The Little Woman Calls in for a Chat

By DEBORAH McGUIRE
The phone rang the other night. It was her. The annual phone call I normally am thrilled to get but, for some reason these past few years I’ve looked forward to it as much as one of those letters you get from people extolling the virtues of their family’s accomplishments.
Since I was in the kitchen trying to get the attention of a deaf cat that was more intent on knocking over a knife block than eating his dinner, I asked The Beau to answer the phone for me.
“It’s for you,” said The Beau. “I don’t know who it is but her voice is as sweet as honey.”
Dutifully I put aside the can of Friskies and wiped off my hands.
“Hello,” I said flatly into the receiver. I knew the dreaded litany of happiness was going to begin and I was in no mood to hear it.
“Oh, hello, Sweetie!” she replied in a voice with exactly the right tone and a lilt that mesmerized. “I just wanted to give you a call before it gets too busy up here.”
“Up here” is the North Pole. And I’m sure it gets busy.
“Santa’s not doing too well this year,” she said.
I hoped she didn’t hear it when I gasped. She always said he was doing great. That life was not only a cabaret; it was always jolly. One filled with songs and cookies and little men who did your biding for you.
“It’s pretty grim up here. He’s not sure if he’s going to make the trip.”
What! Santa? Not make the trip? Come on, you gotta’ be kidding.
“Nope,” she replied. “He’s fed up.”
Fed up? Why on earth would Santa be fed up? Overfed perhaps, but never fed up.
“He’s had it. What’s the point?” she said.
I blubbered something into the receiver about the Claus’ family tradition of fa-la-la and peace on earth, goodwill toward men.
“That’s it exactly,” she sighed into the phone.
She went on how she and Santa were giving up. She said she and her hale and hearty hubby would look down through their super-duper telescopic lens and to check in for the naughty or nice list and the naughty list was far longer than it had been in centuries.
“They just don’t seem to get it,” she said in a hushed voice.
She continued that she and Santa, along with their elves, had been in the business of making kids happy for eons. And now it was all being outsourced to China. Pogo sticks and doll carriages were being replaced with smart phones and video games. She said it was sad that kids didn’t play together anymore. She said technology was great; but it was costing kids a childhood.
I asked her what she meant by that.
“It’s easy,” she replied. “Play is the work of childhood. Kids need to play. And they’re not. They’re too busy being made ‘technologically savvy.’”
Huh?
Then sh
e dropped the bomb. It was all part of Santa’s grand plan for the world.
What? She had to explain this one to me. Even though the cat was now hanging from the drapes in hope of a can of Friskies, the reporter in me was dying to know. I kept the old gal yappin’.
“Through play, children learn lots of skills. They learn negotiation, they learn turn taking, they learn compassion and empathy,” she said. She added it was all part of Santa’s plan to make sure the world is a good place when kids grow up and become adults.
“And now they’ve lost it. They’ve lost the gift of playing together. Instead of sharing a jump rope, feeding a baby doll, or helping a friend learn to roller skate, they’re all inside their houses playing video games. Or, they’re communicating electronically instead of being outside with each other.”
She said it was starting to affect the adult world because the first of the no-play generation were coming into their adulthood. She mentioned something about the “world being obsessed with me, me, me and not enough thee, thee, thee.” Ah! Now it was making sense. Maybe he and the little woman did know what they were talking about.
“It’s all about more, more, more,” she told me. “It’s as though they’ve lost all hope of ever being content with what they have and who they are. It’s not about giving, but receiving.”
At this point The Beau was beckoning me to come watch “Jeopardy” with him while we chowed down from TV trays, but she had me hooked.
“Santa said he feels sad that Christmas can be concocted by a website and a cheap gift made in China.”
“Humbug!” I scowled into the phone. “Everyone needs Santa. We need to know there is goodness in the world.”
I explained in my line of work, I see lots of society’s ills – the down-and-out, the downtrodden, the criminals, the governments that have lost touch with their citizenry. I told her that I also get to see what’s good in people; like the people who make holidays happen for the poor and people who feed the hungry. I told her there were an awful lot of people down here hanging their stockings on the hope of a better tomorrow.
“Hope? You mean there is still hope down there?” she asked incredulously.
“Yup,” I replied. At this point the dog had to go outside and The Beau was really chomping at the bit for a dish of shepherd’s pie and a half-hour of Alex Trebek. I really needed to get off the phone.
“So you’re telling me it’s not all gloom and doom?” she queried. “Hmmm…maybe Santa and I need to revisit it.”
She told me there had been another time Santa was down in the dumps, right before the fall of the Roman Empire.
“All that partying, self-absorption, greed and arrogance,” she said with a reminiscent sigh. “It’s no wonder it came to an end.” She said her husband rued the day he left a small violin for that kid named Nero.
“I’ll let you go now,” she cooed into the receiver.
“Oh! By the way! We’ll be seeing you and The Beau on the 24th,” she said, in a voice as sweet as a sugarplum.
“Are you sure?” I answered. I didn’t want to leave out the cookies if Santa wasn’t coming for a visit.
“Oh yes!” she replied. “You know, hope is what makes a kid wish for a visit from Santa. And no matter what goes on with the rest of the world, just like kids believe in Santa, Santa believes in the power of hope for a world filled with wonder, happiness and love.”
I finally bid the old girl adieu and walked into the den to tell The Beau we were going to skip Jeopardy that night and instead were going outside to play. Who was I to deny Santa the gift of hope?
Here’s hoping your holiday is the best one ever.