Daily Read #36: ReGifting of the Magi Part 2.

Now, there were two possessions of the Judson McKay Harts in which they both took a mighty pride. One was Judson's brushed steel-bodied laptop that when new had been the envy of his father’s and his grandfather's. The other was Jan’s iPod touch. Had the queen of Rock herself lived in the flat above the airshaft, Jan would have let her share an earbud some day just to depreciate Her Majesty's platinum records hanging on the wall and self-aggrandizing iTunes library. Had Bill Gates been their neighbor, with all his tech treasures piled up in the next basement, Judson would have pulled out his computer every time he passed, just to see him wipe at his eyeglasses in envy.

So now the thin chords of Jan’s earbuds fell about her rippling and spinning like the silver strings of a spider web. They reached below her knee before looping back to her pocket which enclosed the music man as she called it. And then she pulled them out nervously and quickly. Once she faltered for a minute and stood still while a tear or two splashed on the worn red carpet.

On went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat. With a whirl of skirts and with the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes, she fluttered out the door and up the stairs to the street.

Where she stopped the sign read: "Big Macs. Tech Goods of All Kinds Buy and Sell." One flight up Jan ran, and collected herself, panting. Mac, large, too white and puffy, heartily looked the part of the popular sandwich.

"Will you buy my iPod Touch 16G 3^rd generation?" asked Jan.

"I buy ipods," said Mac. "Take its cover off and let's have a sight at the looks of it."

Off was peeled the silicon case.

"One hundred and fifty dollars," said Mac, lifting the mass with a practised hand.

"Give it to me quick," said Jan.

Oh, and the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings. Forget the hashed metaphor. She was ransacking the stores for Judson’s present.

She found it at last. It surely had been made for Judson and no one else. There was no other like it in any of the stores, and she had turned all of them inside out. It was a calf hide executive hand-crafted briefcase simple and chaste in design, properly proclaiming its value by substance alone and not by meretricious ornamentation--as all good things should do. It was even worthy of The Notepad. As soon as she saw it she knew that it must be Judson’s. It was like him. Softness and strength--the description applied to both. One hundred and 94 dollars they took from her for it, and she hurried home with the 8 cents.

With his laptop in that case Judson might be properly anxious about checking his inbox in any company. Grand as the computer was, he sometimes looked at it on the sly on account of the old worn backpack that he used in place of a proper case.

When Jan reached home her intoxication gave way a little to prudence and reason. She got out her old discman and cracked the cases of discs collecting dust on the top shelf of a bookcase and went to work replacing the sound void made by generosity added to love. Which is always a tremendous task, dear friends--a mammoth task.

Within fourteen minutes the room was filled with Christmas carols being piped through the speakers attached to that spinning discman like it was Christmas 1998 all over. She looked at her reflection in the mirror long, carefully, and critically.

"If Judson doesn't kill me," she said to herself, "before he takes a second look at that discman, he'll say we look like we belong either in a rest home or on Fullhouse . But what could I do--oh! what could I do with forty four dollars and eight cents?"

Daily Read #35: ReGifting of the Magi Part 1.

Gift of the Magi has long been a favorite holiday tale of many of us I'd imagine. Well written over a hundred years ago, it's been a long time coming that somebody with the help of an inflation calculator modernized the heartwarming story. That somebody might as well be me.

It will come in four installments.

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Forty Four dollars and eight cents. That was all the screen said was left in the e-coffers. Pennies saved one and two at a time by joining every coupon group the world wide web had to offer. Three times Jan refreshed the browser thinking that would change it. Forty Four dollars and eight cents And the next day would be Christmas.

With nothing to do but flop down on the second hand microsuede couch and watch someone win money on Wheel of Fortune. Thus she did. Which instigates the moral reflection that in life at least someone in the world has the promise that all of their spinning will result in big money.

While the madame of the home is gradually subsiding from a state embittered self-pity to a state of more resolved moroseness, take a look at the home. A basement flat at just over $200 per week. It was no hovel but it also had no view better than the farside of a window well.

In the vestibule below was a welcome mat onto which few feet would tread, and an electric button from which no mortal finger could coax a ring. Also appertaining thereunto was a card bearing the name "Mr. Judson McKay Hart."

The "Mckay" had been flung to the breeze during a former period of prosperity when its possessor was being paid $700 per week. Now, when the income was shrunk to $470, though, they were thinking seriously of contracting to a modest and unassuming M. But whenever Mr. Judson McKay Hart came home and reached his flat below he was called "Juddie" and greatly hugged by Mrs. Judson McKay Hart, already introduced to you as Jan. Which is all very good.

Jan finished her pouting and attended to her matted brown locks with a scrunchie. She stood by the window and looked out dully at the gray gravel soaked by gray rain that fell from the sliver of gray sky that could be seen above. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day, and she had only $44.08 with which to buy Judson a present. She had been saving every dime she could for months, with this result.

A direct deposit just shy of $500 a week doesn't go far. Expenses had been greater than she had calculated. They always are. Only $44.08 to buy a present for Judson. Her Juddie. Many a happy hour she had spent planning for something nice for him. Something fine and rare and techy--something just a little bit near to being worthy of the honor of being owned by Judson.

There was a desktop computer between the windows of the room. Perhaps you have seen such a desktop in the house of graduate student. Even a squant and clumsy person may, by observing his reflection in the monitor, obtain a fairly accurate conception of his looks. Jan, far from being squant or clumsy, had mastered the art.

Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the glass monitor. Her eyes were shining brilliantly, but her face had lost its color within twenty seconds. Rapidly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its full length. Brushing it back behind her ears again she saw something truly of value in the reflection of the monitor.

Daily Read #34: Must be Santa

So both my parents are elementary teachers and they along with every teacher in the world (well at least the Western World) deserves your thoughts and prayers today. Take the excitement of a single child multiply it by 28 to the power of 2 because there is definitely a synergy effect when you get 28 7 year olds counting down to Christmas and put them in a box that is roughly 40 feet by 40 feet for the day as it snows out side and oh by the way you're in charge of teaching them to READ. How many of you would rather spend the day in the Hanoi Hilton?

It's unfortunate that we haven't found a way to convert that excitement into energy, as it is likely enough to power an aircraft carrier--even one that has decked its halls with strands of LED lights and space heaters.

The terrible part for my mom is that she knows what it's like to be on the giving end of the carpool and not just the receiving. She knows that she and her colleagues are the sacrificial offering on the yuletide log. For it is better that one teacher's sanity parish than an entire classroom of parents spend two additional days of the advent threatening to cancel Christmas if you don't stop playing dodge ball with the ornaments from the Christmas tree.

Don't even get me started on the fact that school teachers can literally eat their Christmas 'bonus'. Clearly who ever is making that budget decision doesn't do more than drop their kids off at school; actually scratch that, even the parents that drop off and pick up their kids get a sense of the chaos that is December at an elementary school with the average class size of 27 as they pass the riot police that make the protesters at the G8 summit look like A Sunday afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte. The kids of these tight wads are probably bussed.

Anyway consider upping the ante a bit on that Christmas gift card for the first grade teacher in your life and make it to here rather than Walmart.

Now that slight soapbox tirade was not the intended direction of this post. I was really going to devote the post to one of the most purely joyful/magical Christmas memories of my childhood. Yes I had both: a childhood and a magical Christmas memory or two. Remember every Scrooge has a Fezziwig.

I probably could have done some fact-finding to better crystallize this memory but it might lose some of its magic. I was no older than 5. We were at a family Christmas party at my Grandparents house in New Castle, UT. Never heard of it? I'm sure you have; you pass it on your way to Beryl or Modena.

Still nothing? Here's a map

So even as a pre-5 year old I knew that very few people in the world knew where New Castle UT was. I grew up 30 minutes west of New Castle and I'd imagine that a good many of my peers had no idea even up through high school. But someone very important knows where New Castle is, give you a few hints.

Think Red.
Think Jolly.
Think Ho,Ho,Ho.

He not only knows where New Castle is but he's been there at least once. The party had been going for quite a while and we had likely been enjoying some of my Grandma's delicious holiday fixings when came a knock at the door. It caught our attention because again this is New Castle and it was snowing. We heard the jingle of the bells on his bag of gifts as he walked in.

Us kids had to pick our jaws up out of the green shag carpet. He was everything Santa should be. This was no creepy mall Santa. This was St. Nicholas incarnate. Every detail was legit. The beard, the belly, the rosy cheeks, black boots, red velvet and fur trimmed coat and pants. He was more Santa than this poser:



We all sat on his lap without having to stand in a line that started in a food court. And I'm pretty sure he brought us presents that we got to open that night. I was a Christmas skeptic from a very young age but this single encounter with Santa Claus was very difficult evidence to discount. I had been thorough in checking to see if any uncle, father, grandfather was missing and they were not.

I would have been no less impressed had he come down the chimney which I think this guy would have had it not been converted to a wood stove.

I don't remember if Santa ever came back like that again, he didn't need to; the magic of that moment has had definite staying power; it's doubtful I could forget it and arguable that I wouldn't want to.

Darn it; I've got to go throw snowballs at carolers before I experience any more thawing of my Christmas heart.

Thanks Santa.