The first Joe realized the bonds no longer held him was when the Nowhere Man took him by the hand.
“Come with me. I want to show you something.”
Joe stood, looked around trying to look for an exit, then followed the Nowhere Man.
“It’s that way,” the man said, pointing without looking at Joe.
“What is?” Joe said.
“The door. But it will do you no good. There’s nothing out there and nowhere to go,” he stopped walking and folded his arms. “Go ahead, try if you want, I’ll be right here when you get back.”
Joe glanced toward the door and then back at the Nowhere Man. “Nah, I want to hear your story and why you’ve stolen the gift of possibility.”
The Nowhere Man nodded. “All in good time, Joe. And time is all we have here.”
“Can I ask you something, Mr., ah…” Joe said. “What do I call you?”
“I am known as Desperatus.”
“Known by who?” Joe said, while a murky memory buried deep in his mind struggled to get to the surface. “Is there anybody else here?”
Desperatus shook his head. “No, I am quite alone. But in a former life, that was my name.”
“Where are we going?” Joe asked.
“We are here,” Desperatus said, standing in front of a large curtain.
Joe came to stand next to him. “What’s this?”
Desperatus pulled the curtain back and Joe could see into a gigantic room filled with all sorts of toys and games. Ghostly images of kids played with drones and dolls and all manner of things.
GI Joes marched around the room. Harry Potter characters danced in the air. Children in all ages of dress squealed with delight as they tore open Christmas presents.
The images would fade from scenes from last Christmas into scenes from long ago with little boys using a stick to push a hoop along a dusty road. Then a group of little girls would appear, gathered around a small table, pretending to serve tea.
Some sights would flash by in an instant, others lingered for a time, but nothing ever stayed the same.
“What are these things?” Joe asked.
“This is what believing in possibilities does,” Desperatus said. “These precious possibilities Santa has given for years never last. They are not real. They are false hopes that lead to disappointment.”
“That’s not true,” Joe said. “I believe in possibilities.”
“Of course you do. You’re a kid. But kids grow up and never remember these dreams. I’ve saved them the disappointment that comes with growing up.”
“No, you haven’t,” Joe said. “You’ve taken away the best part of being a kid. You’re not interested in saving anyone. You’re just angry you no longer believe.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter anyway. Here they are and here they’ll stay and there is nothing you, or anyone else, can do about it.”
“We’ll see about that!” Joe said, heading toward the door.
“Go ahead,” Desperatus said. “Even if you managed to find a way back, they won’t remember you. I’ve taken away all their memories. You no longer exist as far as they are concerned.”
Joe thought for a moment. Something nagged at him. Something his grandfather always used to say. ‘Things are often not what they seem.’ Maybe this was what he knew I would face someday.
“Why keep me and let the others go?” Joe said. “If you have the power to steal memories, then why not just steal mine as well so I’d forget all about you?”
The truth is more often revealed by what people don’t say than what they do say. Desperatus pausing before he answered was one of those moments.
“I owe you no explanation.”
“True. You don’t owe me anything,” Joe said, “but I am here because you kept me here. If there is something you want from me, or need from me, just tell me.”
Desperatus glanced around, then mouthed the words, “wait for me outside.” He glanced around again, then walked away.
Joe watched as this Nowhere Man disappeared around the corner. A moment of indecision wracked Joe’s brain. Was this a trick? A trap? Was it true his grandfather no longer remembered him?
Then a thought occurred to him. Santa sent me here because I believe in possibilities. Maybe that is what I need to do. To show Desperatus that possibilities can last lifetime. And every possibility has the potential to turn out well, but even if it doesn’t there is always more to come.
Joe headed toward the door, hesitated before opening it, then yanked it open.
Before him was the last thing he ever expected. There in the snow-covered field was the sleigh, reindeer, Levi David, Wyatt James, Desperatus, and Joe’s grandfather all waiting on him. Smiles all around.
“What’s this?” Joe said, “This can’t possibly be another of your jokes, grandfather. Can it?”
Joe’s grandfather shook his head. “No, my boy, even I couldn’t pull this off. My friend here and Santa had to be certain you were ready.”
“Ready for what?” Joe asked.
“The part about someone has taken the gift of possibilities is all true. There’s more to it, but you need to learn this on your own. We had to be sure that, with all the obstacles you’ll face, you’d choose to see the possibility of success.
“When you walked out that door,” his grandfather said. “We all knew you were the one. My friend here threw a lot at you, and it didn’t matter,” then he hugged Joe. “Of course, I never doubted it.”
“So Desperatus is a friend?” Joe asked.
“The best,” Joe’s grandfather said. “And, of course that’s not his real name.”
“Desperatus means hopeless in Latin, right?” Joe said.
His grandfather smiled. “And your mother said I was wasting time reading Latin to you before you could even walk.”
“I knew there was something about that name that was familiar.”
“His real name is Spero. And he needs our help in finding out where the real Nowhere Man is and where he has hidden Santa’s gift.”
Joe smiled at the thought, ‘Spero, Latin for hope.’
(A long, long, long, long, long, long time ago when my contemporaries were just little lads and lassies, the Pawtucket Times in Pawtucket, Rhode Island, published a serialized story over the two weeks leading up to Christmas. One had to read each chapter, then wait a whole day for the next. Several years ago, I began my version of this tradition. Where the story goes, I have no idea. I just let the spirit within create magic. I am but a scribe writing it down for us all to read. Let’s take this journey together, as we do every day on this planet, and see where it takes us. I hope you enjoy the ride. Please share the story with everyone you know!)
“Oh, I have many Christmas memories,” the woman said, putting her knitting on her lap and looking off into the distance. She turned her wheelchair to face them. “At least I used to. Why do you ask?”
“It’s a school project,” the young boy answered. “We have to write a Christmas story, and I thought if I could talk to people who are old, ah, I mean, who have lived through many Christmas seasons, I could tell a story about the memory of their favorite gift.”
The woman nodded. “Quite creative of you, young man, and diplomatic. But it’s okay, I know I am old. Not many youngsters are in this home. What is your name?”
“Levi.”
“And your friend here. What is his name?”
“That’s Wyatt, my brother. He’s helping me.”
“Ah, your co-author, I see. Well, good for you. If you’re gonna tell a Christmas story there has to be lots of family in it. My name is Mary. So, ask your question.”
“What was your favorite present?”
“Oh my, that is a tough one. Let me think for a moment. Well, the one I remember the most is from when I was five or six years old. My father was away in the Army—this was during the war, you know—and it was just me, my mother, and my sister at home.
“We didn’t have much money, but somehow my dad sent me a doll all the way from the other side of the world. I took that doll everywhere with me. She was never out of my sight. I named her England cuz that’s where she came from. Oh, how I loved that doll.”
Levi wrote some notes then looked up. “What happened to her?”
Mary paused a moment, staring out into space. “You know, I can’t remember. As I grew older, I stopped carrying her around. Then we moved once my dad came home because he had a job to go to. So, I don’t really know.”
“What’s going on here,” a chubby old man asked, wielding his walker like a shield as he shuffled over. “You two selling something? I love candy and cookies.”
“No, no, George,” Mary said. “They’re working on a Christmas story and wanted to know my favorite present. They’re Joe’s grandsons, he brought them to visit and do research.”
“Oh. Well, that’s an easy one for me. When I was nine, my dad got me a Red Ryder BB gun. I remember my mother worrying that I would shoot my eye out.” He leaned over. “But look, still got ‘em. Can’t see too good, but they’re still there. I wish I still had that BB gun, though. I had so much fun shooting at tin cans. I could scare the nurses. I don’t have much fun like that anymore.”
“What happened to it?” Wyatt asked.
“You know,” George said, staring off into space. “I don’t rightly know. I remember getting older and putting it away in a closet. Hmm, never saw it again.” He shrugged. “Guess it got tossed when we moved away.”
Soon there was a crowd of people all telling stories of their memories of Christmas and the presents they’d received. By the end of the day, they’d filled a notebook with memories.
“So, did you get what you wanted?” Levi’s grandfather asked. “Was my idea of visiting here a good one?”
“Sure was, grandpa. Everybody here has memories of Christmas. But there was this odd thing.”
“And what was that?”
“Well, they all remembered a favorite present. Didn’t they, Wyatt?”
Wyatt nodded. “Yup, they did.”
“But the weird thing is they couldn’t remember what happened to them. You’d think being their favorite they’d know that.”
“Hmm. Bit of a mystery, eh?”
Both boys nodded.
Their grandfather got a twinkle in his eye. “And what do we do with mysteries?”
“We solve them!” the boys said in unison.
“But how are we gonna do that?” Levi asked. “We can’t go back in time.”
“Grandfather can,” Wyatt said. “He can do anything. He always says that.”
Their grandfather chuckled. “Well, I might have exaggerated a bit on that. But I do know someone who can help.”
“Who?” they yelled again in chorus.
Their grandfather looked around as they walked outside, making sure no one was watching. “Let me make some calls and we’ll meet up again tomorrow. But don’t tell anyone. It’s a secret.”
“What’s a secret?” came a voice from behind.
“Hi, Mom. We were just…”
“We were just talking,” their grandfather interrupted. “That’s all.”
“Yeah, right. Another of your mystery adventures I bet. Remember what happened last time you went traipsing off? That rocket adventure nearly burned down the woods behind the house. The fire department is still not happy with you.”
“Minor setback: I’m working on a solution. But this is nothing like that, is it boys?” Turning and winking so his daughter couldn’t see.
“Ah no, nothing like that,” Levi said. “Right, Wyatt?”
Wyatt nodded.
“Why do I not trust you three?” their mother said.
“Oh, stop, just a little harmless fun. We’ll be fine. Nothing to worry about.”
“Whenever you say nothing to worry about, I start worrying. Try not to get anyone killed or destroy any houses, especially ours. Now, let’s get back in the car and head home. I have more requests for my special Christmas pies. I don’t know if I should thank you or strangle you for getting me involved here.”
“You’re making some very lonely people happy for Christmas, dear. They appreciate it.”
As their mother walked to the car, Levi looked at his grandfather. “Now what?”
“Meet me in the backyard at the edge of the woods. Tomorrow morning, first thing. Pack a lunch and dress warm, it might snow.”
“A lunch? Mom might get suspicious.”
“She was born suspicious. She got it from grandma. Tell her we’re just going for a hike in the woods.”
“But we’re not supposed to lie.”
“It’s not a lie, we are going to hike in the woods. At least to get started.”
Levi studied his grandfather’s face. The smile was disarming and infectious. “Okay, but where are we really going?”
“Don’t know yet. But I will soon enough. And I promise we will start with a hike in the woods. Now go write up your notes, I’ve got things to do.”
“Aren’t you coming with is?”
Grandfather smiled. “I have another way to get home.”
Levi reached for Wyatt’s hand, then turned to wave goodbye to his grandfather. But he had vanished.
“Where’d he go?” Levi asked.
“Disappeared,” Wyatt said, “Like magic.”
Tomorrow: A Mystery to be Solved Needs Friends
(Author’s note, Christmas is about sharing. Please share this with everyone you know!)
In what some would classify as my descent into agnosticism or atheism, I am troubled by the virulence and resentment by the hyper-religious into my questioning their beliefs. Some are fuming, some spiteful, some simply bewildered.
I find this confusing. What bearings do my beliefs, or lack thereof, have on anyone’s faith? Unless it is because I (and the Constitution) insist on your keeping your faith in your way and I in mine, then don’t bother reading on, nothing will change your perspective. If you’ve an open mind, carry on.
Why do some believe? Why embrace a practice I see as without a firm foundation in facts?
But then it occurred to me that the true progenitor of faith is hope. Hope that there is more than this brief life. Hope that there is something greater than what we experience here on this planet.
When Pandora opened the box, and all the evil, pestilence, diseases, and death infected the world, the last thing that arose was hope.
Some seem to believe that they have done something wrong (in Christianity they have a name for it, Original sin) and most spend their lifetime atoning for it. Would a loving God visit the sins of the father (or in Eve’s case, the mother) on their children?
I think when I argue against the existence of God (particularly in the Christian sense, since that is the dominate faith in this country) people who embrace the faith perceive it as someone trying to take away hope.
It would explain why people persist in praying absent one iota of evidence of its efficacy.
It would explain why people expound vociferously with passages from the Bible, as if they alone prove the point.
It would explain all the ceremony, pageantry, and emotional pleadings over Sunday services (and Saturday for those who cannot give up football on Sunday).
These all are reinforcing the power of Hope.
If I pray the right way.
If I live the right way.
If I express my faith for all to hear, I have hope of a better life after death.
Religion is not the only path to hope. At least not the concept of the Judeo-Christian tradition some believe dominant, and necessary, in this country.
There are other paths. Buddhist, Hindu, Zoroastrian, Transcendental Meditation, Stoicism, and others all offer hope for peace and fulfillment in this life and something better later. Some recognize this may be all there is.
I would argue it is this insistence that America be a Christian based government that creates much of our problems. Our self-inflicted separation from those we don’t understand creates a sense of us vs. them. Of a need to purge the country of those who differ from us.
But if we really thought about it, we are all the same.
Just because I, and others, do not embrace any faith, does not mean we are stealing away hope. Think of it this way: if one person doubting the validity of faith can deny hope to the faithful, how certain is that faith?
I think wondering about what happens once we check out is natural. I think having hope there is some form of existence after we die is normal. No one wants it to end. But the flavor of one’s faith is irrelevant.
If there is a God, or Gods, capable of designing the universe, all the rules of physics, and all that it holds, of creating millions of species, of being the God who creates minds who can write things like,
Tyger Tyger, burning bright, In the forests of the night; What immortal hand or eye. Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
would they worry about being adored?
If there is such a being, they would not be in the least bit concerned with being worshipped or venerated by one tiny element of creation. In fact, it is more likely they’d be amused, or perhaps a bit annoyed, by the arrogance of such practice.
Or not notice it at all.
Want to worship the creator? Want to express the ultimate level of devotion to creation? Treat everyone you meet as you would have them treat you. Respect the dignity of every human, no matter the differences.
Then, on the off chance you find yourself in front of a being who will ask you what you did with this gift of life, you can say I lived every moment with regard for my fellow humans.
“When life itself seems lunatic, who knows where madness lies? Perhaps to be too practical is madness. To surrender dreams — this may be madness. Too much sanity may be madness — and maddest of all: to see life as it is, and not as it should be!” Miquel de Cervantes Saavedra, Don Quixote
Let me state the obvious. Anyone who has already decided which candidate to vote for in the upcoming election will not be persuaded differently by the debate.
Despite the reluctant consensus that the Vice President was poised, composed, and articulate (according to a significant number of Republican pundits) compared to the unhinged rants by the ex-President rehashing long debunked complaints of election fraud, Haitian family meals involving domestic pets, and millions of lunatics and criminals personally invited to cross the border by the Biden-Harris (or, as some would prefer the Harris-Biden) administration, no one will change their already-made-up minds.
What I find most interesting is the almost fanatical desperation for an explanation of Trump’s poor performance, other than that Vice President Harris was the clear winner based on her innate abilities.
It had to be favoritism by ABC.
It had to be that she had Miracle-Ear technology feeding her answers.
It had to be that she had the questions beforehand. (author’s note: Everyone with any intelligence knew the questions beforehand. For the VP, she’d be asked about immigration, the economy, and shifting positions on fracking and guns. For the former President, he’d be asked about election denial, race-baiting, pandemic performance, health plan replacing ACA, Project 2025, and abortion rights.)
She couldn’t possibly be better, brighter, and more competent.
None of this matters, and nothing I can say here will change the mind of anyone who supports Mr. Trump. Still, I bet it will spark some outrageous responses and criticisms, mostly of childish insults rather than rational arguments over policies.
But consider this. If you think so little of the Vice President’s abilities despite her being able to rattle the former President on a political debate stage, you should be terrified of the prospect of another Trump administration dealing with the likes of China, Russia, and Iran. They won’t just eat his lunch; they’ll steal his pocket money and use it against us.
I’ve been asking for months for someone to present sound arguments about why someone should support Mr. Trump. All I’ve ever seen is a bunch of yeah-but-what-about malarky. If anyone is willing to take up the challenge and write a piece listing President Trump’s qualifications, accomplishments, and policies, and why voters should support them, I will gladly post it here without comment.
But I would like to make this observation by borrowing a line from P.G. Wodehouse. Mr. Trump, during and after the debate,
“…had the look of one who had drunk the cup of life and found a dead beetle at the bottom.”
It is far from over, but it is closer to a satisfying end of this bizarre American history chapter.
JEBWizard Publishing (www.jebwizardpublishing.com) is a hybrid publishing company focusing on new and emerging authors. We offer a full range of customized publishing services. Everyone has a story to tell, let us helpmake your publishing dreams a reality.
PLEASE SHARE! Make the Story Travel Around the world!
Jebidiah stared at the scene before him. A collection of the apparitions he’d gathered over the years hovered around Mrs. Claus as she told stories of the glories of Christmases long, long ago…
Oh great, he thought, now I’ve got that song stuck in my head. He watched for a few more minutes, and then one of his apparitions turned back into an elf. Then another, then another. Time to put a stop to this.
“Enough with your stories!” he said. “None of this matters anymore.”
“Oh, but it does, dear. Even more than ever. Your friends here all have forgotten what Christmas is all about. They let their disappointments over getting things they didn’t want to hide the true spirit of giving. I’m just reminding them.
“Oh, it’s nice when we get the things we desire: toy trucks, bicycles, and all the other things a child might want. But over time, those gifts will no longer be with us, yet the memories of sharing those moments with those we love will.
“It is not the gift, but the act of giving that is the true spirit of Christmas.”
Mrs. Claus stood up and walked to face Jebidiah. “You’ve forgotten that as well. So let me remind you of the true spirit of Christmas.” She waved her hands, and scenes from around the world flashed on the walls. The news about the Heart of Darkness stealing all the Christmas presents was on everyone’s mind, but it didn’t matter.
Carolers were singing, people were replacing decorations, and family and friends were gathering, all as if nothing had changed.
Jebidiah stared in disbelief. “What are they celebrating? They’ll have no presents on Christmas.”
Mrs. Claus smiled. “And that’s where you’re wrong. Christmas will come, and families and friends will make the most of it.”
“But how can they? I have all the things they want.”
“You have all the things but you don’t have the spirit that makes it all worthwhile. Remember, whatever happens this year, Christmas will always be with us because of this one truth. Something that we all must remember.
“Those who celebrate Christmas best are those who celebrate it in the simplest ways. Gathering with friends and family to share the memories of those no longer with us and those yet to come. It is all about hope, love, and thankfulness for the people in our lives. Everything else is just decorations.”
For a moment, Jane and Levi thought they saw a tear fall from Jebidiah’s eye, but it was quickly replaced by a face full of rage.
“So none of this matters? No one cares about all these presents sitting right there? We’ll see about that.” He spun on his heels to face the remaining apparitions. “Take them back to the dungeon and take all those traitors with them. If they want to return to being elves, let them pay the price for their disloyalty.”
Mrs. Claus stood defiant against the force of the apparitions. “What are you going to do, Jebidiah?”
The grin that came across his face, one amplifying his anger and rage, was something they would never forget.
“I’m gonna take all these presents, drag them to the top of this hill, and have the biggest bonfire the world has ever seen. Then we’ll see how much the Spirit of Christmas matters to the world, won’t we?”
“No,” Jane yelled, breaking away and charging at Jebidiah. Levi took the cue and charged right along with her. Their sudden attack caught him off-guard, but he recovered quickly. Trapping them with his magic, he tossed them into the sleigh with all the presents.
“Fine, you want a front seat to the show? You got it. You’ll be so close you’ll feel the burn. Bring her too,” he pointed at Mrs. Claus. “We’ll have a family roast to celebrate the end of Christmas.”
I’ve written to you in the past in this form of an open letter. (Promise Me, Joe) and I am compelled to write once more.
The time has come for a new generation to rise to the occasion. You have said this yourself as I will remind you in this piece. Now is the time to put those words into actions.
Now is the time, Mr. President, now is the time.
To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, a time to reap that which is planted;
Pete Seeger, Turn, Turn, Turn! (or Ecclesiastes 3-1 if you prefer)
But first, let me say this.
Thank you. Thank you for restoring sensibilities in government. Thank you for rebuilding America’s standing in the world. Thank you for leading the world coalition supporting the Ukraine.
Thank you for leading the country out of the disaster of the pandemic. And thank you for putting an end to our presence in Afghanistan. Anyone who understands the reality of that commitment knows it was the right thing to do no matter how ugly it may have appeared.
Thank you for what you have done for this country. I only wish your opportunity had come sooner.
But there is what we want and what we have and that reality is what we deal with.
I heard you speak once after the release of your book, Promise Me, Dad. One thing you said, that brought to mind the Camelot of the Kennedy years, was it is time for a new generation to assume the mantle.
You were right.
Yet when circumstances arose, with no one stepping up, you did. Again.
You were there in our time of desperate need for a return to stability. And while the danger has not fully passed, time has.
Now is the moment for you to make your mark as one of our greatest Presidents. One who rose to the occasion as history demanded then recognized the limitations of that commitment.
Go out, find that new blood, and push them to meet destiny as you have.
Turn your words into more than a speech. Encourage this new generation, following your example, to set a new course with a new leader at the helm.
Don’t let the country merely vote against the disaster from our past, give them a choice with a limitless future.
Do this, and there is no doubt that future historians will mark this moment as another example of true American courage.
Over the course of my life, I’ve held several jobs. My first one, at 15, was washing dishes at the Admiral Inn in Cumberland, Rhode Island. My aunt, Katherine Szpila, was the hostess. Almost all my cousins and a couple of uncles worked there at some point, and I got to eat all the boneless fried chicken I could handle.
I then moved on to the Almacs grocery store. In 1972, Almacs was a great place to work. As a unionized shop, it gave me an appreciation of how important having an organization supporting workers could be. Not that most managers were difficult, but there were a few.
And I will admit to a bit of payback I exacted when I started my next serious job at the East Providence Police Department. Almacs corporate offices were in East Providence, in the Rumford section. Back then, that area was one of the quietest areas to work and I hated being assigned there.
But there was a small benefit. I would position myself on Roger Williams Ave and stop any cars leaving the Almacs facility. (Nobody stopped for the stop sign or drove the speed limit.). When I was fortunate enough to snag one of the more cruel bastards who took pleasure in wreaking havoc whenever they visited the store I worked at, they got an autographed ticket from me.
While I let most of them go, I didn’t let them all go. It made it tolerable to work the slow area and gave me a great deal of satisfaction.
After EPPD, where twenty years flew by in a flash, I moved on to other careers. While each of these had their moments, particularly my time as a Police Officer, none can measure up to my latest job.
Now, my job is to make memories with my grandson, Levi, and his soon to arrive brother.
We make memories I hope he (they) will carry their whole life. And, in those trying moments everyone faces in life, I hope those memories will bring a smile to their face and a moment of hope, even for the briefest of moments.
Of all the things I’ve done in my life, making memories that last is, without a doubt, the most important. There is never a better moment to make memories then now. Seize that moment, or all that will remain are memories never made.
JEBWizard Publishing (www.jebwizardpublishing.com) is a hybrid publishing company focusing on new and emerging authors. We offer a full range of customized publishing services.
Everyone has a story to tell, let us help you share it with the world. We turn publishing dreams into a reality. For more information and manuscript submission guidelines contact us at info@jebwizardpublishing.com or 401-533-3988.
On this day after Christmas, I wish you all the best of the season and all the joys of life. Here is the entire Day After Christmas Story to carry you through until next year…Enjoy
In keeping with an old tradition, I bring you Part 1 of the serialized story of The Day After Christmas.
Millions of years ago, when dinosaurs roamed the earth, the Pawtucket Times would publish a story over the two weeks leading up to Christmas.
I, along with many others, anxiously awaited the arrival of each new chapter, culminating in the ending on Christmas Eve. So, over the past few years, I have started my own version beginning with today’s opening segment. We will read this story together as I have no idea where it will go or how it will end. My only advantage is I will read it as it is born, while you my dear friends, will see it just moments after its arrival.
…and to all a goodnight!
Growing up in Cumberland, Rhode Island back then seems, at least in my memories, to have been a place of magic; making those Christmas seasons, and the spirit that infused them, all the more special.
I will just tell the story, like Charlie Brown and Linus, of something worth holding onto. Let it take us where it will…Merry Christmas!
THE DAY AFTER CHRISTMAS
December 26th is the slowest, and laziest, day in the North Pole. Everyone, I mean almost EVERYONE, sleeps until noon. But for one tiny—even by elf standards—elf, the day after Christmas is the busiest day of the year for her.
Emily Louise Frazier—her family is famous for growing the Frazier Pine one of the most popular Christmas trees in the world—held a critical, if almost completely unknown, position within Elfdom…she was the Monitor of the Christmas Spirit. Or as she liked to call herself, Santa’s accountant. And not just any ordinary add the numbers and balance the checkbook accountant. On no, she was the Christmas Spirit Accountant.
He job was to track the level and growth of the spirit of Christmas, for that spirit wasn’t just something one felt as Christmas day grew near. It was something that lived among the people all the year round. Bringing the joy of giving to others, the pleasure of spending time with your family, and the warmth of a good heart to all the world.
But Emily Louise Frazier was worried. More worried than she had ever been in her entire life. She stared at her little Elf laptop and shook her head. Numbers never lie. The trend was not good and now, on the day when all of Christmas Town enjoyed their one day of uninterrupted rest, she had to rouse them from their slumber and give them the bad news.
Christmas spirit was dying, a slow yet undeniable descent to a level never before seen in the history of the world and she had no idea how to fix it, or even if it could be fixed.
Making her way to the main house, she stood trembling at the door trying to force herself to ring the bell and bring such terrible news to the nicest people on the planet, Santa and Mrs. Claus.
Reaching up on her tiptoes, she managed to reach the lower of the two bells, the one placed for the elves. The opening notes of Charlie Brown’s Christmas Theme (Mrs. Claus is a big jazz music fan) echoed throughout the house.
Soon footsteps followed, coming closer, and for a moment, Emily thought of running away. But she had a responsibility and prepared herself. The door swung open and Santa and Mrs. Claus stood there, rubbing their eyes trying to focus, looking over Emily to the vast, yet sleepy town outside the door.
“Down here, Santa,” said Emily.
Santa and Mrs. Claus looked down at the now shaking little Elf.
“Emily, my dear,” said Mrs. Claus, “come inside dear, you’re freezing out there. Come in, come in.”
Emily hesitated a moment, then stepped inside. “I’m not cold, Mrs. Claus. But I have some terrible news I need to share.”
Santa closed the door behind her, then knelt down to bring his smiling face to Emily’s level.
“No worries, Emily. There’s nothing you can say that we can’t fix. Now what is so terrible that you had to wake us on our one day off?”
Emily swallowed hard, took a deep breath, then said, “Santa, I’ve been studying the charts, going over all the data, looking at the trends, and it’s clear that Christmas Spirit is in decline. The usual burst of spirit just before Christmas fizzled. I’m afraid it will fade completely over the next few months and be gone by next Christmas.”
Part II The News Spreads
“Hmm,” said Santa, “that is troubling. Are you sure?”
“Very,” said Emily.
Mrs. Claus reached for her hand. “Come dear, come sit at the table and I’ll make some hot cocoa to warm you up.”
Emily setup her laptop on the table while Santa worked at filling his pipe.
Mrs. Claus appeared within moments, carrying a tray with three cups of cocoa and a pile of cookies. She paused before she put the tray on the table and stared at Santa. Santa caught the look and put the pipe away.
Mrs. Claus smiled, then placed the tray in front of Emily. “Here you go, my dear.”
After taking a sip from the cocoa, Emily clicked a few keys then turned the laptop to face Santa and Mrs. Claus.
“What am I looking at?” asked Santa
“The first few graphs represent trends in various things, like kindness and charity. And these here represent various places, countries, cities, towns, and villages. The last graph shows a summary of the overall trends throughout the world. I compiled these graphs from a bunch of data sources that…”
Santa held up his hand and smiled. “Emily, in plain English please, I’m still a bit tired from last night.”
Emily nodded. “The world is becoming less kind, less charitable, and less happy.”
“Oh my,” said Mrs. Claus. “That’s terrible.”
Santa tapped his nose several times as he stared at the computer screen. Then, he pointed to several green dots on one graph almost lost among all the red ones.
“What are these?”
Emily smiled. “It’s the one glimmer of hope, I suppose.” She sighed. “First, I thought it was just a data error…”
Santa tilted his head to the side.
“Sorry. First, I thought I’d gotten something wrong, but I checked and rechecked and it seems there are some places in the world where everything and, it would seem, everyone is happy, kind, and charitable. And getting better every day.”
“Why is that?” said Santa
“I have no idea.”
“Well, then. There is the answer to our problem,” said Mrs. Claus.
Santa and Emily looked at Mrs. Claus.
“How is that the answer?” Santa said.
“Oh my dear, you are such a wonderful man, but sometimes a bit slow with simple solutions. If things all over the world are getting worse, except for these few places, then someone has to go there and find out why.”
She smiled and waited for him to catch on.
“It really is that simple. Go there and see why people there are so different from the rest of the world.”
Emily blinked a few times, then closed her laptop.
Santa reached for his pipe, thought better of it, than just tapped his forehead, thinking. “Emily, you and I are taking a trip.”
“We are?”
“Yes, we are, my dear. First thing tomorrow morning we leave for, ah, for… where are these places, anyway?
Emily started to speak, but Santa stopped her.
“Let’s keep this to ourselves for the time being. No need for any rumors to get started. You know how the elves and reindeer love to gossip, and I don’t want anyone to be worried until we sort this out. You can tell me in the morning and program it into the GSP thingy the Elf flight director put on my sleigh.”
“GSP?” said Emily.
“GPS, my dear,” said Mrs. Claus, “GPS.”
Santa shrugged.
The three of them stood up and headed toward the door.
“You go pack, Emily,” said Santa. “But keep this to yourself for now. I’ll tell the flight crew I want to take the sleigh out for a little spin tomorrow, just to try out some new flight tricks. Meanwhile…” Santa placed his finger over his lips. “Shhh, mums the word.”
As Santa reached for the door handle, Mrs. Claus knelt down and gave Emily a kiss on the forehead.
“Don’t worry, my dear. We’ll find the answer. I am sure of it.”
With that, Santa slowly opened the door, hoping no one had seen or heard anything. But they were all shocked to see the entire town gathered outside.
Mrs. Claus laughed. “There are no secrets here, my dear, no secrets.”
Part IIIA Journey of Discovery
Early the next morning, Emily was up, dressed, and wearing her backpack as she waited for Santa to arrive. She wondered how they would ever figure out why some places still held the Christmas spirit while others seemed to have lost it.
I hope I can be a help to Santa, but I’m not sure I’m cut out for adventure. As these thoughts percolated in her mind, a voice called out to her.
“Emily, time to go.”
The voice was familiar, of course. Everyone here in Christmas Town was familiar, but it was not the voice she expected. Glancing out her window, she saw the team of reindeer pawing at the ground, eager to fly—reindeer never tire of flying.
She saw the sleigh with its new all-season covering for flying on days other than Christmas—Santa preferred to fly in the traditional way on Christmas Eve.
But it’s who she saw driving that surprised her. Sitting up front in the driver’s seat was Mrs. Claus.
Emily ran outside, threw her backpack into the sleigh, and climbed aboard.
“Where’s Santa?”
Mrs. Claus smiled. “Santa does a wonderful job delivering presents. He’s marvelous at it. But for other things… let’s just say you and I are better suited to handle this than he is.”
“But I thought Santa managed everything.”
“Santa, my dear, is the face of the organization, but it’s all the elves and I who make the whole thing work. Now, are you ready for the first stop?”
“Yes, Mrs. Claus, I’m ready.”
“Okay, but there is one more thing you need to do before we takeoff.”
“What’s that?” Emily said.
“You need to call me Emma,” said Mrs. Claus, with a bit of a twinkle in her eye. “It’s short for Emily.”
Emily’s eyes grew wide. “You’re named Emily too?”
“Of course, my dear. And I’ll let you in on another secret.” She leaned over and whispered in Emily’s ear. “And my name before I married Santa was Frazier.”
Emily’s eyes grew twice as wide. “We’re related?”
Emily Frazier Claus smiled. “Not only related, my dear, but I am your great, great, great times one hundred great grandmother. And it’s time for the Frazier women to get to the bottom of this problem. We’ve been doing troubleshooting for years, keeping Santa on his toes. There’s nothing we can’t do; if we set our minds to it.”
She reached over and pulled Emily close to her. “Ready?”
“Ready Mrs.… I mean Emma.” With that, Emily punched the information into the GPS, then snuggled back next to Emma. I haven’t even left yet, and I already uncovered one surprise. I wonder what else I might discover.
In a flash, the reindeer leapt into the sky and they were off…
Part IV: The First Secret
“So, where are we off to first?” said Emma.
Emily reached toward the GPS and enlarged the view. “It’s a small village in the Austrian Alps called Erinnerung Dorf. I think I said that correctly.”
“You did, my dear, sounds German.”
Emma guided the reindeer as they descended into the cold, quiet village. The deserted streets seemed sad and lonely. Snow swirled in the air. As they landed, they came to a stop next to a small church. It was clear there had been a terrible fire, and the building was only recognizable by the steeple in the pile of rubble.
“Oh my,” said Emily, “this looks like it happened within the last few days.”
Emma touched her on the shoulder and pointed. A large group of villagers walked down the street—women, girls, boys, and men—some carrying tools, some driving trucks bearing lumber, some holding baskets of food.
And they were all singing, laughing, almost dancing as they made their way to the burned-out church.
Emily pulled back, afraid of what the people might think when they saw them. Emma took her hand.
“They can’t see us, Emily. To them, we are invisible. We need to see what’s going on here without letting our being here change anything. So what do you think is happening?”
“Well, there’s obviously been a fire and it would seem they have banded together to rebuild the church, but it is strange how happy they are. I mean, this fire must have happened on Christmas and ruined their day. Perhaps someone may have been hurt. Clearly the church is important to them and it is destroyed. And yet, they’re singing and laughing like it’s the best day of the year.”
“And indeed it is,” said Emma. “They understand one of the most important lessons of life.”
“And what’s that?”
Emma smiled at the tiny elf trying to understand such joy amid such devastation and loss. She knelt down and looked her in the eye.
“These people understand that life is a constant series of changes and what has happened, has happened. We cannot change the past. They understand this. They have learned that the key to a good life is to Celebrate what you had, and what you have, not dwell on what you’ve lost.”
Emily smiled. “So by doing that, they hold on to the Christmas Spirit no matter what happens in their lives.”
“It’s as simple as that,” said Emma. “Now where to next?”
Part V: The Joy of Giving
Emily leaned over and plugged the next coordinates into the GPS. “Next stop is…hmm. Wait a minute, let me recheck this.” She opened her laptop, punched the keys, shrugged, then confirmed the entry.
“Something wrong?” asked Emma.
“No, just a little confused. The next location is a Children’s Hospital in Bogota, Columbia. They treat cancer patients there. I’m just a little surprised it would be one of the places where happiness is increasing the Christmas Spirit.”
Emma smiled. “Never underestimate the power of the human heart, my dear.” And with a flick of her wrists, the sleigh rose into the air and headed to South America.
In what seemed like a blink of an eye—of course it would, this is Santa’s sleigh—they found themselves landing on the rooftop of the hospital. Emily sat for a moment in the sleigh, unsure of what she might find.
“Come on, my dear. I think this is going to be very informative for our little investigation.”
The two walked down some stairs, opened a door into a corridor, then followed some nurses into a large open room. Inside, they found about thirty kids, from little ones of four or five to teenagers, all working on cards and small craft projects.
Emily walked over to one of the groups. A teenage girl helped two small children draw pictures and paste them into greeting cards. At another table, two older boys put Christmas ornaments into packages and placed labels on them.
“What are they doing?” Emily asked.
“They’re making gifts for the poor for next year,” said Emma.
“They’re making gifts?” Emily said, her eyes giving away her surprise. “But they are all very sick, why would they be making gifts for others? Shouldn’t they be the ones people send gifts to to cheer them up?”
“Because they also understand about not focusing on things they cannot control,” said Emma. “And they understand another truth about living a happy life.”
“What’s that?”
Emma put her arm around Emily.
“It’s quite simple, my dear. Something Santa and I and the elves have known for centuries. The joy of gifts is in the giving.”
“It’s that simple, isn’t it?” said Emily.
“It’s that simple. Now let’s leave them to their fun and move on.”
Part VI: A True Friend
Weaving their way through the Rocky Mountains in Colorado, Emma guided the sleigh to their next location; a small town nestled in an isolated valley. Landing in the outskirts of the village, Emma and Emily made their way to an old house in the center of town.
In the house, a small lamp lit the inside of an enclosed porch where an elderly man sat reading a book.
“Maybe I got the location wrong,” Emily said.
“Let’s wait and see,” Emma said
A few moments later, another old man came walking down the road, dragging a small sled loaded with groceries. He walked up to the house and carried the groceries inside.
Neither man spoke, but it was clear this was not anything unusual. A moment later, he emerged from the house, sat on a chair next to the man reading the book and said, “All set, Jim. Everything you need is here.”
“I’m not sure what I would do without you, Tom.”
“I think we both get something out of this. You get your groceries; I get to leave the house so my wife doesn’t give me chores to do.”
Both men laughed, then fell into silence, lost in their thoughts.
Emma took Emily’s hand and said, “Follow me.”
She led Emily into the house and then into a small den off the hallway. Pictures of the two men covered the walls. Some showed them as young boys, but they easily recognized the faces. Others showed them at a college graduation, in military uniforms, standing next to a jet fighter, a lifetime of shared memories.
One wall was covered with images from a wedding. Tom stood smiling next to a beautiful young woman, with Jim standing next to him. There were pictures of kids, pictures of vacations, pictures of a lifetime.
Emily stopped at the last picture. It was Tom’s wife, now much older, and there was a memorial card along the edge of the frame, Mariam Louise Johnson, 1948-2014.
The sight of the picture brought a tear to Emily’s eye. “Sad that his wife passed away. He must be lonely living here by himself.”
Suddenly, laughter burst from the porch. Emily and Emma hurried out to see what was going on. The two men were both laughing their heads off.
“And I still can see the look on Mariam’s face when you put that snake in the tent,” Jim said, wiping his eyes. “I thought she was gonna kill you.”
“I did too,” Tom said. “I didn’t sleep at all that night because I was afraid she would get me back.” He paused a minute, took a deep breath, and sighed. “We’ve had some fun, haven’t we, my friend?”
“Indeed we have, Tom, indeed we have.” Standing up, he patted his friend on the shoulder. “Okay, same time tomorrow? See you then.” Making his way back outside, he pulled the small sled back up the street and disappeared.
Tom went back to reading his book, but the smile remained on his face.
“I think I have this one figured out,” Emily said.
“And what have you learned here?” Emma asked.
“That having a good friend, a genuine friend who is with you through everything that happens in life, is a key to a good life. And friends are a big part of the Christmas Spirit. In other words, It’s better to have one true friend than hundreds of pretend ones.”
Emma smiled. “Once again, simple as that.” Pointing toward the sleigh, she added, “Next.”
Part VII: Challenges
Emily snuggled up against Emma as the sleigh rose into the sky. It’s not that she was cold, it just that Emma made her feel safe. As they made their way to the next stop, Emily thought about what they’d learned so far.
“Emma, can I ask you something?”
“Of course, dear. What is it?”
“Do you think I may look at things the wrong way?”
“What do you mean, dear?”
“Well, in all the places we’ve been, the things that help grow the Christmas Spirit were just so simple. Maybe I’m missing something in the way we analyze these things.”
“Let’s see what else we find, and then we can talk about it more.” Emma pointed to the skyline of Manhattan. “That is one of Santa’s favorite sights. And I’m sure we’ll find something special here.”
The sleigh made its gentle descent into the city, coming to a stop outside a school. The sign read, Watson Institute for Education.
As Emma and Emily made their way up the ramp to the door and then inside the building, something occurred to them. There were no stairs, and all the door handles were lower than normal.
“What kind of school is this?” Emily asked.
Just then, a bell rang. “I think we are about to find out.”
Soon the hallways filled with all manner of motorized wheelchairs. Kids of all ages navigated the hallway, heading to what appeared to be a large auditorium.
Emma and Emily followed.
As the crowd settled in, several students took to the stage, one took the lead.
“Hi everyone, and thanks for coming. As you know, every year we vote to select a new charity for our annual fundraiser. This year, we’ve selected St. Ambrose Hospital.
“If you check your email, you’ll see your assignments for the various events. It’s important we all make our best efforts to insure the success. I’m sure you all know we raised over $100,000 dollars for last year’s charity and our goal this year is $125,000.
“I know with your help we can do it.”
At that, the audience burst into applause, nodding of heads, or just wide smiles.
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.”
Emma laughed and pointed toward the door. “Come on, dear. We have places to go and things to see.”
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.
“Perfect.”
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
Emily tapped her computer screen a few times, then closed the cover and reopened it.
“Problems?” said Emma
“No, just I thought the next site was in Canada, but the screen display is showing me a location in Morocco.” Emily tried to refresh the screen display once more. “What is wrong with this thing?”
“Perhaps we should just go where it says,” Emma smiled. “Could be something there we need to see.”
With that, Emma looked at the screen display, punched the numbers into the GPS and in a flash they were landing in a dusty field outside a small village in the foothills of the Atlas Mountains.
Two old men sat at a table outside a small café sipping coffee and playing the card game called Ronda. As one man dealt, the other rubbed his wrinkled arthritic hands.
“Much pain today, Mohammed?” said the other man as he shuffled the cards
The man shrugged. “Like always, Youssef. All those days in the fields and tending the goats took their toll.”
“We worked hard then,” said Youssef. “Long days in the scorching sun and frosty nights in the winters. But coming home to our wives made it all worthwhile. It’s hard to believe they’ve both been gone over ten years.”
Mohammed nodded. “Seems like just yesterday we were playing with the grandchildren and watching them grow into fine men and women.” He paused a moment. “By the way, I heard Ayoub passed away, praise Allah the merciful, he was just ninety-five.”
“Ninety-five, such a young man to go so soon,” said Youssef, as a smile broke out on his face.
Mohammed laughed. “I know, ninety-five for me seems like years ago.”
“It was two years ago, Mohammed. Are you losing your mind?”
“I have lost nothing, my friend,” slowly rising from the chair, “I can still beat you in arm wrestling any day.”
“Hah, I’d like to see that!”
Mohammed’s eyes narrowed. He reached over, knocking the cards from the table. “Well then, let’s see who the better man is, shall we?”
Youssef rubbed his wrists and stretched his arms, then placed his right elbow on the table. “Come on, old man. Let me embarrass you once again as I did last year.”
“Old man? Who you calling an old man? What are you, two days younger than me? And a lot uglier.”
With that, the two men locked wrists and began the battle. Soon, a crowd of people gathered around. They cheered the men on, yet seemed to favor neither one.
After a few moments of back and forth, grunts and groans, arms tipping one way then the other, the two men broke into wide smiles.
“I think we have drawn a crowd, my friend,” said Mohammed.
“We have. They always want to see the two strongest and most handsome men in the village compete. Plus,” he winked, “the girls all love us.”
Two women stood just outside the circle of people, shaking their heads as they watched the men.
“Do they do this every day?” one said.
“They’ve been doing this every day for years,” answered the other. “My great grandfather will never stop competing until the day he dies. At least today they only arm wrestled. Two weeks ago, they had a horse race into the desert and we thought they were both gone. Then they came riding back together, laughing and joking. They almost killed the horses; the two of them were fine.”
Emma and Emily stood listening to the women and taking in the scene.
“You know, Emily, your little computer sent us here for a good reason. Sometimes, people think the spirit of Christmas is just for the young when it is for the young at heart as well.”
Emily smiled, “One of the most important things people can do to hold onto the Christmas spirit is to keep it even after they are no longer children. But how can one do that? They have responsibilities as they grow older.”
Emma put her hand on Emily’s shoulder. “Remember this always, my precious young one. Age is a state of mind.”
Part X: Remember the past, look forward to the future, live in the moment
Rising over the lower foothills, Emma steered the sleigh toward the heights of the High Atlas Mountains.
“Wouldn’t it be better to go around them?” asked Emily. “They look kind of tall.”
“Where’s the fun in that? And if you think they’re high… well… just wait. People once believed these mountains held up the sky.”
“They did?”
“Indeed, they did. There are many such legends in history. When you think about it, we’re investigating one of those legends… except ours isn’t a legend at all, is it?” Emma smiled, then let the GPS direct them to the next stop.
Emily read from the sign on the front of the building, “Walsh Center for Geriatric Care.” She turned to Emma, “What’s geriatric?”
“It means old. This is a nursing home for the elderly.”
“Hmm, why do you think we’ve been sent here?”
“What say we pop in and find out?” Emma led the way through the door and into a lobby area. Several people—some in wheelchairs, some with canes, some just shuffling along with their hand on the wall—made their way into what looked like a central meeting room.
In front of the room, a DJ played music Emily had never heard before. Some guy named Frank Sinatra was singing a song called My Way. Back in one corner, a few couples stood close together, dancing.
As the song ended, one gentleman stood and walked to the front of the room. He took the microphone from the DJ, then waited for the room to quiet.
“Okay, a couple of announcements. First, as you know, we lost two more friends over the past few days. I’ve received notes from their families about how touched they were by the baskets of letters we sent. So thanks to everyone for doing that.
“Next month, they will be a family day open house. Invite as many family members as you like. Some of us here don’t have many members left, so let’s share and get a big crowd here to make everyone remember we are all family.”
He paused a moment, pointing at a woman in the front row. “Betty has a few things to add.” He held out the microphone for her.
Betty rolled to the front of the room.
“Thanks, Bert. Now, for those of you interested, we have an outing planned for this summer to the beach. All I need is a list of names for those who are interested, and we’ll take care of all the special arrangements. Our bake sale was so successful this year we even have enough left over to double our donation to the Homeless Shelter. Now, how about we liven it up a bit with some more music and dancing?”
The group broke out into a round of applause and the sounds of Louis Armstrong singing “What a Wonderful World” brought more couples to the dance floor.
Emma tapped Emily on the shoulder, tilting her head for her to follow her back to the sleigh.
“So, what do you think?” she asked.
Emily looked up at her. “Well, I’ll tell you one thing. For a place full of old people, they certainly have a lot of life in them. I mean, dancing, planning trips, running bake sales to raise money. They have more energy than I do.”
Emma laughed. “And you know what else they have?”
“What?”
“A secret.”
“What secret?”
“Another simple one that is key to a happy life and keeping the spirit of Christmas thriving.”
“So?” Emily said. “Aren’t you going to tell me?”
“If you think about it, you’ll figure it out.”
Emily stood next to the sleigh, looking back at the building. The sounds of more music playing and people laughing drifted to her ears. “They love to remember, don’t they? But they also have fun in their lives no matter what. And they still look forward to tomorrow…”
“There you have it, Emily. Their secret is quite simple. Like the two friends in Morocco, they know that age is a state of mind and they Remember the past, look forward to the future, live in the moment.”
Part XI: One of the Few Things Worth Remembering
“Cumberland? Where is Cumberland?” asked Emily.
“it’s a town in Rhode Island, the smallest state,” Emma. “I wonder what we’ll find there?”
The sleigh slowed on the approach into the town, taking them on a circular route around Diamond Hill, over the reservoir, until finally descending into the parking lot of a small pub on Mendon Rd. called McT’s.
“Why are we here?” asked Emily.
“I don’t know, but I know how to find out.” Emma jumped from the sleigh and motioned for Emily to follow. As they got closer to the door, a cacophony of voices greeted them. Laughter mixed with the conversation while music played in the background and groups of people gathered at the various tables or stood at the bar.
The conversations were a varied lot.
“Hey, remember the time we let the goose go in the gym and the janitor had to corner it with a trash barrel?”
“What ever happened to Kevin T? I heard he moved to Australia.”
“How is your mother? I haven’t seen her since we went to the prom and she dropped us off.”
“Can you believe it’s been forty-seven years since we graduated… CHS ’74? Where does the time go?”
Emma tapped Emily on the shoulder, and they headed back out into the parking lot. “Notice anything about the cars here?” she asked.
Emily looked around and shrugged. “They’re just cars.”
“Look again.”
Emily looked at all the cars, seeing nothing that jumped out at her, but then it hit her. The license plates. They were from all over the country. Some as far away as California or Texas. Some were clearly rental cars driven by people from who knows where.
“They’re from all over. Some of these people traveled here from far away.”
“And why do you think that is?”
“I suppose to see friends and family. To revisit a place important to them.”
“That’s exactly it, my dear. You see, the world is full of things that will catch your eye, but only a few will catch your heart. This town has a bit of magic to it. It embeds itself within those who grew up here and plays a big part in making them what they are.” Emma smiled at her little friend. “For most of them, it will always be home. And do you know why?”
Emily thought for a moment. “Well, since this little quest of ours has been about finding the spark that keeps the Christmas Spirit alive, I suppose it is about remembering the important things in our lives and somehow this town is… ahh… worth remembering?”
Emma nodded. “You’ve discovered another important secret about the Christmas Spirit. It is One of the Few Things Worth Remembering…”
Part XII: Hope may be invisible, but it is always with us
Emma sat back in the sleigh, letting the reins go so the reindeer could browse a bit. “So, Emily, what do you think about picking one more place and then heading back?”
“Well, we have gathered quite a bit of information that I can use to build a report for Santa. I think it’s enough. But I’m worried. Suppose we can’t save the Spirit of Christmas, then what?”
“Hand me your laptop. I want to show you one place you might not have noticed in all your data.”
Emma took the computer, looked through a few things, then handed it back. “I think I have just the place to go.” And with the coordinates plugged into the GPS, Emma grabbed the reins and they were off.
While every one of their trips had been quick, this one was in less than a blink of the eye. Emily looked over the edge of the sleigh as they settled onto the roof of Hasbro Children’s Hospital.
“I know this place is wonderful, but many of the kids here are very ill. It’s kind of sad that this happens to them. What will we find here that we don’t already know?”
Emma smiled. “Let’s go see for ourselves if there really are miracles here.”
Wandering through the corridors, they glanced into various rooms. Kids of all ages with all sorts of medical challenges seemed to be everywhere.
“I never realized how many children need this place,” said Emily.
“This and all the hospitals like it… and there is a need for more,” Emma said.
As they turned down the hallway, they came to the Neonatal ICU. Inside, there were babies who seemed almost too small to be real. Parents sat next to many of the covered beds, often holding on to the tiniest of fingers.
Nurses checked the readouts of the machines keeping the babies alive. Doctors drifted in and out, conferring with the nurses. The sounds and sights brought a tear to Emily’s eyes.
“I know this may sound awful,” sobbed Emily, “but it would seem this is the last place we can find an answer to saving the Christmas spirit.”
Emma pulled her tight to her. “On the contrary my dear, this is a place where we have the best chance of saving it.”
Emily wiped the tear from her cheek. “But how, it seems so sad here.”
“It would be, except this place, of all the places in the world, offers the one thing every child, every person, needs. Whether they are ill and in the hospital or dealing with some other troubles in their lives… Hope.”
A smile grew wide on Emily’s face. “Of course, hope. Hope may be invisible, but it is always with us.”
The Day After Christmas: The Last Secret
Climbing back aboard the sleigh, Emily sat quietly, looking up at all the stars.
“So what have we learned?” asked Emma.
Emily remained silent for a long moment, gathering her thoughts. “Well, it would seem the real secret to keeping the spirit of Christmas is simple. Each place we went taught us something. Here’s what I learned.”
Celebrate what you had, and what you have, don’t focus on what you’ve lost
The joy of gifts is in the giving.
Better to have one real friend than hundreds of pretend ones.
Our challenges do not define us, but how we face them does
Happiness exists only when it is shared with others
Age is a state of mind
Remember the past, look forward to the future, live in the moment
Be one of the few things worth remembering
Hope may be invisible, but it is always with us
“All of that is true, my dear. But there is one more thing to learn.” She picked up the reins, then, with a wink of her eye that reminded Emily of Santa, said, “You might want to hold on.” And with that, the sleigh rocketed straight into the sky… and kept going. At about 50,000 thousand feet, they released the reindeer.
“Ah, don’t we need them to fly?” Emily asked.
“Most of the time. We will come back for them later. They like being free once in a while. We’ve made some modern additions to the sleigh… we just haven’t told Santa yet.” Emma uncovered a secret compartment. “Let’s keep this part of the trip to ourselves, okay?” She winked, then pushed a black button.
The sleigh rocketed above the earth so far that the world appeared a shiny blue marble in the blackness of space.
“Tell me what you see, Emily.”
Emily glanced at Emma, then relaxed her death grip on the sleigh. “Is that the Earth?”
“It is indeed, and what do you see?”
“Well, I see the oceans and the continents and clouds.”
“Now what is it you don’t see?”
“Don’t see? I don’t understand, Emma. What do you mean?”
“Do you see borders, or boundaries, or fences? Do you see tribes, or countries, or races?”
“No, of course not.”
That’s because all of that is artificial. All fabricated. None of it matters when you look at it from this perspective. We are all people of earth on a small blue marble in a universe full of wonder and magic.”
“So all those things we learned really are everywhere if we just know how to look for them?”
“That’s it, Emily. When it comes to the spirit of Christmas, often we miss the most important aspect. You see, my dear, if you focus on what is wrong you miss all the good in the world. And with magical things like the Christmas Spirit, There are some things in the universe that cannot be measured, they have to be experienced.
“Everyone leads different lives. Sometimes it is full of joy, sometimes sorrow, but as long as we remember to hold on to hope, there is always tomorrow for dreams to come true. Now why don’t you take another look at your data there and tell me what you see.”
Emily opened her laptop, and green dots covered the map. There were still a few red dots, and she knew now that there always would be, but they would come and go in the face of hope.
“What say we head back to Christmas Town and let everybody know we solved the problem,” said Emma. “Oh, and one more thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Let’s let Santa believe the whole thing was his idea. I like to let him believe he’s in charge.”
Emily laughed. “Okay, Emma, this will be our little secret.”
And with that, they gathered up the reindeer and flew back home, where Emily would let Santa give everyone the good news.
Thus ends the story of The Day After Christmas. I hope you’ve enjoyed this little jaunt into my imagination and that your Christmas or Hanukkah or whatever it is you celebrate is everything you want it to be.
Merry Christmas 2021, Joe Broadmeadow
P.S. Take a moment to read this last thought before you drift off to sleep and dream of sugarplums…you’ll be rewarded at the end with another cute picture of my grandson!
Thought on this Christmas Eve (reprinted from 2017)
I often look back on some of the things I’ve written. Sometimes, I cringe at what I released into the wild, and then sometimes I think, you know, not half bad, Joe, not half bad… And so with that in mind, on this Christmas Eve 2021, the 65th time I’ve experienced this magical day, I repost something I wrote several years ago, on Christmas Eve, 2017. I hope you find it at least not half bad…
JOE BROADMEADOW
On September 21, 1897, the editor of New York’s Sun newspaper captured the spirit of Christmas with these words,
“Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus…”
Seven words with an unanticipated longevity to the truth they proclaimed. The answer to a question from an 8-year-old girl.
This 8-year-old girl, facing life’s reality, sort reassurance from the authority of a newspaper. Imagine the quandary facing that editor, tell the truth or chip away at innocence?
He demonstrated great wisdom. He told the truth. A truth that holds to this day.
“Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus…”
This is a spirit different than religious traditions. It is a non-denominational phenomenon crossing cultural boundaries and containing a powerful message.
It is easy to lose hope in this world. One begins to wonder if evolution has slowed when it comes to the humanness of humankind.
Or given up on us entirely.
Despite this I say, now more than ever, yes there is a Santa Claus. Even among those who hold no such traditions. The spirit lives in the commonality of our being human.
All we need is a willingness to give for the sake of giving. To seek our happiness by making others happy.
We can share the experience of watching the wonder in the eyes of a small child. See the spark of the spirit come alive and grow within them. Embrace the comfort of old friendships, the warmth of family, or just the companionship of a good dog (but never a cat…okay, a cat as well.)
We all yearn to make others happy and feel the satisfaction of bringing joy to those we love. Or those we are yet to meet.
We can find solace in those same words; Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.
It is within us all. All we need do is open our minds.
So, no matter where your tradition comes from. Be it a generous caring man of a different era, proclaimed a Saint, and turned into the legend of Santa Claus. Or a celebration of another tradition with equal import to your memories. Whatever you celebrate, in this Christmas season and from here on, I wish for you;
To have no regrets except for things you didn’t do.
To never to be afraid of failing at anything, except failing to try.
To remember the past, but waste no time on it.
To look forward to the future, but understand you cannot control it.
To hold onto hope, no matter what.
To embrace your moments in this life, once past they can never be reclaimed.
To find what fills your heart with smiles and have it grow, like the Grinch’s, three sizes this day.
To find that childlike spirit long buried by the cares of the real world.
To let the shackles of growing up fall away.
To dance like Snoopy to the music of Schroeder.
To understand, like Linus, it is the spirit that matters.
To know there is always tomorrow for dreams to come true. Even on your last day on this earth, the dreams of those we leave behind live on.
To work for a future of a world filled with laughter.
To understand it is through our differences we share the commonality of being human.
To be a child again, if but for one moment. To hear the far-off sounds of jingling bells. To see a faint red light of a magical reindeer approaching in the cold winter sky. To feel the excitement at the footsteps of a jolly old man on the roof of your memories.
The best part of the Spirit of Christmas is it is within our power to keep it well all the rest of our days.
Happy Christmas to all and to all a lifetime of good nights!
Imagine every sound you hear could be something trying to kill you. Imagine being alone in the dark—cold, hungry, without shelter yet better off than the place where you suffered unimaginable torment. Imagine having to fight for every moment of your survival.
This is the life Dexter, a sweet lovable dog, endured for many months until he was rescued and rehabilitated by two remarkable people, Steve and Dr. Dru Pollinger.
This is their story…
EXCERPT
Through the big picture window of our animal hospital, I see an unfamiliar car pulling up to the front entrance. My plan was to have the leash handed off to me and immediately go for a walk that would begin to build a bond. Little could I have imagined the large crate that is carried out of the back of the vehicle and into the reception area.
In person, Florence is nicely dressed, fortyish, very sweet, with a concerned expression on her face. She introduces herself and Mark. Mark seems amicable, with somewhat of a more commanding presence. Our greetings being said, I am now anxious to meet Dexter who is confined in this cage.
I’m suspicious of the fact that he is not leashed. He appears terrified. He is standing up, head down, tail between his legs, ears hung low, and he is unwilling to make eye contact with me. Will this plan for an immediate walk be the right one? I don’t think so, but I will try to engage him. Further conversation is not something that I am desirous of right now.
I say to Mark, “No leash?” He responds by pulling one from his pocket, opens the cage door, and with great difficulty, slides it around Dexter’s neck. There is no aggression coming from him, but much more fear in his body language than I anticipated.
I take the leash and gently pull Dexter out. It is time for them to go and for me to begin my work. Florence hands me the paperwork regarding Dexter, and I let her know we’ll be in touch.
“Dex” is reddish-brown in color and resembles a beagle lab cross. He is medium-sized with stout legs, a long, thick tail, and droopy ears – but it is his face and his gaze that grip you. Numerous puncture scars cover the lips, muzzle, and the fossa between his eyes. His tear ducts have been damaged, and he subsequently suffers from tear overflow. His right ear has a large black hairless patch where it folds over. The front legs show linear scars arranged in a diagonal pattern. The right hind limb has a two-inch black patch of skin that never healed properly. He walks clumsily with a subtle left front lameness and his hind-end sways, perhaps from hip or back trauma. His right rear toes drag when one watches his gait from behind. There are no visible marks on his belly or back. He never rolled over in submission! In his quest for food, he may easily have encountered raccoons or a bobcat – who knows? Could he have been hit by a car – possibly? Was he caught in barbed wire fencing? We can only surmise, but we do know that no one was there to help him. His body slowly healed on its own, leaving only traces of the trauma he endured. Perhaps his earliest days were even worse, with beatings; as we will come to know with certainty later on, he was never socialized, only maligned. It is the hand approaching his face that terrorizes him…
Written by Steve and Dr. Dru Pollinger, VMD with Helayne Rosenblum
Cover Design by Jeff Slater, Slater Creative LLC.
Imagine
every sound you hear could be something trying to kill you.
Imagine
being alone in the dark—cold, hungry, without shelter yet better off than the place where you suffered unimaginable torment.
Imagine
having to fight for every moment of your survival.
Imagine
For Dexter, that was the life he led for many months. Alone, often starving, without shelter, afraid of any contact with people. He bore the scars of unimaginable abuse. Yet, the only thing that could save him were the same beings who caused him such agony—people. And he feared them even more than the predators he avoided daily.
Enter Steve Pollinger and his wife, Dr. Dru Pollinger, VMD, a resourceful veterinarian.
Learning about Dexter’s circumstances, they devised a plan to rescue this beautiful dog And that is exactly what they did. Come along on a journey from the darkness of an abused dog’s seemingly hopeless situation to his resurrection.
An unforgettable journey of hope in an often-uncaring world. This story will restore your faith in the fundamental goodness within people.
I Am Dexteris the culmination of the Pollinger’s long experience in treating animals brought to bear in a most touching recovery story of a wonderful dog named Dexter.
Assisted by Helayne Rosenblum, the Pollingers weave a wonderful story—-told from not only their perspective but from Dexter’s as well through their intimate understanding of animal behavior—of the rescue, rehabilitation, and restoration of Dexter to a healthy, happy member of the Pollinger pack.
This story will restore your faith in the fundamental goodness within people.
Praise for I Am Dexter
..magnificent—a true love story. I want to reread tomorrow again. It’s a love story on so many levels. It was emotional for me as I could also relate to Dexter. I was orphaned at age 12. Not abused, just abandoned. It was hard to read about the pool concrete incident. Hard to get that picture out of my head… magnificent writing.
Cheryl – Financial Controller PVCA Solar, California
Available soon in Print and eBook versions on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and everywhere books are sold. Contact the publisher for pre-release copies and special group rates for book clubs or other organizations.
The Writing of Joe Broadmeadow 
