A Christmas Fantasy

It was the coldest winter in memory. The oldest elves at the North Pole, those at least five hundred years old, could not remember anything like it. Normally this time of year the reindeer were out playing their reindeer games. But not this specific year. It was so cold that even Rudolph’s nose had turned gray. There was to be none of their usual reindeer frolic.

In late October, a wind stirred in the south somewhere down in the middle of Texas.  And not just Texas, but West Texas. Soon it rose up and carried that Texas standard northward. It struck Oklahoma, then Missouri, then Illinois. It went through Chicago like Hurricane Andrew went through South Florida, fast and furious. Nobody, not even the Archangel Michael, was about to stop its blitzkrieg.

The blast blasted through Canada, then made for Alaska and Siberia. It hit the North Pole like a ton of bricks. And not just any bricks, but bricks as large as two-by-fours. First the toy factory iced over. The Elves, shaking in their elvies, had to shut down their toy making machines. Then they headed for the closet. It was a tight fit but it was warm. Even Little Bart cutting the cheese was welcome. It warmed things up.

Santa’s Nine, the Reindeer, normally treated the winter as their Reindeer Disneyland. They partied like it was 1999. They threw snowballs at each other. They raced across the snow like NASCAR drivers at the Daytona Beach Speedway.

Not this year. There was ice everywhere. Everything stopped working. It was so cold the reindeer stayed in their shed and demanded hot milk and chocolate chip cookies to keep warm.

Over in Santa’s Castle, Mrs. Claus found her beloved by the great hearth of the Winter Hall Feast Room, stoking the fire. Santa had only a small fire going and it was about to die out. Not warm enough to warm his toes, much less his pot belly and long white beard. He looked at Mrs. Claus with fear in his eyes. Those baby blues said that this was really bad. They said the unthinkable. Santa and the reindeer might have to cancel the Christmas Eve Delivery. Tears filled both Mrs. Claus and Santa’s eyes.

It seemed that the only thing that continued to work was the North Pole Postal System. Letters from children all over the world continued to pour in, stacking up to the roof and filling the North Pole Post Office Building. There were more than usual. They weren’t just from children. They were from adults too, begging, pleading for Santa to do something. To save Christmas.

Thanksgiving passed and Advent began. There was no let up. Hanukkah came and passed. Still no let up in the storm. Finally the storm broke on December 23. Just in time for the Elves to get the toy machines up and running. The machines hummed, whistling their happy tunes once again. “Oh joy, oh joy,” the Elves sang. Their feet danced once again. It was Christmas time.

Santa left his Castle. He looked at the night sky. The stars were the brightest he had ever seen. The Man in the Moon hung over the North Pole, a smile on his face. Everything seemed to conspire to make Christmas this year the most wonderful in all of history. A jolly ho-ho started in Santa’s toes, ran up his legs, gained speed as it passed through his pot belly, and blasted out of his mouth with happiness.

Santa opened the door to Sled Hall. Before him was Humley, his shiny red sled. Only it wasn’t red and shiny. It was white. “Humley,” Santa exclaimed, “what happened?”

“Pigeon poop,” Humley said.

“Pigeon poop? But there are no pigeons in Sled Hall. There are no pigeons at the North Pole.”

“Wrong,” Humley explained. “They were here. Victims of the storm. Sled Hall was the only place they could save themselves from the storm. They came through the chimney. As soon as the blizzard subsided, they took off.”

Santa was amazed. Not so much as the pigeon holiday, but that Humley used the word “subsided”. Then Santa remembered the calendar he had given the sled last Christmas. “Learn a new word a day” Calendar. “Subsided” must be the Word for the Day. Santa sighed and went to work. He cleaned and polished, polished and cleaned, cleaned and polished. Finally Humley was better than new. He shone like he had never shone before. “Thanks,” Humley said a word of gratitude to his boss.

Next Santa walked over to Reindeer Shed and opened the door. Dasher blasted the Boss with a large cough. Dancer next coughed. Then Donner and Blitzen, Prancer and Vixen, Donder and Blixen. They all lay on the floor, moaning and groaning. Even Rudolph was coughing. Santa got out his reindeer thermometer and took their temperature. The temp shot up high for each of them.

Santa was angry. “Didn’t I tell you to get a flu shot back in September?”

“You did,” Dancer moaned. “But Rudolph talked us out of it. Told us that it would make us all sicker than dogs. Now we’re sicker than cats.” Dancer moaned some more.

Rudolph gave Santa a pathetic look. “Sorry, Boss. I read it on the internet. Besides we’re all afraid of needles.”

Santa sighed. His sigh was a sigh of forgiveness for his reindeer. It was also a sigh that asked what was he going to do. One moment he was happier than he had been since forever began. The next he was sad enough to make the North Pole droop three degrees latitude.

This Christmas was going to take a miracle. His sleigh was back in top form. The Elves were almost through with the toys. And now he had no reindeer. He thought about going down to the local Rent-a-Wreck Reindeer dealer. But those reindeer just weren’t not up to Humley’s standards. Humley wouldn’t let just any reindeer haul him around. Especially the duds that Rent-a-Wreck rented. Santa decided to try anyway.

Humley was in no mood for compromise. Any other year, yes. After all the pigeon poop, no way. He would not bargain. It was First Class Reindeer or nothing. Santa begged. Mrs. Claus pleaded. The Elves even gave it the old college try. There was no budging Humley.

Santa turned to the Elves and Mrs. Claus. “I guess that’s show business. It was a good run while it lasted.”

Mrs. Claus was not up to giving up. “Will,” she said. She was the only one who ever called Santa by his first name, and she only did it in times of extreme difficulty. This was one of those times. “Whatever happened to the show must go on?”

Santa sighed for the forty-second time that day. Then he left Sled Hall and went out into the night. Everything had changed. There was no Mr. Man in the Moon. No stars. Not even a dark blue. It was all gray, as gray as Santa’s mood.

Mrs. Claus joined him. She gave him one of her warm and comforting apple pie hugs. Then she had an idea. “I have an idea,” she said.

Santa shook his head and went back to the Castle. The Elves headed to Elf Hall. All were sad. Only Mrs. Claus had hope. It was only a thimbleful. Sometimes that is all the hope you need.

She disappeared for the rest of the night of December 23rd and most of the day of December 24th.

At 9 p.m. exactly, Mrs. Claus woke Santa from his slumber. She had a full-moon smile on her face. It was so big that it gave Santa the hope he needed to crawl out of bed.

At the hearth, she poured her husband a large mug of eggnog. While he sat, sipping his drink and rocking in his extra special Santa Rocking Chair, Mrs. Claus persuaded Santa to join him in Sled Hall.

“Oh, alright,” he said finally.

“First you must put on your Santa suit. I’ve got it all laundered and pressed just for Christmas Eve.”

When Eleanor Claus made up her mind, Will knew there was no resisting her. So, like the good husband he was, Santa did as he was told. He dressed quickly. Then he went out into the Great Hall of the Castle. Before him was a table laid out with all his favorites. Roast turkey, dressing, gibblet gravy, green beans and Mrs. Claus’ homemade rolls. None made rolls as tasty as she did. To top it off a large slice of pecan pie with whipped cream on it. And there was his large mug filled with Christmas ale. Mrs. Claus gave him a big smooch on the forehead, then settled him into his large Santa chair.

Santa did not know what was going on. He realized how hungry he was and quickly gobbled the meal down. With one big burp, he drank his last drop of ale. He leaned back into his chair. He was ready for anything.

Mrs. Claus said, “Will, come with me.”

Santa followed obediently to Sled Hall. She pushed back the door. There before him stood eight smiling penguin harnessed to Humley.

“What is this?” he demanded.

Mrs. Claus said, “This is Leroy. He will be the lead penguin.” Leroy bowed. Then she went through the names of each of the others. Marvin. Joe. Sammy. Harry. Jack. Cary. The little fellow at the tail end was Jasper.

“What?” Santa was confused. Very confused.

“These are the Penguins who will save Christmas, Santa,” Mrs. Claus said.

“Penguins can’t fly,” Santa said, completely baffled.

“Oh, but they can,” Humley interjected.

Leroy, the King of the Penguins, North Pole District, said, “We are not South Pole penguins. We are North Pole Penguins. And North Pole Penguins can fly.”

“But…but…but,” Santa said.

Mrs. Claus pushed him into his seat in Humley. “Now, now, dear. Just relax and let the penguins do the driving.”

Santa was still not convinced. He rose to get out of the sleigh. Mrs. Claus pushed him back into his seat. He resigned himself to his fate. His fate he knew would be a crash landing.

“I remembered a book I read several years ago,” Mrs. Claus said, “Dr. Avril Winterspoon’s “Encyclopedia of North Pole Beasties”. There was a small article on North Pole Penguins. They were few in number. They had only been seen twice. The article said that they would respond to a delicacy of apple pie. Well, you know I make the best apple pies this side of Alaska. So I baked up a batch of pies and went in search of the penguins. When they smelled my pies, they came waddling out of nowhere.”

“But they can’t fly,” Santa protested, still determined not to crash land.

“But there is where you are wrong. North Pole Penguins have magic toes. They jump into the air, then land on their toes and off they go. Now, dear—”

“But, Humley, will never agree to this.”

Humley disagreed, “That’s where you’re wrong.”

“You wouldn’t go for reindeer. Why penguins?”

“That Rent-a-Wreck Reindeer dealership,” Humley said. “He sold my brother, Chumley, three lemons. Besides I like penguins. Now it’s 11:45 p.m. We’ve got toys to deliver. Let’s get going.”

Santa was out of resistance. He settled into his seat, took up his reins, then went, “Giddy-up, Leroy.” It didn’t have the poetry of Dasher and Dancer. But it was Christmas and it was Leroy, Marvin, Joe, Sammy, Harry, Jack, and Cary. And, of course, Jasper. The penguins jumped into the air, landed on their toes simultaneously, then in a flash they had Humley in the sky.

On the North Pole lawn, Mrs. Claus waved to her husband. From the sleigh, she heard the familiar Santa Claus voice of her husband, “Merry Christmas, and a good night to one and all.”