This piece was originally published in a similar version in Pathfinder:Guide for the Widow/er's Journey
I
assumed it would be impossible to interview Santa Claus so close to Christmas. Why would he agree to talk to poor widow me? He had nothing to plug.
He wasn’t starring in a movie; he hadn’t written a book and he was too lovable to run for President.
Since
Santa’s toys are basic, wooden and old fashioned (similar to Melissa & Doug
puzzles) I communicated the old fashioned way. I called him...from my landline.
I didn’t text him because how could he text me back with those chubby fingers?
Santa, THEE Santa did call me back and not from the North Pole. He was in Macy’s
Department store, THEE Macy’s on 34th Street – from THEE movie
“Miracle on 34th Street.”
Santa suggested we meet in the men’s room
during his bathroom break. Really Santa? That’s just creepy. He clarified. He
meant the Men’s Department. He needed
a new black belt. His was 150 years old. It was time. I guess elves only make
toys.
Santa looked sad. I thought it was
because Macy’s didn’t have a belt in his size. There was more, much more to
this Christmas story.
CS: Santa, there are
plenty of stores in the city. One is
bound to have a size 92 waist with a gold
buckle. Can
you do silver?
SC: It’s not that, Sugar.
CS: You remember that my
nickname was Sugar when I was a
kid?
SC: I remember everything.
Is your mother still whacky?
CS: No.
SC: That’s good.
CS: She’s dead.
SC: (Santa starts to cry)
CS: It’s okay Santa. She’s
at peace now and not annoying
everyone.
SC: No. I’m crying because
Mrs. Claus is very sick. I’m
afraid I may lose her.
CS: Is that possible?
Aren’t you guys immortal?
SC: I thought so too.
Apparently, a loophole in our
contract. Who reads the fine print?
CS: You should give coal to
lawyers and the little kids who
will grow
up to be lawyers!
SC: Carol I’m Santa Claus,
not Cruella Deville. Anyway,
Doc from the seven dwarfs warned Mrs. Claus
not to eat
so many of the cookies she bakes, but the smell...she
can’t resist. Now she’s at risk.
CS: At risk for what?
SC: Cookieitis – Deadly.
She’s beginning to have symptoms.
CS: Tell me what you’re most
afraid of.
SC: What if she dies? I’ll
be all alone.
CS: You have the elves and
Rudolph.
SC: Your husband died and
you had friends and family around
you. Did it help?
CS: Not really, but maybe
if I had elves. (laughs) Sorry.
You’re right. I was lonely and it was scary
for a long
time.
SC: I’m terrified I won’t
be jolly anymore. Kids all
over the world are counting on me to be
freakin’ jolly!
CS: You won’t be jolly for
a while, but little by little
parts of your old self will peek out.
SC: You mean first I’ll
shout out “Ho!” and then the next
week
the other “Ho!” and then two days later the third
“Ho?”
CS: And, eventually you’ll put it together again with
a
“Ho Ho Ho!” And your ho-ing will be
genuine. You’ll be
happy!
SC: I could never be happy again without Mrs.
Claus.
Anyway, the pickings are slim up at the
North Pole.
CS: You’re a catch, Santa. You work from home at a
seasonal business, you’re a natural with
kids, and you
drive at night!
SC: I’m depressed. I should throw myself into my
work.
Maybe I’ll make Christmas twice a year!
CS: Running away from life isn’t healthy, Santa...wait,
twice a year means more presents for me! Terrific idea!
SC: Or, I’ll close up shop.
CS: A hasty decision. Think of the elves on
Unemployment.
Hallmark will plummet and I own stock!
SC: I’d hate to disappoint the children, though.
Don’t you
have grandchildren?
CS: Yes, umm, of course, the children. It’s all
about the
ummm, children. Screw Hallmark. What kind
of heartless
person worries about stock prices at a
time like this?
I was just kidding.
SC: My cheeks will never
be rosy again. She pinches
them...sometimes
a little too hard, but I like it, if
you
know what I mean...
CS: I do. So it’s Mrs.
Claus who puts that twinkle in your
eye.
SC: Yes, except one December
23rd when I was up against the
deadline. We had Chinese food delivered to
the
workshop. The girl who brought it was a
doll.
CS: A doll like a toy the
elves make?
SC: Not quite. Let’s just
say I almost put my slinky in her
stocking!
CS: Santa!
SC: I said “almost.” Hey,
I’m only human.
CS: No you’re not.
SC: Whatever...Ohh... Mrs.
Claus is Face timing me! See?
CS: (looking into the iPad
and waving) Hi Mrs. Claus. Long
time fan, here!
SC: (to Mrs. Claus) You
look wonderful, honey...And,
healthy,
like the old you! You seem full of energy
like Rudolph did right after we got his
nose to stop
blinking!
You are
healthy? You’re cured? Doc said so?
Santa
spun me around and kissed me on both cheeks.
The store’s
piped in music played “White Christmas”
and he began to sing along.
He
winked at me as only Santa could and then he
skipped away towards the shoe department, holding
his
iPad close to his beard. I think he was
kissing the
screen.
Outside of Macy’s, the beauty of the
season was unfolding.
The first winter's snow was starting to stick right there
on 34th Street. Even the grownups were giddy; They were
gliding and stomping and loving the sound of the crunch under
their boots.
on 34th Street. Even the grownups were giddy; They were
gliding and stomping and loving the sound of the crunch under
their boots.
Did Santa singing “White Christmas” make
it snow? How is
this possible with global warming? The temperature here in
New York is 70 something...in December! It couldn't be snow!
Perhaps some editor was shredding my latest submission and
tossing it from a building above me. It wouldn't be
the first time.
I tasted it. Nope. It was snow all right - Magical snow conjured
up by a relieved Santa. I was thrilled to be the first person to
report this story, however Santa could have warned me. I was
wearing four inch
heels.
But, hold
on, I had met Santa Claus, THEE Santa Claus
and Mrs. Claus was going to be okay and
there would be
a jolly Santa and Christmas this year!
Still my shoes were ruined and my hair was wet and
frizzy.
Merry Freakin'Christmas!
