Christmas Catastrophe!

Christmas Catastrophe!

                                            By Valerie L. Egar

            Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins lived at the North Pole, a mile from Santa’s workshop. They raised reindeer, grew Christmas trees, and were good neighbors to Santa and Mrs. Claus. Every year, Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins invited them for Christmas dinner, knowing they were exhausted from months of preparing for Santa’s toy deliveries on Christmas Eve.

When Santa asked Mrs. Jenkins what she wanted for Christmas, a kitten was at the top of her wish list. A very tired Santa returned from his trip around the world and stopped at the Jenkins’ house. He carried a basket tied with a big red bow to the door.

            Mrs. Jenkins peeked in the basket. Three furry faces looked up. “Oh, they’re so sweet!” she cried.

            “I stopped at the shelter and I didn’t want to leave any behind, so I took all three,” said Santa.

            “Thank you!” Mrs. Jenkins said. She named the tabby Tic, the black and white one Tac and the red kitten Toe. The three snuggled together in a sun patch and fell asleep, tired after their long ride in Santa’s sleigh.

            “See you and Mrs. Claus later,” Mrs. Jenkins said.

             Mrs. Jenkins bustled in the kitchen, making stuffing for the turkey, while Mr. Jenkins worked in the barn, feeding the reindeer. Mrs. Jenkins heard a noise and peeked in the living room. The kittens were playing race and chase! Toe was in the lead with Tic and Tac close behind. Up, over the back of the couch, round and round the Christmas tree, across the carpet.

            Toe leaped to the mantle and skittered along the narrow shelf. Crash! Glass angels hit the floor and broke. Ceramic snowmen flew off the shelf and smashed.

            The noise frightened Tic. His tail puffed out like a fat brush and he scrambled across the room and jumped on the windowsill, knocking the potted Christmas cactus to the floor. Kaboom! The pot smashed and moist dirt spilled all over the carpet.

            Tac was frightened, too. She scrambled into the kitchen.

            “Oh my!” said Mrs. Jenkins. She sighed. She knew the kittens were just being kittens. They didn’t know any better, yet. She swept up the glass and wrapped it carefully for the garbage, vacuumed the dirt on the carpet, and repotted the Christmas cactus. She looked around the living room. Much better, but where were the kittens?

            “Kitty, kitties,” she called. Nothing.

            She walked into the kitchen.  The fat turkey she was about to stuff before the kitten ruckus started, sat in its roasting pan in the middle of her large table. Three kittens stood next to the turkey, nibbling on it with their tiny kitten teeth. “Shoo!” she shouted. The kittens scattered. Mrs. Jenkins put her head in her hands. “Now what will I make for Christmas dinner?”

            Just then, Mr. Jenkins came in. Mrs. Jenkins pointed to the turkey. “Looks like Santa brought you poltergeists not kittens,” he said.

            They heard more noise from the living room and hustled in to find Tic hitting an ornament on the branch of the Christmas tree with his paw. Toe wrapped his paw around a cranberry garland and pulled. Tac eyed the tree and

raced up the trunk. Tic and Toe followed. Higher and higher they climbed. The tree wobbled left, then right, then crashed to the floor.

            Mr. Jenkins set the tree upright and Mrs. Jenkins put the ornaments that hadn’t broken back on. Once again, she vacuumed the carpet. The tree listed a little to the left, but would have to do.

            Finally, the kittens were exhausted and fell asleep.        

            Mrs. Jenkins popped frozen lasagna into the oven, made a salad, and put the chocolate layer cake she’d baked in the pantry and shut the door tight.

            When Santa and Mrs. Claus arrived, Santa carried in a tall pole wrapped with rope. It had cubbyholes and platforms with dangling toys, everything kittens like. “A cat tree!” Mrs. Jenkins said. “Exactly what we need!”

“And just in time, too!” said Mr. Jenkins as the kittens woke up. “Santa, you saved our Christmas!”

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Copyright 2017 by Valerie L. Egar. May not be copied or reproduced without permission form the author.

Published December 10, 2017, Journal Tribune Sunday (Biddeford, ME).

Mission: Secret Santa

Mission: Secret Santa

             By Valerie L. Egar

When Jason and Dawn walked to the bus stop on a frosty December morning, they saw their neighbor, Mrs. Brewster, struggling to carry logs from the woodpile into the house. Mrs. Brewster was older than their Grandma and lifted one small log at a time, walked it to the porch, and then walked back to the woodpile for another. She looked cold and getting enough wood for the day was going to take a long time.

            Jason whispered in Dawn’s ear and her eyes lit up. “Yes,” she said. “That sounds like fun!”

            That evening, just before dark, Jason and Dawn piled all the logs neatly on the porch, just outside Mrs. Brewster’s door. They worked quietly and quickly because they wanted it to be a surprise. When they finished, all the wood Mrs. Brewster needed for the winter was right outside her door. They couldn’t wait to see what happened the next morning when she saw what they’d done.

            Jason and Dawn timed their walk to the bus stop just right. As they passed Mrs. Brewster’s house, her door opened. She stepped out, looking glum, then noticed the perfectly stacked wood on the porch. “Oh!” she cried. “How wonderful!” Her smile warmed Jason and Dawn all the way to school.

           “Let’s think of some other things we can do,” said Dawn.

            When Mrs. Brewster drove to the store on Saturday, Jason and Dawn were ready. They had a good supply of Christmas decorations their family no longer used. They wrapped a garland around Mrs. Brewster’s porch rails and hung a bright wreath on the front door. They trimmed the fir tree in the front yard with shiny Christmas ornaments, a suet bell for the birds and a popcorn garland they’d made.

            They waited for Mrs. Brewster to come home. Her eyes widened as she stepped from her car. Slowly, she walked to the little tree and touched its branches. Her face beamed when she saw her porch.

            Soon the phone rang and Jason ran to get it.  “Did you see who decorated my porch and yard?” Mrs. Brewster asked. 

“Santa?” said Jason.

Mrs. Brewster laughed. “Well, if you see him, tell him thank you.”

The next morning, Dawn baked chocolate chip cookies. She rang the door bell and ran away. Mrs. Brewster opened her front door and found a big plate of warm cookies.

When it snowed later in the week, Mrs. Brewster walked outside to find the snow swept off her car’s roof and windshield.

A beautiful home-made potholder mysteriously appeared, tied to her door knob. The next day, she found a catnip mouse for her kitten, Binky. A few days later, a few pieces of chocolate candy and a bag of kitty treats.

        On Christmas Eve, Jason and Dawn crept to Mrs. Brewster’s house to leave their last secret Santa surprise, a small pine tree they’d dug in the woods and potted. They’d decorated it with cut snowflakes and silver tinsel. The tree leaned a little to the left and they worried it wasn’t as pretty as other trees, but it was the best they could do.

            When they got to the door, they saw a big envelope that said, “To: Secret Santa.”

            The children left the little tree by the front door, took the envelope, rang the doorbell, and ran.

            When Mrs. Brewster opened the door, she found a Christmas tree that was just the right size for Binky and her.  She put it on the table in front of the window in her living room and smiled.

            The children opened the envelope as soon as they got home.  It said, “ Thank you so much Santa, for sharing the gift of love. Merry Christmas.”

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Copyright 2017 by Valerie L. Egar. May not be copied or reproduced without permission from the author.

Published December 3, 2017, Journal Tribune Sunday (Biddeford, ME).

Big Trouble in Santa's Workshop!

Big Trouble in Santa’s Workshop! 

                                                     By Valerie L. Egar

Fire engines were missing their ladders. Toy pigs clucked and hens oinked. Baby dolls didn’t have diapers. Andre, the elf in charge of quality control in Santa’s workshop, found defects in the toys coming off the workshop assembly line. Christmas was too close to be making mistakes. What was going on?

Andre checked the assembly line. Elf Quentin usually snapped ladders on fire trucks. Quentin voiced the stuffed animals, clucking and oinking into a recorder. Quentin diapered the baby dolls. Quentin was not doing his job.  

Santa asked Quentin to come to his office. When Quentin knocked, Santa invited him in and asked him to sit. Large windows looked out upon the snow and reindeer pranced in a white field. The sight filled Santa’s heart with joy. Quentin scowled.

“What’s the matter?” Santa asked.

“This place stinks!” Quentin cried. “I’m tired of snow and listening to Christmas carols all year. I’m tired of making toys. I want to do something important.”

Santa’s lips pursed as he assessed the little elf.  “Toys are important and bring children joy,” he said. “What would you rather do?” Santa hoped Quentin would ask to help feed the reindeer or say that he wanted to learn how to operate the Global Positioning System that guided the sleigh around the world on Christmas Eve.

“I want to live in Hollywood and be a famous actor,” Quentin said.

Santa sighed. “Are you sure?”

Quentin nodded. “I can’t wait to leave.”

Santa gave Quentin money and Mrs. Claus packed a basket of food. “Mrs. Claus and I will miss you,” Santa said. “You are always welcome to come back.” Santa gave him a jolly hug, spun him around and when Quentin opened his eyes he was in bright sunshine, staring at a palm tree.

         Quentin ambled to a newsstand and glanced at a newspaper to discover where he was. Hollywood Gazette. Yes! No more snow for him!

          He was too short to see over the crowd rushing past on the sidewalk. “Watch out, squirt!” somebody yelled. Quentin stepped out of the bustle.

            “Look at those pointed shoes,” a man laughed.

            “And those funny ears!” a woman giggled. “Those can’t be real.” She walked up to Quentin and pinched his ear.

            “Ouch!” Quentin cried. “Stop that!”

             Quentin had no luck finding work with the movie studios. He heard excuse after excuse: too short, not handsome enough, no parts for real elves, not even for Christmas movies. Computer animation created all the elves a movie needed. He walked along the street, staying close to the shop windows, so he wouldn’t get stepped on. Beautiful Christmas trees and twinkling lights lit the windows. Happy voices singing Christmas carols drifted out to the street. Quentin began to feel homesick.

            “No,” he thought. “I like the sun. I’ll sit on a park bench and think about other jobs I might like.”

            After a few hours, Quentin noticed his skin was bright red and hurt— he was sunburned. He wished he had some nice cold snow to roll around in.

A little boy wandered up and smiled. “You’re an elf, aren’t you?” the boy said.

            “Yes,” said Quentin.

            “Wow!” The boy called his friends over.

            “Do you help make toys?” one of the children asked.

            Quentin nodded.

            The children started to cheer. “Thank you!” “You’re the best!” “We love you!”

            Quentin was embarrassed. He didn’t think he deserved much credit for the work he’d been doing.

            “I bet you came to ask what we want for Christmas,” one of the children said.

           Quentin didn’t know what to say. He realized how much he missed the North Pole, Santa, the other elves, and his job making toys. Maybe being famous wasn’t as important as doing a job that brought others happiness. “Yes,” he said. “Tell me what you’d like for Christmas and I’ll take it back to Santa today.”

            Quentin wrote the children’s requests down. When he finished, he found Dasher waiting for him. He grasped the great reindeer’s antlers and held on tight as he flew home to the North Pole.

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Copyright 2017 by Valerie L. Egar. May not be copied or reproduced without permission from the author.

 Published Journal Tribune Sunday (Biddeford, ME) November 26, 2017.

Prince Avar's Transformation

                                        Prince Avar’s Transformation

                                             By Valerie L. Egar

            Prince Avar was destined to rule the Kingdom of Firth, his coronation was written in the stars. Knowing he would someday be their king, the people of Firth watched him grow. They hoped to see leadership and compassion. They wished for kindness and courage.

Instead, they noticed Avar was fierce and, when he didn’t get his own way, ruthless.  He liked power, but his heart was not tempered with love. He didn’t feel joy. Like most tyrants, he never laughed. The citizens of Firth bemoaned the day when Avar would become king.

Deep in the woods in a lonely part of the Kingdom, an old crone sat at a primitive table and observed Avar in her crystal ball. She knew it was best not to meddle in the affairs of humans and usually, she refrained. Still, Avar’s behavior pained her and she saw terrible destruction ahead if he became king.

The crone had the power to move rivers and crumble mountains, but there was one thing she couldn’t do. She was unable to change a human’s heart— only Avar could change that. Since she couldn’t cast a spell and change Avar into a different kind of person, she did what was within her power. She turned him into a lion.

 The lion was fierce as Avar had been and people ran from him. For twenty years, the lion wandered, King of the countryside, hunting, roaring, proving himself the most powerful of beasts.

But, as Avar began his 21^st year as a lion, he found himself circling the city more often, trying to glance in people’s windows to see what they were doing. He began to remember stories his father told him and wished he’d paid more attention. He listened for music and people’s laughter. He didn’t understand laughter. Lions roared and growled. They coughed and sneezed, but never did they laugh.

All this time, the old woman had watched the lion in her crystal ball. She smiled when she saw Avar sitting at the edge of the city watching people. “It’s time,” she thought.

The following day, as the lion wandered through the forest, he came upon the woman. He roared, but the woman was unafraid. “You’re wondering what it will take to become human again, aren’t you?"

Avar nodded. It had crossed his mind more than once.

“Already your heart is changing,” she said.  “You yearn for laughter and companionship. You’re thinking about other people, not yourself.”

“How will it happen?” he asked.

“Sudden as a streak of lightening,” she said. “I don’t know when, but I suspect it will be soon."

 Instead of trying to pounce on the crows in the field the next day, the lion watched them. He noticed their dark feathers gleaming in the sunlight and how one cawed loudly and called the others to eat.

From a distance, he watched a man lift his old dog into a cart and pat its head gently.

Avar began to notice more and more: three children, sharing a bag of candy. A flower blooming between the cracks of a rock. A horse licking its newborn foal. An old shepherd leaning against a tree, face to the sun.

The lion felt fluttering in his chest he’d never before felt.

He continued observing, aware that in all his years, he’d noticed so little. His heart started to fill with the beauty of all he saw around him.

One day, as he lay in the sun, a fly landed on his tail. He tried to swat it, but could not reach the tip of his tail. He stood, and round and round he went, chasing his tail, trying to catch the fly. Faster and faster he spun until he was dizzy. All of a sudden, he was rolling down a hill.

Avar closed his eyes and started to laugh. He laughed and laughed and, as he laughed, his heart pounded harder and harder. All of his fierceness fell away and when he opened his eyes, he was transformed back into a man. His heart was new and worthy of a King who would lead his Kingdom with compassion.

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Copyright 2017 by Valerie L. Egar. May not be copied or reproduced without permission from the author. 

Published November 12, 2017 Journal Tribune Sunday (Biddeford, ME).