldn’t stand to sit with the other does and watch the backs showing off for Santa, and getting the one thing she had always dreamed of. So Dauphine decided to go to one of her favorite practice spots, Santa’s Icy Trail, a frozen river near a few of the dens further out of town. There had been a surprisingly warm spell in the North Pole that year and the river was now more of Santa’s Slushy Trail, because of which the fawns had been ordered to stay away from it. This order allowed her the needed privacy to practice without ridicule.
Dauphine had gotten so used to the river being isolated, that she didn’t even pay attention to her surroundings as she approached. Suddenly, she heard terrified screams and a cracking noise. She looked around for the rope she had used to practice carrying things with, then dashed towards it. Running along the bank to catch up with the fawns, she took off and landed neatly on the moving ice chunk. Dauphine instructed the fawns to try to tie the rope to a chunk of ice sticking up from the piece they stood upon, using their teeth to maneuver it, a method she had practiced to perfection. With her guidance the fawns succeeded, and then tied the other end around Dauphine, their hopes rising after witnessing her skillful flying.
Dauphine did a stationary take off, no easy feat, just as Jingle Falls came into sight. She flew with all her might, upstream and towards the river bank. It took every last bit of strength she possessed, the fawns and ice had been much heavier than anything she had practiced lifting, especially against the current of the river. She managed to pull the ice close enough to the bank for the fawns to hop off. With a sigh of relief, Dauphine landed, and all her energy spent, collapsed to the ground. The eldest fawn, Flash, whose father just happened to be Comet, dashed for help, quickly returning with some panicked mothers, and a large gathering of other bucks and does. They gathered up Dauphine and the younger fawn, and took them to be checked out by Santa!
While Santa checked the younger fawns out and Dauphine slept, the eldest fawn told the group the whole story of Dauphine’s daring rescue. The does and bucks were astounded and ashamed of the way they had treated Dauphine, just because she had different dreams than the other does. Santa was extremely impressed, she had shown the qualities he valued most on his reindeer team; innovation, determination, strength, and concern for others. As the auditions for his team had been disrupted by the emergency, Santa came up with an idea, which he ran by the gathering of reindeer. He felt the best reward for Dauphine’s heroism was to award her a spot on his team, and the reindeer agreed unanimously!
The first thing Dauphine saw upon awakening was her Grandbuck Rudolph, who happily informed her of the new developments while she had been sleeping. She couldn’t believe it, her dream had come true! She was a member of Santa’s team of reindeer, and she had won her place among their other herd members. Dauphine the doe had followed her Grandbuck Rudolph’s footsteps as a former misfit, who now felt like the happiest doe that ever lived.
33 All I Want For Christma
The song playing on the radio felt like a heavy brass bell in my heart.
“All I want for Christmas, is you...baby.”
Right, I thought, weaving through the busy holiday traffic, heading toward my apartment.
I was spending Christmas alone this year, with my roommate jumping ship to fly home and be with her family. Some people had all the luck. My family was too poor to send me money, and I didn’t have enough to fly back, so I was stuck. In the big city.
It would be my first Christmas alone.
Mariah Carey continued jazzing through the song as I pulled into the parking lot next to my building and found an empty spot. It was easy for her to belt out the lyrics with her million dollar voice, but it didn’t bring any cheer. The words of the song only brought frustration.
If only...
I shook my head determinedly and headed up to my apartment. It was Christmas Eve and everyone was partying. The neighbors down the hall had invited me to come spend the evening with them, but that didn’t sound very fun. Think red neck reindeer hat, and you’ll get the idea.
I opened the door to the apartment, and switched on the lights. Going to the livingroom area, I switched on the lights for the small tree, lighting up the corner of the room with multicolored festivity.
Tossing my gloves and coat on the couch, I turned on the stereo to some instrumental music, and headed to the kitchen for something to drink. Eggnog sounded good and festive, I thought, searching through the fridge. I spied some on the top shelf and grabbed the container, along with the milk. We usually diluted it with sprite, but milk would have to do.
Friends from work had invited me to a Christmas Eve party at one of their houses, but while I didn’t want to be alone for Christmas, I didn’t want to be around drinkers. Most of my co-workers weren’t members and their definition of a party was to see how drunk they could get.
Fortunately, one of the families in the ward had invited me for Christmas dinner tomorrow, so I could look forward to that.
I took my drink back into the living area and turned on the gas fireplace before relaxing on the couch.
What a day. There were times that I wondered why I’d taken a job so far from home, family and friends – and this was one of them. Sure I used my college degree, the pay was okay, though always could be better (thus my unable to afford to go home state), and would look good on my resume, but surely money wasn’t all that mattered.
I closed my eyes and leaned my head back, hearing sounds from down the hall indicating the party had started. The words to the Mariah Carey song floated through my head again, and I groaned.
“Okay!” I said out loud. “I’m stupid and lame and should have given him a chance!” Standing up, I set my glass down hard, the liquid sloshing onto the table.
To be honest, the reason I’d picked this job was because I’d been running away from Jared Hatch. The guy had been my whole world. He’d come home from his mission and we’d discovered much the same interests, goals and desires. We’d even talked marriage, though he never proposed. Then the old flame from highschool moved back home for the summer, and it was as if I’d dropped off the face of the earth.
I paced back and forth in front of the Christmas tree, reliving last summer as if it were an open wound that needed cleaning.
At the end of the summer he’d come to my parents home, wanting to talk to me, but I couldn’t bear to see him. It had hurt too much. Then this job had come up and I’d jumped at it, never saying goodbye. I’d left right after Christmas last year and hadn’t been back. It wouldn’t seem like that big of a distance from Salt Lake City, Utah to Astoria, Oregon – but I didn’t have enough vacation days to drive home and not enough money to fly.
Salt Lake was okay - I mean, snow was a big plus! I’d never had a white Christmas before, so I was enjoying that aspect of it. Though learning to drive in the stuff was a real experience! Some people can be so rude...
Anyway - now I was stuck in Salt Lake, and Jared was probably in Astoria, married to the old flame.
“All I want for Christmas, is you...”
The song wouldn’t leave me alone! I was going to loose my mind. I sighed and went back to the couch. It was pretty pathetic, really. I should have let him come in and talked – found out when they were getting married and all that. In fact, mom had forwarded a wedding invitation a couple of months ago that I’d tossed when I’d seen it what is was. I didn’t want to know who was getting married that I wouldn’t be able to see.
Sitting down, I looked over at the tree and the few presents underneath. One from my roommate, a couple from my family that had arrived this week, and a couple from friends. Quite the haul, when you think about it. But what were presents anyway? Did they even matter in the eternal scheme of things? No. None of the materialistic things we lived with day by day mattered. Only people – family, friends and love.
Love. I snorted and looked away. There was no love in my life. No one had asked me out since I’d moved here. The singles wards were packed with available women in this area, and I wasn’t anything special. There were more blue eyed, blondes here than there were in California, or at least that’s what it seemed like. If they weren’t going to BYU, they were at the U, determined to show that a good LDS girl can go to school anywhere.
I should have gotten a job in Portland.
My stomach growled and I realized it was dinner time. I hadn’t even really thought about what to eat. Getting up, I went back to the fridge, this time spotting a note from my roommate.
“Hey Bridget -
If I know you, you’ll be moping around here Christmas Eve. Well, I’ve stocked you some party supplies, so call some people and have a party. There’s cheese, crackers, shrimp, all sorts of stuff. I didn’t break the bank, but that’s part of your Christmas present from me. Have fun, see you in a couple of days. Janet.”
I laughed and really looked in the fridge this time. Sure enough, there was the makings for quite a party, and I shook my head in amazement. Janet was the best. We’d never met before being roommates, but we’d sure clicked the moment we’d met. She was from Logan and had gone to school in some small town in central Utah. She worked for a vet downtown so she didn’t make loads, but her parents were rich enough to make up the difference. They felt this was a ‘good experience’ for her.
“Well, Janet, my friend,” I said, raising my eggnog glass in salute. “Here’s to you.” I swigged the remainder and put the glass on the counter. Time to party.
Following through on her requirement was difficult though. I didn’t feel entirely comfortable calling people. Surely they would all be at a party they’d already been invited to? I picked up the ward directory, figuring I could start there. I glanced through the names, and stopped at one that had been written in. Mark Young.
Frowning, I tried to picture a face to match the name, but no luck. I think Janet mentioned that she’d met a new guy at a church activity last week, but I’d had to pull a late night and hadn’t paid any attention. Was that the guy? I shrugged and kept going through the names. Nah, all these guys had girlfriends, family and places to be. This was stupid.
I tossed the directory by the phone and went out to the livingroom again. It was snowing, small little flakes that looked like powdered sugar and covered the railing of our little balcony with a light dusting of white. I leaned against the doorframe and folded my arms. At least it was a beautiful night.
I stood there for several minutes, and then remembered that I was hungry. Shrimp calls, I thought with a grin.
Before I reached the kitchen though, there was a hesitant knock on the door. Stopping in surprise, I stared at the door, waiting for the knock to come again and prove that I hadn’t been hearing things.
Knock, knock.
Okay, it wasn’t my imagination. I slowly walked over and peaked through the peep hole, but it was shadowy in the hallway and I couldn’t see anything other than a big figure.
“Who is it?” I asked, feeling stupid.
“Um, is this the apartment where Bridget Haynes lives?” It was a rich deep voice, but it cracked a little, as if he was nervous or embarrassed.
I giggled, feeling silly about talking through the door. I threw it open to reveal a handsome man, tall, broad shouldered and sleek in a black leather coat, lightly dusted with snow. His short hair was light brown, curly on top and looked wet. I looked at the dark blue eyes that gazed at me, and felt like the world had tilted slighted at the core.
“Uh, I’m Bridget.”
“Oh, uh, wow.” He gulped and glanced around the hallway, as if he didn’t want anyone to witness his nervousness and then stepped a little closer, pulling out a tall, slim package wrapped with a large bow. “I’m, uh, my name is Mark – Mark Young. Your, ah, roommate mentioned that,” he looked in the apartment and realized there wasn’t anyone else there. “Oh,” he looked utterly embarrassed now, and I sighed.
“Janet told you I was having a party?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
I smiled, mentally throwing darts at my roommate’s picture. “She wanted me to, I just hadn’t gotten around to calling anyone. Come on in.”
It was the least I could do.
He chewed his lip, (a rather nice looking mouth) looking doubtful. “Well, I don’t want to horn in on anything if you aren’t having the party.”
I shrugged. “This whole thing was Janet’s idea,” I admitted. “I just don’t know who to call. Come on in and we’ll figure out some more people, or you can just eat something and then go when you’re ready.”
He still seemed reluctant, as if he’d had to talk himself into coming in the first place. Poor guy, he must be as lonely as I was to have taken her up on the offer.
“Your roommate gone home for Christmas too?” I asked, hoping to encourage him in. The hallway was chilly.
He flashed a white toothed smile. “Yeah, how’d you know?”
I shrugged and stood back, holding the door open. “Come on in, we can commiserate together.”
He took a deep breath and then nodded, walking past me with a slow step. I closed the door and started toward the kitchen.
“Come on back here. I was just going to start pulling things out of the fridge. I didn’t even know she’d planned this – the sneak.”
He gave a weak chuckle behind me, and then cleared his throat. “I, um, brought this. She said you liked candles.”
I turned and he handed the nicely wrapped tubular type present to me, his eyes sincere and his mouth pulled up at one corner in a wry smile.
“Well,” I said slowly, reaching out for it. “That was totally unnecessary and very sweet. She’s right, I do collect candles.” I waved a hand at the other room where I had several large ones placed around the room and just hadn’t gotten around to lighting yet.
He whistled in appreciation and then waved a hand at the gift. “Go ahead and open it,” he said with a shrug.
I tore off the wrapping to reveal one of those specialty homemade type candles that had layers of colored wax with dried flowers and berries inside. It wasn’t very large around, but it was almost a foot tall, and smelled heavenly.
Oh my.
I looked up at him with greater appreciation – this wasn’t your average candle.
“Where did you find this?” I asked, feeling the heavy wax with caressing fingers. “It’s amazing!”
He grinned. “I have my sources.”
Embarrassingly, my stomach growled again and I rolled my eyes as he laughed. “You said something about food?”
“Right in here,” I said, holding the candle close. I searched through a cabinet, finding the perfect small red plate with a gold trim. Setting the candle down, I found the matches and quickly lit it.
“Janet stocked all sorts of stuff,” I said, my back to him. “Should we try and call people first or would you rather just eat?”
“Well, would you mind if I’d rather not call anyone else?”
I turned around with wide eyes to see him standing behind me with a sheepish expression, my pulse racing with the implication of his words. “What?”
He licked his lips and shifted on his feet. “I asked your roommate about you and she showed me your photo and said you weren’t seeing anyone. She also said you’d be alone for Christmas and,” he paused, his mouth twitching for a moment. “I wanted to get to know you. Janet indicated that you haven’t been real big on dating, so I figured calling you up to take you out wouldn’t go over very big.”
“This, um, evening was your idea?” I asked, taking a step back to the counter and leaning against it. I wasn’t sure what to feel. He’d set this up? I was all alone with a man who could be anything from a serial killer to a date-raper. What had I done? What had Janet done?
He must have seen the wild look in my eyes, because he put his hands out, palms up and stepped back from me as far as the small kitchen would allow. “Hey, wait, don’t panic, it’s okay! I just wanted to get to know you – nothing sinister!”
Sure, anyone would say that, I thought, reaching for the phone.
He shook his head, his face going from anxious to resigned. “Wait, I’ll leave, okay? I didn’t mean to scare you.”
I watched as he started toward the door, my fears fighting with the knowledge that he’d wanted to spend the evening with me and he didn’t even know me. It was kind of...romantic.
“Okay,” I said, blurting it out before he reached the door. “You can stay. I - I’m sorry for being paranoid.”
He slowly turned around, a slightly hopeful expression on his handsome face. Man, he was good looking!
“You’ll give me a chance?” His voice was lower as he started back toward me, a light in his eyes that made me somewhat uneasy again. “I can’t believe it. Most girls wouldn’t give me the time of day after this.”
I blinked. He’d tried this before? “Um,”
He made a face. “I don’t mean this,” he said, waving a hand at my apartment and the burning candle (which was really starting to smell wonderfully of apples and cinnamon with a bit of pine thrown in). “I mean, I usually end up with girls dumping me. My family jokes that I’m the one-date wonder.”
I stared at him, feeling a little dismayed at the admission. What was wrong with him that girls wouldn’t go out again? He seemed normal and very good looking to me...
He sighed. “Man, this is not going anything like I’d hoped. Can I start again?”
I giggled. “You mean, at the door?”
“Please?” His eyes pleaded with me, and my stomach was suddenly full of butterflies.
“Okay.” We walked back to the door and he went out, closing it behind him.
I waited a few seconds, thinking he’d knock right away, but it was a good minute before I heard the doorbell ring. Okay...
“Who is it?” I asked through the door, deciding it could possibly be a neighbor and he’d taken off.
“Delivery boy.”
I opened the door ready to give him a bad time, to see him holding a sprig of mistle toe over his head.
“Uh, delivery boy?” I asked, raising my eyebrows.
“I’m Santa’s Helper,” He said, with a determined tone as he stepped near. “Santa sent me. He said you needed a Christmas Kiss.”
Before I could even form a thought, he was pulling me close, kissing me with a gentleness that blotted out any other feeling. Oh my!
He slowly pulled back and looked down at me with a satisfied expression, his eyes warm. “Merry Christmas, Bridget.”
I gulped. “M-merry Christmas, uh, Mark.”
I put a hand to my throbbing lips, wondering what to think. What now?
He smiled, slowly releasing me. “I hear there’s a party tonight.”
I giggled, feeling silly repeating everything – especially after that kiss. “I don’t know, I haven’t been able to call anyone to come.”
“Do you want anyone else to come?” he asked, his face hopeful as he gazed at me, those blue eyes still warm and lingering.
“Only you,” I found myself telling him, holding the door wide, the last verse of the Mariah Carey song playing in my head.
“Oh I don't want a lot for Christmas
This is all I'm asking for
I just want to see my baby
Standing right outside my door “
Wait till Janet heard about Christmas Eve, she was never going to believe me, but I decided Santa worked in strange ways as I shut the door.
“All I want for Christmas, is you...baby.”
Right, I thought, weaving through the busy holiday traffic, heading toward my apartment.
I was spending Christmas alone this year, with my roommate jumping ship to fly home and be with her family. Some people had all the luck. My family was too poor to send me money, and I didn’t have enough to fly back, so I was stuck. In the big city.
It would be my first Christmas alone.
Mariah Carey continued jazzing through the song as I pulled into the parking lot next to my building and found an empty spot. It was easy for her to belt out the lyrics with her million dollar voice, but it didn’t bring any cheer. The words of the song only brought frustration.
If only...
I shook my head determinedly and headed up to my apartment. It was Christmas Eve and everyone was partying. The neighbors down the hall had invited me to come spend the evening with them, but that didn’t sound very fun. Think red neck reindeer hat, and you’ll get the idea.
I opened the door to the apartment, and switched on the lights. Going to the livingroom area, I switched on the lights for the small tree, lighting up the corner of the room with multicolored festivity.
Tossing my gloves and coat on the couch, I turned on the stereo to some instrumental music, and headed to the kitchen for something to drink. Eggnog sounded good and festive, I thought, searching through the fridge. I spied some on the top shelf and grabbed the container, along with the milk. We usually diluted it with sprite, but milk would have to do.
Friends from work had invited me to a Christmas Eve party at one of their houses, but while I didn’t want to be alone for Christmas, I didn’t want to be around drinkers. Most of my co-workers weren’t members and their definition of a party was to see how drunk they could get.
Fortunately, one of the families in the ward had invited me for Christmas dinner tomorrow, so I could look forward to that.
I took my drink back into the living area and turned on the gas fireplace before relaxing on the couch.
What a day. There were times that I wondered why I’d taken a job so far from home, family and friends – and this was one of them. Sure I used my college degree, the pay was okay, though always could be better (thus my unable to afford to go home state), and would look good on my resume, but surely money wasn’t all that mattered.
I closed my eyes and leaned my head back, hearing sounds from down the hall indicating the party had started. The words to the Mariah Carey song floated through my head again, and I groaned.
“Okay!” I said out loud. “I’m stupid and lame and should have given him a chance!” Standing up, I set my glass down hard, the liquid sloshing onto the table.
To be honest, the reason I’d picked this job was because I’d been running away from Jared Hatch. The guy had been my whole world. He’d come home from his mission and we’d discovered much the same interests, goals and desires. We’d even talked marriage, though he never proposed. Then the old flame from highschool moved back home for the summer, and it was as if I’d dropped off the face of the earth.
I paced back and forth in front of the Christmas tree, reliving last summer as if it were an open wound that needed cleaning.
At the end of the summer he’d come to my parents home, wanting to talk to me, but I couldn’t bear to see him. It had hurt too much. Then this job had come up and I’d jumped at it, never saying goodbye. I’d left right after Christmas last year and hadn’t been back. It wouldn’t seem like that big of a distance from Salt Lake City, Utah to Astoria, Oregon – but I didn’t have enough vacation days to drive home and not enough money to fly.
Salt Lake was okay - I mean, snow was a big plus! I’d never had a white Christmas before, so I was enjoying that aspect of it. Though learning to drive in the stuff was a real experience! Some people can be so rude...
Anyway - now I was stuck in Salt Lake, and Jared was probably in Astoria, married to the old flame.
“All I want for Christmas, is you...”
The song wouldn’t leave me alone! I was going to loose my mind. I sighed and went back to the couch. It was pretty pathetic, really. I should have let him come in and talked – found out when they were getting married and all that. In fact, mom had forwarded a wedding invitation a couple of months ago that I’d tossed when I’d seen it what is was. I didn’t want to know who was getting married that I wouldn’t be able to see.
Sitting down, I looked over at the tree and the few presents underneath. One from my roommate, a couple from my family that had arrived this week, and a couple from friends. Quite the haul, when you think about it. But what were presents anyway? Did they even matter in the eternal scheme of things? No. None of the materialistic things we lived with day by day mattered. Only people – family, friends and love.
Love. I snorted and looked away. There was no love in my life. No one had asked me out since I’d moved here. The singles wards were packed with available women in this area, and I wasn’t anything special. There were more blue eyed, blondes here than there were in California, or at least that’s what it seemed like. If they weren’t going to BYU, they were at the U, determined to show that a good LDS girl can go to school anywhere.
I should have gotten a job in Portland.
My stomach growled and I realized it was dinner time. I hadn’t even really thought about what to eat. Getting up, I went back to the fridge, this time spotting a note from my roommate.
“Hey Bridget -
If I know you, you’ll be moping around here Christmas Eve. Well, I’ve stocked you some party supplies, so call some people and have a party. There’s cheese, crackers, shrimp, all sorts of stuff. I didn’t break the bank, but that’s part of your Christmas present from me. Have fun, see you in a couple of days. Janet.”
I laughed and really looked in the fridge this time. Sure enough, there was the makings for quite a party, and I shook my head in amazement. Janet was the best. We’d never met before being roommates, but we’d sure clicked the moment we’d met. She was from Logan and had gone to school in some small town in central Utah. She worked for a vet downtown so she didn’t make loads, but her parents were rich enough to make up the difference. They felt this was a ‘good experience’ for her.
“Well, Janet, my friend,” I said, raising my eggnog glass in salute. “Here’s to you.” I swigged the remainder and put the glass on the counter. Time to party.
Following through on her requirement was difficult though. I didn’t feel entirely comfortable calling people. Surely they would all be at a party they’d already been invited to? I picked up the ward directory, figuring I could start there. I glanced through the names, and stopped at one that had been written in. Mark Young.
Frowning, I tried to picture a face to match the name, but no luck. I think Janet mentioned that she’d met a new guy at a church activity last week, but I’d had to pull a late night and hadn’t paid any attention. Was that the guy? I shrugged and kept going through the names. Nah, all these guys had girlfriends, family and places to be. This was stupid.
I tossed the directory by the phone and went out to the livingroom again. It was snowing, small little flakes that looked like powdered sugar and covered the railing of our little balcony with a light dusting of white. I leaned against the doorframe and folded my arms. At least it was a beautiful night.
I stood there for several minutes, and then remembered that I was hungry. Shrimp calls, I thought with a grin.
Before I reached the kitchen though, there was a hesitant knock on the door. Stopping in surprise, I stared at the door, waiting for the knock to come again and prove that I hadn’t been hearing things.
Knock, knock.
Okay, it wasn’t my imagination. I slowly walked over and peaked through the peep hole, but it was shadowy in the hallway and I couldn’t see anything other than a big figure.
“Who is it?” I asked, feeling stupid.
“Um, is this the apartment where Bridget Haynes lives?” It was a rich deep voice, but it cracked a little, as if he was nervous or embarrassed.
I giggled, feeling silly about talking through the door. I threw it open to reveal a handsome man, tall, broad shouldered and sleek in a black leather coat, lightly dusted with snow. His short hair was light brown, curly on top and looked wet. I looked at the dark blue eyes that gazed at me, and felt like the world had tilted slighted at the core.
“Uh, I’m Bridget.”
“Oh, uh, wow.” He gulped and glanced around the hallway, as if he didn’t want anyone to witness his nervousness and then stepped a little closer, pulling out a tall, slim package wrapped with a large bow. “I’m, uh, my name is Mark – Mark Young. Your, ah, roommate mentioned that,” he looked in the apartment and realized there wasn’t anyone else there. “Oh,” he looked utterly embarrassed now, and I sighed.
“Janet told you I was having a party?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
I smiled, mentally throwing darts at my roommate’s picture. “She wanted me to, I just hadn’t gotten around to calling anyone. Come on in.”
It was the least I could do.
He chewed his lip, (a rather nice looking mouth) looking doubtful. “Well, I don’t want to horn in on anything if you aren’t having the party.”
I shrugged. “This whole thing was Janet’s idea,” I admitted. “I just don’t know who to call. Come on in and we’ll figure out some more people, or you can just eat something and then go when you’re ready.”
He still seemed reluctant, as if he’d had to talk himself into coming in the first place. Poor guy, he must be as lonely as I was to have taken her up on the offer.
“Your roommate gone home for Christmas too?” I asked, hoping to encourage him in. The hallway was chilly.
He flashed a white toothed smile. “Yeah, how’d you know?”
I shrugged and stood back, holding the door open. “Come on in, we can commiserate together.”
He took a deep breath and then nodded, walking past me with a slow step. I closed the door and started toward the kitchen.
“Come on back here. I was just going to start pulling things out of the fridge. I didn’t even know she’d planned this – the sneak.”
He gave a weak chuckle behind me, and then cleared his throat. “I, um, brought this. She said you liked candles.”
I turned and he handed the nicely wrapped tubular type present to me, his eyes sincere and his mouth pulled up at one corner in a wry smile.
“Well,” I said slowly, reaching out for it. “That was totally unnecessary and very sweet. She’s right, I do collect candles.” I waved a hand at the other room where I had several large ones placed around the room and just hadn’t gotten around to lighting yet.
He whistled in appreciation and then waved a hand at the gift. “Go ahead and open it,” he said with a shrug.
I tore off the wrapping to reveal one of those specialty homemade type candles that had layers of colored wax with dried flowers and berries inside. It wasn’t very large around, but it was almost a foot tall, and smelled heavenly.
Oh my.
I looked up at him with greater appreciation – this wasn’t your average candle.
“Where did you find this?” I asked, feeling the heavy wax with caressing fingers. “It’s amazing!”
He grinned. “I have my sources.”
Embarrassingly, my stomach growled again and I rolled my eyes as he laughed. “You said something about food?”
“Right in here,” I said, holding the candle close. I searched through a cabinet, finding the perfect small red plate with a gold trim. Setting the candle down, I found the matches and quickly lit it.
“Janet stocked all sorts of stuff,” I said, my back to him. “Should we try and call people first or would you rather just eat?”
“Well, would you mind if I’d rather not call anyone else?”
I turned around with wide eyes to see him standing behind me with a sheepish expression, my pulse racing with the implication of his words. “What?”
He licked his lips and shifted on his feet. “I asked your roommate about you and she showed me your photo and said you weren’t seeing anyone. She also said you’d be alone for Christmas and,” he paused, his mouth twitching for a moment. “I wanted to get to know you. Janet indicated that you haven’t been real big on dating, so I figured calling you up to take you out wouldn’t go over very big.”
“This, um, evening was your idea?” I asked, taking a step back to the counter and leaning against it. I wasn’t sure what to feel. He’d set this up? I was all alone with a man who could be anything from a serial killer to a date-raper. What had I done? What had Janet done?
He must have seen the wild look in my eyes, because he put his hands out, palms up and stepped back from me as far as the small kitchen would allow. “Hey, wait, don’t panic, it’s okay! I just wanted to get to know you – nothing sinister!”
Sure, anyone would say that, I thought, reaching for the phone.
He shook his head, his face going from anxious to resigned. “Wait, I’ll leave, okay? I didn’t mean to scare you.”
I watched as he started toward the door, my fears fighting with the knowledge that he’d wanted to spend the evening with me and he didn’t even know me. It was kind of...romantic.
“Okay,” I said, blurting it out before he reached the door. “You can stay. I - I’m sorry for being paranoid.”
He slowly turned around, a slightly hopeful expression on his handsome face. Man, he was good looking!
“You’ll give me a chance?” His voice was lower as he started back toward me, a light in his eyes that made me somewhat uneasy again. “I can’t believe it. Most girls wouldn’t give me the time of day after this.”
I blinked. He’d tried this before? “Um,”
He made a face. “I don’t mean this,” he said, waving a hand at my apartment and the burning candle (which was really starting to smell wonderfully of apples and cinnamon with a bit of pine thrown in). “I mean, I usually end up with girls dumping me. My family jokes that I’m the one-date wonder.”
I stared at him, feeling a little dismayed at the admission. What was wrong with him that girls wouldn’t go out again? He seemed normal and very good looking to me...
He sighed. “Man, this is not going anything like I’d hoped. Can I start again?”
I giggled. “You mean, at the door?”
“Please?” His eyes pleaded with me, and my stomach was suddenly full of butterflies.
“Okay.” We walked back to the door and he went out, closing it behind him.
I waited a few seconds, thinking he’d knock right away, but it was a good minute before I heard the doorbell ring. Okay...
“Who is it?” I asked through the door, deciding it could possibly be a neighbor and he’d taken off.
“Delivery boy.”
I opened the door ready to give him a bad time, to see him holding a sprig of mistle toe over his head.
“Uh, delivery boy?” I asked, raising my eyebrows.
“I’m Santa’s Helper,” He said, with a determined tone as he stepped near. “Santa sent me. He said you needed a Christmas Kiss.”
Before I could even form a thought, he was pulling me close, kissing me with a gentleness that blotted out any other feeling. Oh my!
He slowly pulled back and looked down at me with a satisfied expression, his eyes warm. “Merry Christmas, Bridget.”
I gulped. “M-merry Christmas, uh, Mark.”
I put a hand to my throbbing lips, wondering what to think. What now?
He smiled, slowly releasing me. “I hear there’s a party tonight.”
I giggled, feeling silly repeating everything – especially after that kiss. “I don’t know, I haven’t been able to call anyone to come.”
“Do you want anyone else to come?” he asked, his face hopeful as he gazed at me, those blue eyes still warm and lingering.
“Only you,” I found myself telling him, holding the door wide, the last verse of the Mariah Carey song playing in my head.
“Oh I don't want a lot for Christmas
This is all I'm asking for
I just want to see my baby
Standing right outside my door “
Wait till Janet heard about Christmas Eve, she was never going to believe me, but I decided Santa worked in strange ways as I shut the door.
32 Satan is Bringing me Little Pieces of Coal this Year
It takes a lot to surprise me and even more to leave me speechless. I can honestly tell you ‘silent stupor’ is written across my forehead and I’ve been scratching my head trying to remove it and establish reason to what I have just witnessed. Where do I begin this story…I’m not sure when the events started; surely it must have started months ago…for this monumental feat to have occurred we are talking arduous timing, careful coordination, clandestine maneuvers, sheer determination, and outright fearlessness.
For those of you that didn’t know; Chris & I bought a 100 year old house give or take 2 years ago; moved in with our growing German Shepherd puppy named Mowgli, and knew from the get go our kitchen needed a remodel. With lots of help we ripped out old cabinets, refinished the hard wood floor, squirted insulation in all the crevices, heaved granite onto lopsided surfaces, and finally got a dishwasher to match our other stainless steel appliances. Why am I telling you about our kitchen?…because that is where the events leading up tonight have been secretly taking place.
Chris is finishing up her night float month; which means tonight was her last night to go into work at 8 PM and admit all the kiddos until 8 AM the next morning. At which point she drives aimlessly home, drops all of her medical accoutrements on the table, walks up the stairs eyes half closed, and crawls into bed for her daylight zombie hibernation. From all the zombie movies I’ve seen and observing my wife during the past month; I can tell you that without a shadow of a doubt: Zombies do not cook.
Barbeque Chicken pizza has got to be the most savory (Chris’ favorite word) and easiest meals to prepare; especially when your freezer is stocked with the CPK variety. My growling stomach was telling me it was time to scavenge some food; luckily Mowgli was volunteering his help. While licking his lips and shadowing my every move, knowing he would likely inherit at least one piece of crust, he escorted me to the freezer and guarded the care package to the stove while I set the oven for 375 degrees.
Being environmentally friendly and neighbor sleep cycle conscious I slipped on my shoes and hauled the clunkity clunk wobbly loud blue recycle container out to the street prior to my elderly neighbor’s bedtime. Upon my return from the silent street I could smell someone burning garbage? Maybe manure? Maybe a live cow? Those were my best guesses anyways. Just as I got to the back door the wintery silence was broken: Meeeep!! Meeeep!!! Meeeep!!!! I opened the door and a plume of black smoke billowed past all of my sensory organs. Apparently I was the one who had lit the filthy bovine on fire.
Mowgli was the first to greet me with a frantic slightly guilty look on his face. I made my way into the kitchen in search of flames, but found only an angry oven with dark smoke coming from behind, beneath, and around it; even through the front glass window. What’s the first thing you do when you see smoke? Drop to your knees crawl to safety? Grab your loved ones? I suppose you don’t really know what you’d do until faced with that situation. Well, I rescued the pizza off the top of the stove and headed for the back door. You’re probably thinking what about the sleeping zombie upstairs? Well to my credit I yelled her name on the way to open the back door.
After setting the soot stained pizza down outside, I returned to the action brandishing my childhood Boy Scout valor, or should I say pyromania mindset, and opened the oven. “Wooosh! Vwoooom!” said the oxygen deprived flames. Singed and rattled by my most recent move I released the handle and the oven door slammed shut containing Hell’s fury. Having inhaled plenty I shut the oven off, and tried to remember where the fire extinguisher was as I opened all the outside doors to let the noxious cloud escape into the night.
I’m not sure what finally woke Chris up: the smoke alarms, the suffocating air, or the offensive odor. Coughing and tiredly stretching my name out, “Wyaaaatttt?” she made her way down the stairs, Mowgli met her in a frenzy, I think to tattle on me. With my dinner plans now ruined and the frigid Massachusetts winter air rushing in the detective work was about to begin.
“What did you do? What did you burn?” she asked.
“What did you spill in the oven?” I replied.
“Nothing!”
“Did the turkey drip out of the pan?” (Thanksgiving in mind)
“No, it was a huge pan.”
Skeptical about lack of spillage, I started opening windows, and Chris headed back upstairs to get ready for her last night shift. Mowgli sauntered around the living room chasing his tennis ball as if nothing had happened. My breath in sight, I outfitted myself with a hat and gloves and set up some fans to clear the air and disarmed the caterwauling (my favorite word) smoke detectors. Soon Chris had grabbed her things, we said goodbye, and she walked out the open door into an equilibrated environment. The last thing she said to me, “We need a new oven.”
Now I’m no fire marshal, but for there to be that much smoke, and having my eyebrows witness the fire first hand, I was fairly convinced some sort of “fuel” was to blame. I garnered a flashlight and set out to find the culprit. The oven air space now cleared; I could see nothing, no sticky residue, no smoldering carcass, no leaking jet fuel, no rubber tires, nothing.
Time to dig deeper, I reached for the pink toolbox (yes we have a pink set of tools-it was free so no judging), and began to dismantle the oven floor. Half dozen bolts later, I jimmied out the flat metal plate, and to my amazement: dark steaming rocks and hundreds of them. Small, round, flat, maybe 1 centimeter in diameter black rocks, pebbles, stones whatever you want to call them. Each rock is laid-out, side by side perfectly spaced. That’s strange I thought; why are there rocks in the bottom of an oven? This being the first time I’ve been in the underbelly of an oven, I started pondering their function.
My brain starts storming: ((( Maybe they are like ceramic stones that hold heat? Perhaps they help with convection and speed baking times? Is this what keeps the warming drawer warm? Is this some sort of insulation? Little permanent pieces of coal that help power the oven? ))) I pick one up and try to break it; it’s solid; it feels like a piece of brick. Stumped and bewildered I do what I normally do when I have a question, I consult Google.
Search Box: “Little black rocks in your oven” “black warming rocks in stove” “Why does my oven have rocks in it?” Those Google scientists are totally useless; they couldn’t give me one good answer. I’m thinking how is it that no one has ever asked this question before? Why in the hell is my oven the only one with rocks? I think myself as a resourceful individual; why not ask the oxy Moron who put them there and then put the words “Frigid Air” on the front of the oven. I Googled Frigidaire’s headquarters contact info and dialed with haste.
(15 minutes later after holding on the phone staring at my oven rocks)
“Good evening, may I have your name please?” -Wyatt
“When did you purchase your appliance sir?” (fearing my warranty had expired and therefore maybe not getting the help I need…..I lie.) -Uhhhh maybe 10 months ago?
“Ok sir, how can I help you?” -My oven caught on fire…I took it apart…and now I’m staring at rocks…can you tell me what their function is?
“Rocks? What do you mean sir?” –Beneath the oven floor there are hundreds of little round rocks
“What is the model number for the oven?”…. “you said it caught on fire?” ………
“Um sir let me put you on hold for a minute”….
(Another 5 minutes pass and I notice I’m shivering and Mowgli has cool steam coming from his nose and around the tennis ball fixed in his mouth)
“Sir I’ve discussed this with my supervisor and their shouldn’t be rocks in your oven”
“Let me give you the number for the closest appliance repair service, can I have your zip code?”
Phone numbers obtained; I’m now freezing my tail off and no closer to solving the mystery.
“Would you like to complete a customer survey tonight?” –Um I don’t have time; I have to deal with these rocks in my oven.
At this point I close the doors and windows. Mowgli signals to me he is hungry by going to his empty dish and giving me a suffering puppy dog look over his left shoulder. I pick up his dish and go to the ‘feed barrel” on the back porch and scoop his bowl full and go back into the light of the kitchen. My eyes happen to glance into the dog bowl as I’m motioning it to the floor. I stop, half-stooped over, and bring the bowl closer to my face for a better inspection; Mowgli’s hunger will have to wait.
I take his food to the oven, it doesn’t need to be warmed; it needs a side by side comparison to my black oven rocks. Peculiarly they are the same size, same shape, even about the same number-a big dog bowl full of oven rocks: but not the same color. I think I have a near match; in appearance anyways, but it still makes no sense?
Literally in my head I’m thinking:
“Why would the previous home owners have spilled dog food in their oven?”
“Judy, a friend (who house/dog sat for us 2 weeks ago), surely she doesn’t cook some sort of casserole with dog food?”
“Did Mowgli barf in the oven?”
Google, Frigidaire, and my own appliance knowledge have hit a brick wall of black rocks: so I call my Dad-a man’s man he’ll know: Damn it’s busy. Hmmm I’ll call up Chris’ Dad, he’s handy, remodeled houses; He has probably taken apart a stove at least once in his life. I take some pictures of the rocks and their symmetrical layout, I’m still not certain what their origin or composition is, and I send them to his email.
“Maybe it’s vermiculite” he says. I’m no geologist, but that sounds like some sort of rock. “It’s used for insulation” Our discussion continues and I half jokingly suggest it looks like burnt petrified dog food. The think tank session shifts and he suggests that we may have a rat, a squirrel, or mouse hoarding food. I’m starting to believe it but still can’t quite grasp the magnitude of what this all means. We say our goodbyes and I set to removing the extrinsic black rocks from the stove (Now that I am 99% certain they don’t belong)
Mowgli is now chomping down his food. The oven now back to its original factory form and the pink tool set put away, I turn on the oven for a test run. As it is warming up, slowly nearing that earlier critical temperature, I’m left with so many questions and thoughts:
1. Rat’s don’t live in Springfield? Do they?
2. Squirrels run in fear of Mowgli, how would they get in our house? And surely they can’t fit beneath the oven floor.
3. A mouse could fit; How long would it take a mouse to amass that much food?
4. That is one organized geometrically founded mouse, those rows of dog food are near perfect alignment. How could a mouse be more organized than me?
5. Has this mouse really figured out how to harness natural gas technology to warm his every meal during the winter months?
6. Do I want to kill a genius mouse? Can I trap him alive, and test his mathematical skills? Is it worth my house catching on fire?-maybe
7. 300+ pieces of dog food: 12 feet from Mowgli’s dog bowl: What is the ground speed velocity of an unladen mouse, let alone a laden one.
8. How does a mouse carry a dog food pellet? In it’s mouth? Can mice dislocate their jaws like snakes?
9. This mouse must have done it in the dead of night; why have I not seen any mouse poop on the floor between the dogs dish and the stove? Does this mouse not poop?
10. Maybe this explains why Mowgli is so skinny? His food is repeatedly stolen.
11. Has all my food lately been coated with dog food grease: Don’t they put dead horses in dog food? Does that mean I can say I’ve eaten horse?
12. Maybe this is why all my poker buddies rave about my brownies?
Conclusion: I have a nocturnal calculating genius mouse; who lives beneath open flames; who steals from starving puppies; who does not defecate; and most recently, tried to light my house on fire. What shall we call this demon? How about ‘Satan’? Satan the mouse.
BEEEEEEEEEEEP! We’ve reached 375 degrees. No smoke. No fire. No pungent smell. All is back to normal in the Rivas oven. Time for some BBQ chicken pizza, actually let’s postpone that. The oven needs to run a few cleaning cycles first.
Have a happy holiday; and remember ovens don’t come with little black rocks, Google doesn’t have the answer to everything, and if you are ever in need of a signal fire-use Eukanuba dog food.
For those of you that didn’t know; Chris & I bought a 100 year old house give or take 2 years ago; moved in with our growing German Shepherd puppy named Mowgli, and knew from the get go our kitchen needed a remodel. With lots of help we ripped out old cabinets, refinished the hard wood floor, squirted insulation in all the crevices, heaved granite onto lopsided surfaces, and finally got a dishwasher to match our other stainless steel appliances. Why am I telling you about our kitchen?…because that is where the events leading up tonight have been secretly taking place.
Chris is finishing up her night float month; which means tonight was her last night to go into work at 8 PM and admit all the kiddos until 8 AM the next morning. At which point she drives aimlessly home, drops all of her medical accoutrements on the table, walks up the stairs eyes half closed, and crawls into bed for her daylight zombie hibernation. From all the zombie movies I’ve seen and observing my wife during the past month; I can tell you that without a shadow of a doubt: Zombies do not cook.
Barbeque Chicken pizza has got to be the most savory (Chris’ favorite word) and easiest meals to prepare; especially when your freezer is stocked with the CPK variety. My growling stomach was telling me it was time to scavenge some food; luckily Mowgli was volunteering his help. While licking his lips and shadowing my every move, knowing he would likely inherit at least one piece of crust, he escorted me to the freezer and guarded the care package to the stove while I set the oven for 375 degrees.
Being environmentally friendly and neighbor sleep cycle conscious I slipped on my shoes and hauled the clunkity clunk wobbly loud blue recycle container out to the street prior to my elderly neighbor’s bedtime. Upon my return from the silent street I could smell someone burning garbage? Maybe manure? Maybe a live cow? Those were my best guesses anyways. Just as I got to the back door the wintery silence was broken: Meeeep!! Meeeep!!! Meeeep!!!! I opened the door and a plume of black smoke billowed past all of my sensory organs. Apparently I was the one who had lit the filthy bovine on fire.
Mowgli was the first to greet me with a frantic slightly guilty look on his face. I made my way into the kitchen in search of flames, but found only an angry oven with dark smoke coming from behind, beneath, and around it; even through the front glass window. What’s the first thing you do when you see smoke? Drop to your knees crawl to safety? Grab your loved ones? I suppose you don’t really know what you’d do until faced with that situation. Well, I rescued the pizza off the top of the stove and headed for the back door. You’re probably thinking what about the sleeping zombie upstairs? Well to my credit I yelled her name on the way to open the back door.
After setting the soot stained pizza down outside, I returned to the action brandishing my childhood Boy Scout valor, or should I say pyromania mindset, and opened the oven. “Wooosh! Vwoooom!” said the oxygen deprived flames. Singed and rattled by my most recent move I released the handle and the oven door slammed shut containing Hell’s fury. Having inhaled plenty I shut the oven off, and tried to remember where the fire extinguisher was as I opened all the outside doors to let the noxious cloud escape into the night.
I’m not sure what finally woke Chris up: the smoke alarms, the suffocating air, or the offensive odor. Coughing and tiredly stretching my name out, “Wyaaaatttt?” she made her way down the stairs, Mowgli met her in a frenzy, I think to tattle on me. With my dinner plans now ruined and the frigid Massachusetts winter air rushing in the detective work was about to begin.
“What did you do? What did you burn?” she asked.
“What did you spill in the oven?” I replied.
“Nothing!”
“Did the turkey drip out of the pan?” (Thanksgiving in mind)
“No, it was a huge pan.”
Skeptical about lack of spillage, I started opening windows, and Chris headed back upstairs to get ready for her last night shift. Mowgli sauntered around the living room chasing his tennis ball as if nothing had happened. My breath in sight, I outfitted myself with a hat and gloves and set up some fans to clear the air and disarmed the caterwauling (my favorite word) smoke detectors. Soon Chris had grabbed her things, we said goodbye, and she walked out the open door into an equilibrated environment. The last thing she said to me, “We need a new oven.”
Now I’m no fire marshal, but for there to be that much smoke, and having my eyebrows witness the fire first hand, I was fairly convinced some sort of “fuel” was to blame. I garnered a flashlight and set out to find the culprit. The oven air space now cleared; I could see nothing, no sticky residue, no smoldering carcass, no leaking jet fuel, no rubber tires, nothing.
Time to dig deeper, I reached for the pink toolbox (yes we have a pink set of tools-it was free so no judging), and began to dismantle the oven floor. Half dozen bolts later, I jimmied out the flat metal plate, and to my amazement: dark steaming rocks and hundreds of them. Small, round, flat, maybe 1 centimeter in diameter black rocks, pebbles, stones whatever you want to call them. Each rock is laid-out, side by side perfectly spaced. That’s strange I thought; why are there rocks in the bottom of an oven? This being the first time I’ve been in the underbelly of an oven, I started pondering their function.
My brain starts storming: ((( Maybe they are like ceramic stones that hold heat? Perhaps they help with convection and speed baking times? Is this what keeps the warming drawer warm? Is this some sort of insulation? Little permanent pieces of coal that help power the oven? ))) I pick one up and try to break it; it’s solid; it feels like a piece of brick. Stumped and bewildered I do what I normally do when I have a question, I consult Google.
Search Box: “Little black rocks in your oven” “black warming rocks in stove” “Why does my oven have rocks in it?” Those Google scientists are totally useless; they couldn’t give me one good answer. I’m thinking how is it that no one has ever asked this question before? Why in the hell is my oven the only one with rocks? I think myself as a resourceful individual; why not ask the oxy Moron who put them there and then put the words “Frigid Air” on the front of the oven. I Googled Frigidaire’s headquarters contact info and dialed with haste.
(15 minutes later after holding on the phone staring at my oven rocks)
“Good evening, may I have your name please?” -Wyatt
“When did you purchase your appliance sir?” (fearing my warranty had expired and therefore maybe not getting the help I need…..I lie.) -Uhhhh maybe 10 months ago?
“Ok sir, how can I help you?” -My oven caught on fire…I took it apart…and now I’m staring at rocks…can you tell me what their function is?
“Rocks? What do you mean sir?” –Beneath the oven floor there are hundreds of little round rocks
“What is the model number for the oven?”…. “you said it caught on fire?” ………
“Um sir let me put you on hold for a minute”….
(Another 5 minutes pass and I notice I’m shivering and Mowgli has cool steam coming from his nose and around the tennis ball fixed in his mouth)
“Sir I’ve discussed this with my supervisor and their shouldn’t be rocks in your oven”
“Let me give you the number for the closest appliance repair service, can I have your zip code?”
Phone numbers obtained; I’m now freezing my tail off and no closer to solving the mystery.
“Would you like to complete a customer survey tonight?” –Um I don’t have time; I have to deal with these rocks in my oven.
At this point I close the doors and windows. Mowgli signals to me he is hungry by going to his empty dish and giving me a suffering puppy dog look over his left shoulder. I pick up his dish and go to the ‘feed barrel” on the back porch and scoop his bowl full and go back into the light of the kitchen. My eyes happen to glance into the dog bowl as I’m motioning it to the floor. I stop, half-stooped over, and bring the bowl closer to my face for a better inspection; Mowgli’s hunger will have to wait.
I take his food to the oven, it doesn’t need to be warmed; it needs a side by side comparison to my black oven rocks. Peculiarly they are the same size, same shape, even about the same number-a big dog bowl full of oven rocks: but not the same color. I think I have a near match; in appearance anyways, but it still makes no sense?
Literally in my head I’m thinking:
“Why would the previous home owners have spilled dog food in their oven?”
“Judy, a friend (who house/dog sat for us 2 weeks ago), surely she doesn’t cook some sort of casserole with dog food?”
“Did Mowgli barf in the oven?”
Google, Frigidaire, and my own appliance knowledge have hit a brick wall of black rocks: so I call my Dad-a man’s man he’ll know: Damn it’s busy. Hmmm I’ll call up Chris’ Dad, he’s handy, remodeled houses; He has probably taken apart a stove at least once in his life. I take some pictures of the rocks and their symmetrical layout, I’m still not certain what their origin or composition is, and I send them to his email.
“Maybe it’s vermiculite” he says. I’m no geologist, but that sounds like some sort of rock. “It’s used for insulation” Our discussion continues and I half jokingly suggest it looks like burnt petrified dog food. The think tank session shifts and he suggests that we may have a rat, a squirrel, or mouse hoarding food. I’m starting to believe it but still can’t quite grasp the magnitude of what this all means. We say our goodbyes and I set to removing the extrinsic black rocks from the stove (Now that I am 99% certain they don’t belong)
Mowgli is now chomping down his food. The oven now back to its original factory form and the pink tool set put away, I turn on the oven for a test run. As it is warming up, slowly nearing that earlier critical temperature, I’m left with so many questions and thoughts:
1. Rat’s don’t live in Springfield? Do they?
2. Squirrels run in fear of Mowgli, how would they get in our house? And surely they can’t fit beneath the oven floor.
3. A mouse could fit; How long would it take a mouse to amass that much food?
4. That is one organized geometrically founded mouse, those rows of dog food are near perfect alignment. How could a mouse be more organized than me?
5. Has this mouse really figured out how to harness natural gas technology to warm his every meal during the winter months?
6. Do I want to kill a genius mouse? Can I trap him alive, and test his mathematical skills? Is it worth my house catching on fire?-maybe
7. 300+ pieces of dog food: 12 feet from Mowgli’s dog bowl: What is the ground speed velocity of an unladen mouse, let alone a laden one.
8. How does a mouse carry a dog food pellet? In it’s mouth? Can mice dislocate their jaws like snakes?
9. This mouse must have done it in the dead of night; why have I not seen any mouse poop on the floor between the dogs dish and the stove? Does this mouse not poop?
10. Maybe this explains why Mowgli is so skinny? His food is repeatedly stolen.
11. Has all my food lately been coated with dog food grease: Don’t they put dead horses in dog food? Does that mean I can say I’ve eaten horse?
12. Maybe this is why all my poker buddies rave about my brownies?
Conclusion: I have a nocturnal calculating genius mouse; who lives beneath open flames; who steals from starving puppies; who does not defecate; and most recently, tried to light my house on fire. What shall we call this demon? How about ‘Satan’? Satan the mouse.
BEEEEEEEEEEEP! We’ve reached 375 degrees. No smoke. No fire. No pungent smell. All is back to normal in the Rivas oven. Time for some BBQ chicken pizza, actually let’s postpone that. The oven needs to run a few cleaning cycles first.
Have a happy holiday; and remember ovens don’t come with little black rocks, Google doesn’t have the answer to everything, and if you are ever in need of a signal fire-use Eukanuba dog food.
12/17/10
31 The Book of Zev
The Book of Zev
An Irreverent Recount of the Journey to Bethlehem
By Zev
I, Zev, the son of Yaw who was begotten by Zot the son of Tev whose great-greatgreat-great-great-great-great...... great-great... uh... great grandmother was the servant of Balaam and first among our kind to see the angel of the Lord and speak the tongue of man whilst Balaam smote her.
So all the generations from Zev unto the smiting of Balaam’s ass were sixteen generations.
And I, Zev, having been born of goodly parents and therefore trained in all the labours of my fathers, yet seeing many great and wonderous things in the number of my long days, heretofore set forth to create a record of those proceedings.
Yea, I establish this record in the tongue of my fathers—HEE HAW—in which I bore a young woman, great with child, to a lowly manger far away from our home in Galilee.
And I bear witness to this record as it brings much truth, and I make it according to my knowledge.
For it came to pass, long ago in Nazareth (which was in Galilee) that I was in the service of a simple carpenter, who was gentle and stalwart in nature, and his betrothed whose father I had also served...
And it came to pass that a decree went forth across the lands, by order of Ceasar, that all men should return to their Fathers’ houses to be taxed.
So I, Zev, was burdened and laden with the great weight of all the supplies for this perilous journey and tethered whilst the Carpenter placed my waddling, rotund mistress also upon my back.
Notwitholding the hour of the day, we started through the streets of Nazareth, busy with the bustling about, to and fro, of many wonderous people and goods, which did cause me to gawk, though I had crossed this square many times before. The Carpenter did tug hardily upon my rope, despite my steady plodding, to which I withheld the expression of my displeasure, and into the countryside we did go.
Spring had stretched upon us mildly this year. The sun lay over us and though it offered some warmth, my bones still protested against the chill in the air. They moved stiffly at first, like dead branches in a winter breeze. Yet I kept on, diligent in my servitude, even though the weight upon my back seemed to wax heavier by the hour.
Yet not withstanding, I remained constant and true, a worthy mount even for a king. Imagine thus—a king upon my back wreathed in glory and many sundry sparkly trinkets tinkling about me. And I, Zev, would be Lord of the Asses, and I would carry Him proudly hitherto and fro.
Ah, alas, would it be so. But no. Here I was, indentured to a carpenter and my mistress, barely past girlhood and already heavy with child. Oh so heavy, as my back reminded me now, and my legs ached from the walking. Why was it my task to carry her forth?
I had heard people speak slander against her condition. Twas not my fault then Carpenter tied me nigh the market whilst he loaded my back with an order for delivery. How was I to avoid overhearing such language with the great long ears the Lord had blessed I and my kindred with? If it was not to overhear, nay eavesdrop a little, than what purpose did they serve sitting upon my head and flopping about?
Now it was not my place to judge my mistress, who did weigh greatly upon my back, for dearly, dearly did I love her, and indeed she had stood by my side all the days of my own youth, and foreasmuch I should serve her likewise, despite the slanderous things I had heard. For surely I would be rewarded for such loyalty, and be borne away to a better life and become Zev, Lord of the Asses! In which kings would fawn over my greatness and feed me sweet clover.
Now it came to pass that I did see sweet clover by the wayside of the road, and delighted in partaking, but the Carpenter did prod me onward, scolding me for my slowness. But my stomach did rumble and quell in a manner befitting a hungry beast. On and on we did go, pushing the limits of all our strengths. Did this man have no concept of supper?
Finally my mistress did make her own weariness beknownst to him, much to my relief, and noted that we should forebare my own welfare, to keep it in mind that we might make it to a land called Bethlehem. Twas nigh unto the Hill Country of Judah, home to the house of my mistress’s cousin which we had visited many years before. I knew the way, yea I could find it with my eyes closed—for that is how I had come by it before, at the hand of my mistress’s father and half asleep all the while.
Yea, I could fly there, if it were not for my mistress’s great weight and delicate condition. But now that she no longer burdened my sore and aching back, I could fly. Aye. Even with wings betwixt my hooves like unto the myths of the cloven hoofed swine kind. Ah, were it the day! Then, then even, the bovine would come home.
When darkness fell upon us, The Carpenter did pitch a light camp and built a warming fire, and we circled round about it. I listened as they spoke of their coming child. Mistress, young as she was, seemed comforted by the fact that her carpenter had raised three grown sons of his own, being the elder that he was. Yet I could sense a trembling in the air inherent of all new and nervous parents.
The Carpenter broke camp before the break of dawn and I, while not fully rested, was once again burdened with the great weight of my round mistress. We continued on our way in the darkness, passing others on the high road, who also were journeying to be taxed. The Carpenter made his way toward the house of his fathers in the south. We continued this way until the many days turned too hot to journey by the sunlight, and began making our way at night instead.
Once we were waylaid by brigands, to which end I did dart into the woods with my mistress, despite my aching joints and weariness. The Carpenter found us in the morning by a little running stream with Mistress safely at my feet, to which end The Carpenter did reprimand me profusely for not only being a coward, but a danger to my mistress!
Perish the thought that I, Zev, Lord of the Asses, even, should ever be a danger to my mistress. And a coward… okay, perhaps a bit of a coward, but my belly was not yellow, and I was not stupid, nor was I any other thing The Carpenter chose to accuse me of being. I mean, the fat-rumped girl… er… my sweet mistress, was safe, was she not?
As she was placed upon my back, I let this Carpenter have an ear full of what I thought about the situation and that he was making many assumptions in which he was not entitled to by my account, and we all know what it happens when we just ASS-UME, don’t we?
Despite my discontent in the matters, The Carpenter chose to ignore my choice of words, yet I did not give up on my cause and found many assundry ways to express my feelings the rest of the way. For I was Zev, Lord of the Asses, and son of Yaw who was begotten by Zot the son of Tev whose great-great-great-great-great-great-great… well you get the idea. This man was just a Carpenter, and I refused to be treated thusly.
It went on like this many days henceforth, that I murmured and protested all of these things to my great displeasure, until we entered Bethlehem, a city of David. O little town of Bethlehem, how still I see thee lie. Above thy deep and dreamfilled sleep, we silent stars go by.
Such thoughts perplexed my mind as hopes and fears of finding, or not finding, a place of restitute waxed strongly on my confidence. Yet suddenly a great cry arose from my Mistress and was met with the very thunder of threatening storm clouds.
The Carpenter, in great concern, sought out the inn, to which extend the innkeeper refused us. The Carpenter begged and bartered as my mistress let out another cry which did split my very ears. I protested at the pain of it, to which the innkeeper took notice of me.
Lo, you may enter, save for your donkey. For I shall have him, sayeth the innkeeper.
Nay, said The Carpenter, I shall not be parted from this beast. Forasmuch of a burden he is unto me, he is also a boone, and all the riches of Solomon could not buy him from me.
Finally, I received a little respect! It was about time. The innkeeper seemed oddly enough impressed, and took pity on us, that he led us to a secret place that was little more than a lean-to, resting under a great rock. It was cave like and did smell of fowl animals.
The cries of my mistress grew louder and I saw her face draw with pain as The Carpenter laid her on his mantel, spread upon the ground.
I watched in great astonishment what came to pass as my mistress travaileth, and her cries were so tumultuous that even the fowl animals flittered about on wing. It was a noise so great I had only formerly thought the ass kind could exceed it. Yea, even the bovine lowed at the pitch in their ears, while the fowl animals continued to be frightened on wing.
I, however, withdrew myself to a dark corner, nigh a watering troth, for I could not bear to see my mistress in such throws of agony.
Only moments later was the tempest outside quieted as a new voice was ushered into our tiny manger.
I figured my mistress was no longer great with child at this heralding, and finally we would have some peace and rest. I had looked forward to this time of respite nigh unto a fortnight!
After I had retired to the place where I had previously designed to go, having looked round about me and finding myself alone, I bowed my head and offered the desires of my heart up unto the Lord.
It would be nice, Lord, to have some sweet, dewey clover, and to really be Lord over all ass kind. For I, Zev, son of Yaw who was begotten by Zot the son of Tev whose great-great-great-great-great-great-great...... great-great... uh... great grandmother was the servant of Balaam, have served selflessly and with honor, have I not?
At this moment, and to my great alarm, I saw a pillar of light exactly over my head, above the brightness of the mid-day sun, which descended gradually and fell upon me. I saw a personage whose brightness and glory exceeded that of all my own aspirations, and it called me by name.
“Zev, thou ungrateful sot, realize not the precious cargo thou hast borne into Bethlehem?”
“Is that thee, Lord? Why hast thou visited me, of all creatures, this very night? I am weary from carrying this oversized girl all of these days, and do long for the delights of my supper.”
“Look, see, Zev, the creator of this world, the saviour of mankind, there in the arms of the woman thou hast carried this long fortnight. Behold my son, and all the while thou hast murmured and not withheld thy malcontent. Because of this, I shall punish you. Henceforth thou and thy posterity will bear the burden of my Son all the days of thy ungrateful life.”
And when the light faded, I dropped my head to the waters of the trough before me and was astounded to see how my countenance had changed. There across my back was the shadow of a great cross. Upon my legs were bars, like unto nails. And a shadow of a crown of thorns appeared betwixt my eyes.
I gazed across the manger at my mistress, her Carpenter, and the babe in their arms, who had always loved and cared for me, and realized how foolish and ungrateful I had been. Surely now I was Lord of the Asses.
Now, as I look back across the years, I know how vain I have been. And again I bear witness to this record as it brings much truth, and I make it according to my knowledge, that all who will hear my message may receive it.
It’s not having what you want, it’s wanting what you already have. Please count your many blessings, one by one. Count your shelter, food, freedom, and loved ones twice, and you will realize how great a bounty our Lord has blessed you with. Often it is more than most others have, as I have come to realize.
And when it comes to pass that you gather with your loved ones to celebrate the birth of my Master, even the Lord, Jesus Christ, and you rush to open all the gifts you had to have, think of me, and how I, through my slothful and ungrateful ways, got exactly what I wished for—to be Zev, the foolish Lord of all Asses.
An Irreverent Recount of the Journey to Bethlehem
By Zev
I, Zev, the son of Yaw who was begotten by Zot the son of Tev whose great-greatgreat-great-great-great-great...... great-great... uh... great grandmother was the servant of Balaam and first among our kind to see the angel of the Lord and speak the tongue of man whilst Balaam smote her.
So all the generations from Zev unto the smiting of Balaam’s ass were sixteen generations.
And I, Zev, having been born of goodly parents and therefore trained in all the labours of my fathers, yet seeing many great and wonderous things in the number of my long days, heretofore set forth to create a record of those proceedings.
Yea, I establish this record in the tongue of my fathers—HEE HAW—in which I bore a young woman, great with child, to a lowly manger far away from our home in Galilee.
And I bear witness to this record as it brings much truth, and I make it according to my knowledge.
For it came to pass, long ago in Nazareth (which was in Galilee) that I was in the service of a simple carpenter, who was gentle and stalwart in nature, and his betrothed whose father I had also served...
And it came to pass that a decree went forth across the lands, by order of Ceasar, that all men should return to their Fathers’ houses to be taxed.
So I, Zev, was burdened and laden with the great weight of all the supplies for this perilous journey and tethered whilst the Carpenter placed my waddling, rotund mistress also upon my back.
Notwitholding the hour of the day, we started through the streets of Nazareth, busy with the bustling about, to and fro, of many wonderous people and goods, which did cause me to gawk, though I had crossed this square many times before. The Carpenter did tug hardily upon my rope, despite my steady plodding, to which I withheld the expression of my displeasure, and into the countryside we did go.
Spring had stretched upon us mildly this year. The sun lay over us and though it offered some warmth, my bones still protested against the chill in the air. They moved stiffly at first, like dead branches in a winter breeze. Yet I kept on, diligent in my servitude, even though the weight upon my back seemed to wax heavier by the hour.
Yet not withstanding, I remained constant and true, a worthy mount even for a king. Imagine thus—a king upon my back wreathed in glory and many sundry sparkly trinkets tinkling about me. And I, Zev, would be Lord of the Asses, and I would carry Him proudly hitherto and fro.
Ah, alas, would it be so. But no. Here I was, indentured to a carpenter and my mistress, barely past girlhood and already heavy with child. Oh so heavy, as my back reminded me now, and my legs ached from the walking. Why was it my task to carry her forth?
I had heard people speak slander against her condition. Twas not my fault then Carpenter tied me nigh the market whilst he loaded my back with an order for delivery. How was I to avoid overhearing such language with the great long ears the Lord had blessed I and my kindred with? If it was not to overhear, nay eavesdrop a little, than what purpose did they serve sitting upon my head and flopping about?
Now it was not my place to judge my mistress, who did weigh greatly upon my back, for dearly, dearly did I love her, and indeed she had stood by my side all the days of my own youth, and foreasmuch I should serve her likewise, despite the slanderous things I had heard. For surely I would be rewarded for such loyalty, and be borne away to a better life and become Zev, Lord of the Asses! In which kings would fawn over my greatness and feed me sweet clover.
Now it came to pass that I did see sweet clover by the wayside of the road, and delighted in partaking, but the Carpenter did prod me onward, scolding me for my slowness. But my stomach did rumble and quell in a manner befitting a hungry beast. On and on we did go, pushing the limits of all our strengths. Did this man have no concept of supper?
Finally my mistress did make her own weariness beknownst to him, much to my relief, and noted that we should forebare my own welfare, to keep it in mind that we might make it to a land called Bethlehem. Twas nigh unto the Hill Country of Judah, home to the house of my mistress’s cousin which we had visited many years before. I knew the way, yea I could find it with my eyes closed—for that is how I had come by it before, at the hand of my mistress’s father and half asleep all the while.
Yea, I could fly there, if it were not for my mistress’s great weight and delicate condition. But now that she no longer burdened my sore and aching back, I could fly. Aye. Even with wings betwixt my hooves like unto the myths of the cloven hoofed swine kind. Ah, were it the day! Then, then even, the bovine would come home.
When darkness fell upon us, The Carpenter did pitch a light camp and built a warming fire, and we circled round about it. I listened as they spoke of their coming child. Mistress, young as she was, seemed comforted by the fact that her carpenter had raised three grown sons of his own, being the elder that he was. Yet I could sense a trembling in the air inherent of all new and nervous parents.
The Carpenter broke camp before the break of dawn and I, while not fully rested, was once again burdened with the great weight of my round mistress. We continued on our way in the darkness, passing others on the high road, who also were journeying to be taxed. The Carpenter made his way toward the house of his fathers in the south. We continued this way until the many days turned too hot to journey by the sunlight, and began making our way at night instead.
Once we were waylaid by brigands, to which end I did dart into the woods with my mistress, despite my aching joints and weariness. The Carpenter found us in the morning by a little running stream with Mistress safely at my feet, to which end The Carpenter did reprimand me profusely for not only being a coward, but a danger to my mistress!
Perish the thought that I, Zev, Lord of the Asses, even, should ever be a danger to my mistress. And a coward… okay, perhaps a bit of a coward, but my belly was not yellow, and I was not stupid, nor was I any other thing The Carpenter chose to accuse me of being. I mean, the fat-rumped girl… er… my sweet mistress, was safe, was she not?
As she was placed upon my back, I let this Carpenter have an ear full of what I thought about the situation and that he was making many assumptions in which he was not entitled to by my account, and we all know what it happens when we just ASS-UME, don’t we?
Despite my discontent in the matters, The Carpenter chose to ignore my choice of words, yet I did not give up on my cause and found many assundry ways to express my feelings the rest of the way. For I was Zev, Lord of the Asses, and son of Yaw who was begotten by Zot the son of Tev whose great-great-great-great-great-great-great… well you get the idea. This man was just a Carpenter, and I refused to be treated thusly.
It went on like this many days henceforth, that I murmured and protested all of these things to my great displeasure, until we entered Bethlehem, a city of David. O little town of Bethlehem, how still I see thee lie. Above thy deep and dreamfilled sleep, we silent stars go by.
Such thoughts perplexed my mind as hopes and fears of finding, or not finding, a place of restitute waxed strongly on my confidence. Yet suddenly a great cry arose from my Mistress and was met with the very thunder of threatening storm clouds.
The Carpenter, in great concern, sought out the inn, to which extend the innkeeper refused us. The Carpenter begged and bartered as my mistress let out another cry which did split my very ears. I protested at the pain of it, to which the innkeeper took notice of me.
Lo, you may enter, save for your donkey. For I shall have him, sayeth the innkeeper.
Nay, said The Carpenter, I shall not be parted from this beast. Forasmuch of a burden he is unto me, he is also a boone, and all the riches of Solomon could not buy him from me.
Finally, I received a little respect! It was about time. The innkeeper seemed oddly enough impressed, and took pity on us, that he led us to a secret place that was little more than a lean-to, resting under a great rock. It was cave like and did smell of fowl animals.
The cries of my mistress grew louder and I saw her face draw with pain as The Carpenter laid her on his mantel, spread upon the ground.
I watched in great astonishment what came to pass as my mistress travaileth, and her cries were so tumultuous that even the fowl animals flittered about on wing. It was a noise so great I had only formerly thought the ass kind could exceed it. Yea, even the bovine lowed at the pitch in their ears, while the fowl animals continued to be frightened on wing.
I, however, withdrew myself to a dark corner, nigh a watering troth, for I could not bear to see my mistress in such throws of agony.
Only moments later was the tempest outside quieted as a new voice was ushered into our tiny manger.
I figured my mistress was no longer great with child at this heralding, and finally we would have some peace and rest. I had looked forward to this time of respite nigh unto a fortnight!
After I had retired to the place where I had previously designed to go, having looked round about me and finding myself alone, I bowed my head and offered the desires of my heart up unto the Lord.
It would be nice, Lord, to have some sweet, dewey clover, and to really be Lord over all ass kind. For I, Zev, son of Yaw who was begotten by Zot the son of Tev whose great-great-great-great-great-great-great...... great-great... uh... great grandmother was the servant of Balaam, have served selflessly and with honor, have I not?
At this moment, and to my great alarm, I saw a pillar of light exactly over my head, above the brightness of the mid-day sun, which descended gradually and fell upon me. I saw a personage whose brightness and glory exceeded that of all my own aspirations, and it called me by name.
“Zev, thou ungrateful sot, realize not the precious cargo thou hast borne into Bethlehem?”
“Is that thee, Lord? Why hast thou visited me, of all creatures, this very night? I am weary from carrying this oversized girl all of these days, and do long for the delights of my supper.”
“Look, see, Zev, the creator of this world, the saviour of mankind, there in the arms of the woman thou hast carried this long fortnight. Behold my son, and all the while thou hast murmured and not withheld thy malcontent. Because of this, I shall punish you. Henceforth thou and thy posterity will bear the burden of my Son all the days of thy ungrateful life.”
And when the light faded, I dropped my head to the waters of the trough before me and was astounded to see how my countenance had changed. There across my back was the shadow of a great cross. Upon my legs were bars, like unto nails. And a shadow of a crown of thorns appeared betwixt my eyes.
I gazed across the manger at my mistress, her Carpenter, and the babe in their arms, who had always loved and cared for me, and realized how foolish and ungrateful I had been. Surely now I was Lord of the Asses.
Now, as I look back across the years, I know how vain I have been. And again I bear witness to this record as it brings much truth, and I make it according to my knowledge, that all who will hear my message may receive it.
It’s not having what you want, it’s wanting what you already have. Please count your many blessings, one by one. Count your shelter, food, freedom, and loved ones twice, and you will realize how great a bounty our Lord has blessed you with. Often it is more than most others have, as I have come to realize.
And when it comes to pass that you gather with your loved ones to celebrate the birth of my Master, even the Lord, Jesus Christ, and you rush to open all the gifts you had to have, think of me, and how I, through my slothful and ungrateful ways, got exactly what I wished for—to be Zev, the foolish Lord of all Asses.
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