The Day After Christmas: Part VIII

… Emily looked at Emma. “Can you believe they’re organizing a charity? That’s amazing.”
“Not really amazing, Emily. It’s just another of those lessons in life. Our challenges do not define us, but how we face them does.”
Emily nodded. “I’m learning, I have much to learn….”


Part VIII: Need in the Midst of Abundance

“Let’s try something different. Let’s go to one of those places where the Christmas spirit is in decline. It might be a useful comparison.”

“That’s brilliant, Emma. Data comparison and using what appear to be conflicting data points can be very…” Emily looked at Emma, who was giving her the same look Santa did when she went off on her technical explanations. “Sorry.”

“No worries, my dear. You’re enthusiastic about your job. That’s why I had Santa assign you there.”

“You picked me for the job?”

Emma smiled. “Remember what I said, Santa is the public face of Christmas. He’s the Ho Ho Ho and delivering presents guy. We’re the brains behind the operation.”

Emily looked through the data and selected a site. “How about here?” she said, turning the laptop to show Emma.


blue and brown concrete building
Photo by Vitalii IONASHKU on

And with a few strokes of the keys, they were off; moments later, landing outside a huge ivy-covered stone wall topped with iron spikes. Emily stood up, trying to peek over the wall, but could see nothing.

“Come on, Emily,” said Emma, “there’s a gate over here.”

As the two stood in front of the monstrous gate, a Rolls Royce limousine with a uniformed driver pulled up. Tinted back windows block their view of the passengers. After a moment, the gate swung open, and the car started up the winding drive.

Emma and Emily hurried behind them for what seemed like ten minutes.

“I didn’t know there were driveways as long as highways,” said Emily.

“I didn’t know there were houses the size of shopping malls,” Emma said, pointing to the colossal mansion before them.

The chauffeur came around to the back and opened the door. A middle-aged woman made her way out of the car and, without a word to the driver, headed up the stairs to the door.

She appeared to be crying.

A moment later, a middle-aged man got out, lit a cigar, and nodded at the driver. “Well, another lovely, wasted evening, eh, Mr. Weatherby?”

“I wouldn’t know, sir,” answered the driver.

“Well, I’ll tell you it was. Bloody auctions and Mrs. Jameson is furious I wouldn’t bid higher for some trash art she wanted. Charity or not, I’m not buying trash.”

“Very good, sir,” said the driver. “Will you be needing the car anymore this evening?

“Only if you’ll run me over. It will be better than listening to her harangue me about being cheap. How does she think we acquired all this is the first place? Not by wasting money on every stupid charity in the world. If it were up to her, she’d give it all away.”

Emma and Emily followed the man inside. At the door, a butler greeted the man and took his coat.

“Is Mrs. Jameson in the study?”

“Yes, she is, sir. She asked not to be disturbed.”

“Well, I own the place so I will disturb whomever I want.”

The man made his way down a long corridor and into the opulent study. The woman sat on a couch, glass in hand, and glared at him.

“Look, I don’t care if the bloody charity can cure cancer. I’m not wasting my money…”

“Our money,” she interrupted.

“We’ll see about that; I have skilled lawyers. Nevertheless, I still cannot see wasting money on trash art.”

“But it is for a worthy cause and we have so much.”

“We have so much because I don’t throw it away. Next time, find some damn charity that doesn’t peddle junk. Now, I am going to bed; you can wallow in self-pity all you want.”

And with that, the man left the room while the woman sat drinking her drink and wiping tears from her eyes.

“Well, this one is troubling,” said Emily. “How can people with so much be so unhappy?”

“Think about it for a moment, my dear. Think about it. What is the most basic premise of the Christmas spirit?”

Emily thought for a long moment, then her face grew bright with a smile. “Sharing, of course. Sharing time with family and friends. Sharing a Christmas meal. Sharing gifts. It’s all about the sharing.

“Once again, so simple an idea,” said Emma. Happiness exists only when shared with others.

Part IX: Age is a State of Mind

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