A Magical Christmas Revisited

“The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, in hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there …”  

I’ve had my ups and downs this past year. First, there was the Lexus that sent me up in the air, and then there was a misstep that sent me down the stairs. That probably explains why I wasn’t buying into the whole “Jolly ol’ St. Nick” routine when the holidays arrived.

Come December I was a man complacently in touch with his inner Scrooge but then – in keeping with the destiny of Dicken’s transformative curmudgeon – something magical happened and I suddenly found that holly-jolly bounce back in my step. What unexpectedly had me caroling, caroling, caroling was a weird (but true) encounter with the Christmas spirit – and I’m not talking about the eggnog.

I suppose I was having trouble getting into the Christmas spirit because I’ve had a little bad luck this year, which is kind of like saying California needs “a little” rain. I don’t want to imply that I’m suddenly accident prone but when flying to California, my wife Caroline insists on sitting in a different row, on a different airplane.

The year started out well enough. I sold my fine wine store after almost 20 years and I was looking forward to a job that might allow me to spend Thanksgiving or Christmas Eve with my family, provided they remembered me. I started a new wine brokerage business in Napa Valley and after filing for my LLC in Sacramento I decided to commemorate the occasion by taking a picture of the capitol building with my BlackBerry.

Those of you with kids know why I still carry a Blackberry. Children snatch your upgrades leaving you with a new phone once every 12 years. I’m just grateful to have a phone without a retractable antenna.

I waited for the traffic light to change, looked both ways, and walked into the crosswalk. I saw a car in the corner of my eye and was wondering why it was getting bigger. Then it hit me. I landed head-over-heels on top of the car, firmly smashing my BlackBerry on the hood. I wasn’t seriously hurt except for the obvious confusion my lawyer later told me I experienced about not being seriously hurt. The colorful bruise on my ass said “Lexus” backwards. The BlackBerry was fine.

About a month later Caroline called me on my cell as I was walking down the stairs. I looked at the screen and missed the last step – making what happened next entirely her fault. I was propelled belly-first across the floor as the BlackBerry flew from my grip and crashed into the opposite wall. I heard the ‘pop’ of my Achilles tendon and the cleaning lady heard several colorful New Jersey colloquialisms. Once again my BlackBerry survived but this time it displayed a text that read, “This isn’t included in your plan,” signed, “Your Black & BlueBerry”.

Some people have a smartphone. I have a smart-ass phone.

BlackBerry owners are kind of like a cult. The stigma of owning a BlackBerry is hard to bear but there’s comfort in knowing there are others like me who conceal the tiny shame in their pants.

My wife told me to “man up and walk it off” but under threat of further injury I opted to listen to my doctor instead. Before surgery the nurse asked me my blood type. I said, “I think it’s “O” but I’m not positive.”

When the nurse pulled out a needle I suddenly developed irritable bowel syndrome. You should know that my long-suffering wife has been a compassionate, care giving angel who, without any regard for herself, has tirelessly supported me through several man-colds. Caroline understands my aversion to needles and in a soothing voice she said, “You’ll be fine. This is the same surgeon who performed the last operation on Joan Rivers.”

So as Christmas approached my body was slowly on the mend but my mood was still decidedly Scrooge-like. Every year my family exchanges gifts through the time honored “Secret Santa” method. We submit our names to some sort of magical website that pulls them out of a cyber-hat in a way that manages to keep everyone happy. We also submit a list of gifts we would like to receive and just for fun we tag on a “dream wish” that we’d like to experience. We usually hear wishes like “a house in the Hamptons, a new Lamborghini, or a romantic weekend with Justin Bieber” – and that’s just from the guys. Last year I made a secret dream wish but everyone is coming over for Christmas anyway.

When it comes to dream wishes I’m a man of deep contemplation, concerned with the human condition and the fulfillment of mankind’s potential – at least during commercials – but this year when considering my dream wish the usual ideas about world peace, a cure for cancer, or being a contestant on So You Think You Can Dance somehow seemed insignificant compared to a year free from injuries. The only dream wish I could think of was GOOD HEALTH – and I’m sticking to it even if it kills me.

Time was getting short and try as I might I just couldn’t find the Christmas Spirit. Then one day I visited the local mall and the Christmas Spirit found me. As Caroline and I walked outside, a shiny red Chevy Silverado pickup truck pulled up next to us. When the window rolled down we could see the inside was decked out in bright Christmas ornaments and tiny twinkling lights. Sitting behind the wheel was this pudgy guy with white hair and a white beard wearing wire-rimmed spectacles and a Santa hat. He had on a suede jacket with long fringe hanging off the sleeves (like the one Dennis Hopper wore in Easy Rider) but underneath I could see he was wearing a red Santa suit. I figured he was on his way to a job as the mall Santa and had decided to leave his Harley Davidson at home.

When he leaned towards us I noticed a piercing twinkle in his eyes. “Merry Christmas!” he cried.

Caroline smiled broadly and replied, “Ho Ho Ho! Merry Christmas Santa. How ya doing?”

“I’m fine, just fine!” he beamed.

I tugged on Caroline’s sleeve to keep her moving along. The Silverado kept pace with us and although this mall biker Santa was addressing both of us, I had the uneasy feeling that his gaze was meant for me alone.

“Do you have everything you need for Christmas this year?” His eyes, although warm and nonthreatening, seemed to close the gap between us. They drew me within arm’s length and the world around me, around us, became unfocused and fell into shadow.

“Yes we do Santa,” said Caroline. Feeling the urgency in my grip she quickly added, “Thanks and have a good holiday!”

“Are you sure you’re all set for the New Year?” His cotton-covered voice echoed inside my head. I wasn’t sure the words had been spoken out loud until I heard Caroline answer, “Yes Santa, thanks for asking. Merry Christmas.”

Still, his twinkling eyes bore into me and I couldn’t summon the strength to look away. He raised a chubby, mottled finger in my direction and whispered, “I know what you want. It’s all anyone can wish for,” then he pounded on the steering wheel and proclaimed, “GOOD HEALTH to you this coming year!”

The bubble surrounding me burst, my mouth dropped open and I stammered, “Wha? How did you …”

Cavernous dimples formed behind Santa’s beard as a big smile spread across his face. With his left hand behind his back, he placed his right index finger to the side of his nose and the window between us rolled up as the bright red Silverado pulled away.

… with a little old driver so lively and quick, I knew in a moment he must be St. Nick.”

So it was that my Christmas faith was restored and I came to realize how much I have to be thankful for. My family and friends have been here throughout my injuries and they’ve helped me through the long recovery. I’m incredibly blessed to be surrounded by such loving and giving people and a man couldn’t have a better dream wish than that.

Have a Happy Holiday and GOOD HEALTH to one and all in the New Year.

P.S. Santa, could you also bring me a smart-phone?