chattering white cold
slaps hard leaving bright red cheeks
on every grey face.
Yesterday was a big day for me! A day of reward and unexpected success. So yes indeed Merry Christmas to me!
Yesterday I had the “single day” most views ever on my blog at 1,798 views. My normal daily traffic is around 65 daily views. This is what that looks like visually:
Excuse the blurry screenshot (I’ll fix that later cause I’m in a rush….). You can see the essence of what I am saying with the massive blue-bar on the right towering over all other days! Or to think of it another way in one day I almost had as many views as I would get in one month!
Thanks folks for reading all about what to do with left-over Prime Rib.
I saw Santa. Once . Long ago. I am certain I did.
Not a store-made Santa who sits on the big chair and smells of cigarettes and aqua velva. No indeed not one one of those poorly cloned copies who need pillows for bellies, and cotton for beards.
I saw the real Santa. I swear I did.
I was 5. Or maybe 6. That isn’t really important to this story. All that matters is I was young enough to still see magic, and feel magic. To sense real magic when it happened. And it happened.
Christmas Eve. I was supposed to be asleep, but there was no way I could sleep. My parents and some other adults had gathered for the usual Christmas Eve festivities. Singing carols, eating treats, and drinking drinks that made adults jolly with the spirit of Christmas.
While the adults laughed and sang loudly, I lay in my bed listening for that moment of magic. And then. There. That noise; a bump on the roof. And a jingle, jangle. And one loud stomp. It was so loud I was sure the entire world had heard it.
Far downstairs the adults were as loud as ever – their old grown-up ears not able to hear the magic. I pressed my face to the frost covered glass, trying to see through the Jack Frost swirls and curls. A flash of red passed by. It had to be him.
Silent as a mouse I moved through the house. Small enough to pass beneath the singing jolly adults without being noticed. I passed by and into the backroom where the Christmas tree waited for Santa’s generosity. I was too late! The tree stood proudly over a mountain of presents, and the stockings sagged from the weight of the goodies inside.
I moved quickly to the backdoor, where my boots were drying. I slipped them on and popped out, and right into a perfect belly and a soft red velvet suit.
It was him – the one and only Real Santa.
He raised a finger to his lips to command my silence, and I wide-eyed obeyed. He smiled, and winked. Helped me stand up. Then he reached into a large bag he was carrying and pulled out a toy airplane with flashing red and blue lights. A wonder of his workshop given right to my hands.
Then he turned me toward the door, and pointed for me to go back inside. One does not disobey Santa if one wants another magical Christmas! I bolted inside as if I was pulled by eight tiny reindeer. And I whistled and shouted and called out his name: “Santa is here! Santa is here!”
The adults turned and smiled at my clattering excitement. My parents bemused let me drag them outside so I could show them the proof that Santa was not just real – but in our backyard.
Being adults they were much too slow. By the time coats and boots had been found and put on, Santa was gone. Vanished except for his boot marks leading toward two thin lines – the marks of his sleigh. And numerous small round marks left by the prancing reindeer.
I told my parents what had happened. and showed them the airplane. But I could see they didn’t believe me.
Then from down the road we heard the jingle of bells, and a loud HO! HO! HO!
And then a crack and a burst of light into the sky, with a deep rolling voice calling, “Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”
Later as my mother tucked me into bed, she kissed me on the forehead saying, “You lucky boy. Not just anyone gets to see the Real Santa Claus.”
And that is how I know Santa is more than just a story – because I met him for real over 40 years ago on a cold snowy Christmas Eve.
- The Santa Claus Myth – Should You Tell The Kids The Truth? (roomtogrow.co.uk)
- 10 Cool Santa Facts…and A Santa Tracker to boot! ;) (bluediamondaromas.wordpress.com)
- Why Santa is silly (trinidadexpress.com)
- 5 Best Christmas Albums (mademan.com)
- 10 Best Cartoon Christmas Movies (mademan.com)
- Let the Children Beleive for as Long As They Can (costumesupercenter.com)
The world is complicated and cruel. I made this post after finding ClownonFire.com had vanished. This is my opinion of that blog and the blog posts. Since then I have learned there is a back story of tremendous hurt. I stand by what I have written in the context I wrote it – a lament for creative talent shredded. At the end I have added links to sites that contain some of the tragic back story that consumed the blog and the blogger.”
Today I discovered ClownonFire.com is now a blank screen. An Internet Dead-end. The place that proudly proclaimed “BECAUSE EVERY DAY IS FUCKING MAGICAL™” had ended the magic. And I am brokenhearted.
This is what I retrieved from the Google Cache for his Final Post:
Nothing is forever, and we are driven by our own demons, and ghost, and memories, and sorrowful clowns. Those inner memories and personas make us who we are, make us do wonderful and wise things. And make use suddenly veer of the path into uncharted waters. Read the rest of this entry »
Every once in awhile I peruse my “Search Terms” list to see what people are actually randomly finding me. My number one search term is: Fear of Apples.
When I wrote my post on the “A Fear of Apples” I had no idea that it was an internet fascination. If you search for “Fear of Apples” I am actually number 5 on the search results with a link to http://merlinspielen.com/2013/02/18/a-fear-of-apples/
This is a point of pride, I am a front page search term. Okay so it isn’t thousands searching for Fear of Apples. Still I am surprised that it is now over 100 search results, and visits!
For those wondering there is an actual Fear of Apples Phobia it is called Malusdomesticaphobia, and it is the fear of all apples and can also be used when describing the fear of eating apples.