My Christmas Story for 2025

From last Saturday's walk at Belmar Park and coffee at Panera.

So, 2025 has been a year of political T-shirts for me. Some witty, some colorful, some snarky. And December has been the month of the mother-of-all-colds. Last Saturday was my first opportunity in December to get out of the house, walk in a beautiful park, and go to coffee with friends. 

And it is the Christmas Season, a time to celebrate Peace and Good Will toward my fellow human beings. To be honest, I haven't really been "feelin' it" this year. 

My daughter believes in "dressing for joy." And how more joyful could I get than my Christmas Elf T-shirt?!

There were only two of us, Marchelle and me, from our regular walking group that day. The Saturday before Christmas, when traditional Christmas shoppers were doing their final major run before the big day? Really? Really. 

That was okay. I couldn't really do a whole, serious walk after being housebound for three weeks anyway, but we walked down to the lake and checked out which birds were still in town. It's been unusualy warm, so a surprising number are still here. 

We arrived at Panera for coffee just as Santa and a police officer got there. Not together, of course.

"Boss," I called out to Santa. And he held the door for us. It turns out that Santa, when in his plain persona, is John, one of the managers at Panera. My friend Marchelle took these pictures.

After Santa took my order, he explained that they were treating a child and his family to a meal, a visit with Santa and with a real police officer, because the boy really likes the police.

We couldn't see the festivities because we were at a table toward the back of the restaurant. As we were leaving, the family had just finished their meal, the young man had opened his gifts and was getting ready to examine a real police car. 

We don't know how old the young man is. We guessed maybe nine or ten. And he has Downs Syndrome.

I introduced myself to him as The Number One Elf. Without missing a beat, he confidently extended his hand for a firm handshake and very seriously said "Good Job." He graciously accepted my "Thank you," and went with the Lakewood Police Officer to examine the police car. Not a plain Shamu cruiser, but the bigger, police SUV.

And just like that, I've been feeling like it really is Christmas!

The moral of this story is "dress for joy and you, too, may just find yourself in your very own Christmas Story."

Happy Christmas and Peace to all.

 

Dear Santa -- 2nd of 4

Image from rackandshelf.com

If you have not read Dee's first letter to Santa click Dear Santa No. 1

Dear Santa,

   It’s me again. Dee, the woman from the Thanksgiving Day parade. My son moved home and my daughter’s having a baby, remember? Well, Becca's not having a baby right now, but maybe by the time you get this letter.

   My daughter, and her husband Thurman had a setback. Thurman’s a policeman. Very nice man. Becca’s a loan officer at the credit union. Anyway, their house caught fire. Thank goodness no one was hurt and the house didn’t burn to the ground. But there was extensive smoke and water damage, so it looks like it’ll be after Christmas before they can move back in.

   Marvin – you remember my husband that died three years ago on Black Friday? I do miss that man. He had no idea how much we’d need the basement. The kids being grown and gone by the time he got around to it. I just thank goodness he put in the bedrooms and bath. My cat Cleo and I are in the front bedroom down there. Rodney – you remember my son? The one with the rabbits? He’s in the back bedroom.

   I let Becca and Thurman have my bedroom and their two boys have the other upstairs bedroom. Maggie, my five-year-old granddaughter, is sleeping in my sewing room on the futon. That’s upstairs, too. So Becca’s family is all upstairs.

   And their two Labradors.

   Cleo wasn’t best pleased when the dogs moved in. We had quite a rodeo. They didn’t know much about cats. I guess Cleo decided to indoctrinate them right from the get-go. She bowed up and hissed and spit at Buddy. He’s the old dog. Poor thing. He wasn’t sure how to act, but then she slapped him – claws out – right across the muzzle. He wasn’t having that at all. And the chase was on.

   Becca may be pregnant out to here, but she reacted immediately, plunging headlong after Buddy. The younger dog Rocky cowered against Thurman’s legs and tripped him when he tried to help Becca. Those two boys laughed to high heaven and Maggie screamed like she was the one being chased.

   I was so shocked, I just stood there watching the cat, the dog, and the pregnant girl. Through the living room into the dining room, then the kitchen and back into the living room. Cleo must have recognized me as some kind of King’s X. Her second time around she ran right up me. Thank goodness Becca grabbed Buddy’s collar before he climbed up me, too.

   Cleo’s staying pretty much in the basement now. We have to keep the door closed to the storeroom where the rabbits are. I don’t know if she’d hurt them, but she certainly paid them a lot of attention, so I’d rather be safe than sorry.

   You know, even with Rodney changing their litter every day, it’s pretty ripe down there. I asked him what he plans to do with those rabbits. He said he’s not sure.

   We don’t really need anything. The insurance gave Becca and Thurman some money to replace some of the necessities. They’d already bought most of their Christmas presents and were hiding them at his mother’s house. So come Christmas Eve, the kids will still have a nice visit from you.

   Thurman’s mother has a nice house. They’d have stayed with her, but she’s the nervous sort and they were afraid the three kids would be too much for her.

   We went to the thrift store and got a bassinet, some linens, and clothes for the baby when she gets here. It’s a girl, did I tell you? They’re going to name her Sylvia after his mother.

   I know you’re busy – and heaven knows I am too – so will sign off for now.

Sincerely,

Dee

for Dee's next letter to Santa click here.

Dear Santa -- 1st of 4

image from twinset.us

Dear Santa,

    I saw you yesterday in the Thanksgiving Day parade. You looked right at me. I was between 14^th and 15^th Streets. In front of the Silver Spoon. You have such kind eyes.

   You probably think I’m too old to be writing to Santa. Maybe I am. But 53 isn’t so very old.

Anyway, my husband Marvin died three years ago today. Ironic isn’t it, today being Black Friday.

Rodney’s moved back in. He’s my son. Thirty-two years old. His wife served him with papers Monday. Pretty cold hearted to do that Thanksgiving Week, don’t you think? Still, it is nice to have the boy home again. He made the turkey. The whole dinner, actually – green bean casserole, dressing, stuffed celery. And three pies. Apple, pumpkin, and pecan. Marvin always liked pumpkin. My favorite is strawberry-rhubarb, but never mind.

   I thought Jennifer was a nice young woman. She just didn’t appreciate Rodney’s financial ventures. Adventures, more like. Not long after they married, he went in with a friend raising ostriches. You know, the birds. Turns out the people already in the business were selling breeding stock and dreams of wealth. They convinced people that there would be a market for the meat and hides. It never developed and Rodney got stuck with the birds. Those birds will eat anything. One of them knocked my sunglasses off and swallowed them before I could pick them up. I covered the vet bill since it was sort of my fault.

   I’m glad the zoo agreed to take them. Abandoning them in the national forest just doesn’t seem right.

   Then he bought gold when it was at its height. And there was that land in New Mexico. The photos were beautiful. Mountain scenery. But no access and no water. I’m not sure what he intended to do with it.

   But the boy’s always worked. It’s not like he spent her money on any of these, shall we say, investments. I think she objected to the way he works, too. He can’t seem to stay with a job very long. He was at that investments counselling place the longest. Good money, but his heart just wasn’t in it.

   I don’t think the girl was pleased with him raising rabbits either. He brought the rabbits with him – two does and their litters. I’m not sure how many babies there are, but their eyes are open and they’ve got hair. Or is it fur? They are so cute.

   I know my Home Owners’ Association probably has some rule against keeping rabbits, but he’s got them downstairs so nobody will ever know. I’m glad Marvin finished the basement.

   We do have some good news. My daughter Becca is expecting. A little girl, due in a couple of weeks give or take. You know how that goes. Anyway, hopefully by Christmas. That’ll make four for her.

   It's just as well that Rodney and Jennifer don’t have any children. Under the circumstances.

   You may think I’m crazy, but I’m going to mail this. I’m not really expecting any response. I would have written to Marvin, but that seemed wrong somehow, him being dead and all. I just needed someone to talk to.

Very truly yours,

Dee

For Dee's next letter to Santa click here Dear Santa No. 2