Santa's on the Naughty List

It's the most wonderful time of the year.  It's the time of the year when children flock to see Santa. Their heartfelt wishes are whispered into the jolly man's ear hoping Christmas morning brings life to these wishes.  I wanted something from Santa.  I thought only he could make this wish come true.  I sought out good ole St. Nicholas at a neighboring town's library one chilly December morning.

I marched into the library on my mission to find Santa Claus.  The children's section of the library had been turned into a homey North Pole.  There were books of course.  Comfy chairs, couches, and pillows dotted the room.  A Christmas tree glowed in the corner with presents scattered under it's green branches.  Sitting under the Christmas tree was the cutest, smallest Santa I had ever seen.  He was surrounded by larger elfs.

"If I have to sit on this Santa's lap he's going to end up being the first flat Santa," I thought.

As I turned I spied a grand red chair filled with the adult Santa.  A man was climbing onto his lap.  Perhaps this was the oldest man to ever sit on Santa's lap.  He was 98 and had a wish for the jolly red clad man.  This 98 year old was also my uncle.

I heard my uncle  quietly and politely ask Santa for a new car.  He went on to explain that his daughter was driving his old car.  A huge deer, not one of your reindeer my uncle clarified, darted across the road.  His daughter slammed into the unfortunate deer.  Luckily no human was injured, but but the old car was a total loss.

"So you see, Santa, I really need a new car,"  my uncle concluded.

"Ho, Ho, Ho!" Santa exclaimed.  "You can't have a car.  You don't even drive.  You get a trike!"

What kind of Santa was this?  He would deprive a  spry 98 year old man of his Christmas wish?

It was my turn to plunk myself in Santa's lap.

"Santa, I only want one thing for Christmas.  Snow!"

I held my breath while Santa contemplated this.

"Ho, Ho, Ho!  I can't do that.  Merry Christmas!"

Merry Christmas?  No snow?  This Santa needed to be on someone's naughty list.

I stumbled over to the couch where my uncle and cousin sat.  Near tears, I told my cousin that red guy over there wouldn't give me snow.  Or give her dad a new car.

My cousin, always sticking up for people, whipped her head towards Santa and hollered, "Norris!"

Norris?  This was not the real Santa.  This was my cousin's husband.  He was a Santa fake!

Santa, I mean Norris, looked at us.  "Ho, Ho, Ho."

I have since written a letter to the real Santa at the North Pole.  I see snow is a possibility for the day before Christmas.  I will take what ever white he sends.  Then I will call Norris to say that the genuine Santa really does listen. 

I wonder what kind of car my uncle will find outside his door on Christmas?

Merry Christmas to all my readers.  Love those around you, eat lots, and throw a snow ball! 

P.S.  My letter to the "real" Santa worked!  We had a beautiful white Christmas with snow men and everything!  I suppose I should have put my uncle's request for a new car in also.  That will be next years' letter.

Thanks for the Memories

Death is a funny thing.  By funny, I mean memories.  Death seems to dig around and find amusing experiences that have been closeted in our brain.  The loss of Doug and my parents in such a short span have opened some doors in my mind.  The memories that have flooded out have made me smile and laugh.

My father was known by most as a prankster.  My mother had to endure years of rubber snakes tucked under her sheets waiting for the moment as she flipped back the covers.  Dad was rewarded with a shout and a curse of "Bob Shannon!"  Neighbors were not immune to the snake either.  The next door neighbor, Paul, and Dad tried to startle each other for years with that darn snake.  In fact the neighbor was often a brunt of my father's jokes.

My thoughtful sister had given our father a combination radio, flash light and siren in case of a hurricane.  Dad found other uses for this.  Paul had just purchased a shiny new car with the latest and greatest car alarm.  Poised behind his fence Dad waited for Paul to arrive home with his new vehicle.  Just as Paul opened the door to his house Dad sounded the siren.  Thinking it was his car alarm, Paul raced back to his car only to have the alarm cease it's blaring.  This happened three more times before Paul caught on, "Bob Shannon!  Where are you?"

My parents had problems with opossums in their yard.  They would trap them and release them in the country.  My young children thought these opossums in the cage were fascinating.  What do you do with visiting grandchildren that like your opossums?  Why take them opossum hunting of course!

The children were each given something to swat the opossum when they found one.  One had a bat.  One had a broom.  And the other one was given the privilege of using my long forgotten baton.  They trudged off to the back yard with my father in the lead.  My mother and I stood by the back door.  Giggles were erupting in our throats.  Slowly around the shed they crept with weapons cocked and ready.  All at once the trio of children raced screaming back to the safety of the house yelling, "I heard it!  I heard it!"  My son even professed to have seen the opossum and it was a big one.

This sent my mother into fits of laughter.  Her face contorted and belly laughter spilled out until tears ran down her legs!  You see opossums do not go "EEK."  Unbeknownst to my children, my sister had hidden in the shed.  She banged the inside of the shed and screeched "opossum" noises.

Growing up my mother had a special set of silverware only she used.  I never inquired where she got her treasured utensils.  I wish I had.  Occasionally one of my sisters or I would accidentally grab her fork or spoon for a quick taste of something.  Once the food was rolling around our mouths and our eyes spotted mother's silverware, we made a quick beeline to the trash can.  Eating with her fork or spoon made the food taste like dirt.  My mother would stand by with a knowing look in her eye.  This was the one thing she did not have to share with anyone.  To this day I wonder how she managed to make us believe food tasted rotten with her prized fork and spoon.

My parents played cards.  They had card parties with several couples and card tables scattered around the house.  When Doug became part of the family he was initiated into playing cards. He did not grow up playing games.  My father took him under his wing to teach him the finer points of a card game called Pitch.

You must make a bid in a suit hoping your partner has cards in their hands to help you out. My mother and I were partners leaving Dad and Doug together.  Mistake.  What my Dad taught Doug was how to cheat!  Dad would throw his hand over his heart and proclaim, "My heart hurts." or "I need to get a club for that opossum in the yard."  This would get Doug energized, "Gee Dad, your diamond ring is sparkling tonight."

Doug and Dad had many conversations out on the patio.  I believe Dad was passing on his love of lawn mowing.  Doug did love to mow the lawn! He mowed in the heat of the summer. He mowed leaves all during the fall.  Spring came and he mowed as soon as the snow melted.  Doug did not mow in the winter.  I locked the mower up.  Can't have the neighbors talking too much about the obsessive lawn guy down the road.

My father was not the only one to pull pranks.  Naval aviators have formal dinners called Dining Outs.  These functions were in full Navy dress uniforms and wives in fancy formal dresses.  It also came a Master of Ceremony who made up rules and dished out fines. Before these functions Doug plotted his antics.

He was known to sneak into the banquet hall hours before the event began and sew some poor unsuspecting pilot's silverware to the the table cloth.  The pizza man would be hired by Doug to deliver a pizza to someone other than Doug during the expansive meal.  These jokes caused poor unsuspecting souls a fine.  The fines were normally contributed to a charity.  Or to the bar at the end of the night.  Same thing-sort of.

All these silly memories and more creep into my mind at unexpected moments.  I am blessed to live in a house and community that these three special people loved.  My parents still referred to Iowa as home.  The first day Doug and I arrived for our new life in Iowa, he knew it was his forever home.  I will continue to live and love here.  So when the rumor comes around that I am going to California for the winter or Texas to live-shoot it down.  I am here to stay!