Month: December 2016

A Christmas Nativity

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“It’s Christmas Eve,” Mom said. “Time for the nativity. Alice and Ben will be Mary and Joseph. Beth is an angel…”

“Yes she is,” Dad said.

“…and Robbie is a wise man…” Mom continued.

“Yes I am,” Robbie said.

“A real wise guy,” Alice said.

“…and Dad will be a shepherd. I’ll read the story,” Mom said.

“I’ll get my costume and set up the camera,” Dad said. He wandered off in the direction of the kitchen. Mom started bustling around, pulling things out of the box she’d brought into the living room.

Robbie was wearing a large embroidered tunic over his clothes and a cardboard crown. Mom handed him her empty jewelry box. “There you go. Very handsome. Now, sit still,” she said, and pointed at the couch.

Mom had sent Alice off to change into her blue dress. When she returned, Mom pinned a scarf to her hair with bobby pins and gave her a baby doll to hold. “All right. You look great. Now, sit over there,” Mom said.   She pointed to a chair.

Ben had already changed into his Sunday clothes. Mom smiled. “Looks good, Ben. Find a seat.” Ben sat by Robbie on the couch and Mom changed Beth into her white dress.

“Honey, are you ready yet?” Mom said, looking towards the kitchen.

Dad returned wearing a bathrobe and munching on a cookie. “I can’t find my cane,” he said.

“It’s right here. I brought it in with the other costume things,” Mom said.

“Oh, all right,” Dad said. He started setting up the camera.

“Dad, did you bring us cookies, too?” Robbie asked.

“You’ll get your costume dirty,” Alice said.

“Would not,” Robbie said.

“Would so,” Alice said. She stuck out her tongue and Robbie leaned over the arm of the couch and snatched the baby doll.

“Mom!” Alice yelled. “Robbie stole baby Jesus.” She started to wail.

“Robbie, give it back,” Mom said.

“Fine,” Robbie said. He tossed the doll back. Alice stopped wailing and glared at him.

Mom flipped through the pages of her Bible, checking her bookmarks.   “Almost ready?” She asked Dad.

“mmhmmm. Almost,” Dad said.

Beth was trying to grab the camera. “Could someone take her, please?” Dad asked.

“I will,” Ben said. He picked her up and carried her to the couch. “Beth, do you want to sing Jingle Bells?”

“No, teach her Silent Night,” Alice said.

“She likes Jingle Bells best,” Ben said.

“Bells,” Beth agreed.

“Dashing through the snow…” Ben began.

“Not again!” Robbie groaned. He leaned over the arm of the couch and snatched the doll again. “Here, let her play with this instead.”

“Hey!” Alice said.

“Baby!” Beth said, looking delighted. She cuddled the doll close and grinned.

“Fine,” Alice said. She smiled.   Robbie looked surprised.

“I think I’ve got it,” Dad said a few minutes later. “Is everyone ready?”

“Yes,” they chorused. He pushed a button.

Mom began reading. “And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus, that all the world should be taxed…”

And the nativity went well. Beth didn’t want to give up the doll, so Alice just carried her around too. Beth toddled over and sat on Dad’s lap and showed him the doll when it was time for her part, then Dad brought her back to Alice-as-Mary.

Robbie presented the chest with a flourish on his turn. It was over so quickly. Dad turned off the camera. “I think now it’s time for those cookies, Robbie,” he said. “What do you think?”

“I think let’s go!” Robbie said. And they did.

12-8-nativity-antics

 

After the Concert

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Mike adjusted his collar with one hand, cradling his tuba with the other.   Dressing up for a concert in the park on a hot day like this was rather uncomfortable. At least they were allowed to wear short sleeves.

He looked around. Most of the musicians were starting to take out their instruments to tune them. It was time to block out all the distractions and focus on the music.

He pulled out his tuner and played a note. Great, he wasn’t that far off. He adjusted the valve and played again. Something was off. He played his note again. No, it wasn’t him. Suddenly, the player next to him jumped out of his seat and darted away.

Mike felt a hard pinch on his upper arm. Holding his tuba close, he jumped up and swung around. An angry swan was hissing at him and holding its wings up menacingly.   The hissing! That was the odd sound he’d heard. He backed up slowly as the swan advanced.

The swan paused. Mike’s chair was in its way. Mike darted around the chairs in front of him and ran, still clutching his tuba.   The hissing behind him finally stopped.   He stopped running and turned around.   The swan was watching him from a distance.

The ushers were slowly moving the chairs farthest from the swan over to a gazebo. It would be cramped, but there would be shade and they’d be farther from the river and possible swan nests. The swan retreated a little further and they gathered the rest of the chairs.

Mike took the long way around to the gazebo. One of Mike’s friends handed him the handkerchief he used to wipe down his trumpet. “Dude, your arm’s bleeding,” his friend said.

“Thanks!” Mike took the handkerchief and looked down. “Oh no, my shirt!” He’d managed to bleed onto his shirt. His mom wouldn’t be happy.

“Don’t give back the handkerchief,” his friend said. “I have lots.”

Mike wiped up his arm and tied the handkerchief in place. “Do swans get rabies?” he asked.

“Let me look it up.” Mike’s friend pulled out a phone and tapped at it. “Nope. It looks like only mammals can carry the disease. You’re good.”

“Great. Thanks. Well, I need to find my seat,” Mike said. Soon enough, the concert started.

Mike’s mom exclaimed over his injury. The bite had left a bruise that was starting to go all blue and purple.   The scratch was small and looked like little red dots. She insisted that he wash his arm really well and then give her the shirt to treat right away.

She got the stain out of the shirt and the handkerchief, and the bruise was gone within a week or so. The whole incident had become a funny story to tell.   Except that he’d started to crave fish and green leafy vegetables and taking long baths every night. He’d also started to adjust his clothes and hair now and then when they felt out of place.

His mom, noticing his preening, had insisted on teaching him how to coordinate outfits. Then she took him to a hair stylist. When he saw the scissors coming at him, he’d hissed at the stylist. It was completely unexpected. Luckily, the stylist laughed. Mike didn’t think it was funny, though.

That night, Mike woke up in the middle of the night feeling strange.   Moonlight was streaming brightly through the window. The moon was full. Mike felt trapped, like his pajamas weren’t fitting quite right. He shifted around. What was wrong?

He squirmed around and managed to work his way free. He tried to ignore the glimpses of feathers and wings and webbed feet. Finally, standing on his scrunched up pajamas in the middle of his bed, he had to admit it. He was a swan. A were-swan.

Mike slumped on his bed and hissed. This was awful. He didn’t want to be a were-swan. He tucked his head under his wing and tried to sleep, hoping to wake up normal.   Instead, his mind raced.

It wasn’t all bad. Tonight he was trapped in his room because he couldn’t open doors or windows. But, maybe next month he could learn to fly.   He didn’t feel any urges to bite or eat anyone like were-wolves do in the movies.

Flying sounded kind of fun. And it was just once a month. He could work around that. He preened his feathers. He looked good. Things could definitely be worse. What if he’d become a were-skunk?

12-16-were-swan

Charlie’s Room: The Clock

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Isaac shuffled his feet as he walked to his car. Work had been crazy today. He was so tired. Perhaps it was a night to pick up pizza on the way home? That sounded nice.

He started to turn his key in the lock when he realized that the doors were already unlocked. That was really strange. He looked under the car and through the windows. No one was hiding and nothing was missing. However, there was a clock sitting innocently on the passenger seat that hadn’t been there before.

Isaac had parked in front of that shady antique shop. He looked over at it with narrow eyes. It was closed and the windows were dark. Ah well, what harm could a clock do? And this one was such a cheerful shade of blue. It would be perfect for Charlie’s room.

Still feeling slightly suspicious, he checked it over carefully when he arrived home. It didn’t have hidden compartments or hidden teeth, but it did need new batteries. He had some in his desk drawer. First, he needed to find the coupons and go pick up some pizza.

He returned home half an hour later. He left the pizza in the kitchen and dug through his desk drawer. He took the batteries to Charlie’s room.   It just took a moment to put the batteries in. Tick tick tick tick tick.   Well, it seemed to work just fine.

Isaac found the little dials for setting the time and turned the clock over.   It was nearly correct. He just had to set it back a half turn or so.   He flicked his wrist and turned it a little too much. Oops.

He was about to fix his mistake when he heard someone come in the front door.   Didn’t Charlie have a swim meet today? Marianne and Charlie shouldn’t be home for at least another hour. He set the clock down and walked out into the hall.

And nearly ran into himself, striding down the hall holding a bright blue clock. “Aaaaah!” his other self said.   Isaac jumped back and clutched at his chest. His other self held the clock in front of himself as a shield.

The clock wasn’t ticking and the time was wrong. “Have you picked up the pizza yet?” Isaac asked.

“What?” his other self said.

“I think the clock sent me back in time. I just set the time after I picked up the pizza,” Isaac explained.

His other self set the clock down and backed away from it. “I haven’t picked up the pizza yet. Is it safe for you to talk to me? Won’t that mess up time or something?”

“It wasn’t on purpose and it’s too late now. What should we do?” Isaac asked.

“Well, how far in the future are you from?” Past Isaac asked.

“About an hour,” Isaac said.

“Then let’s go pick up the pizza. You can explain on the way. And wait in the car. Do you know where the coupons are?” Past Isaac said.

So, Isaac and Past Isaac went and picked up the pizza while Isaac explained.   And then waited in the car while Past Isaac went into the shop.

“Do you think if I mess up setting the clock too there will be three of us?” Past Isaac asked. He put the pizza on the kitchen counter.

“If you don’t, will there be a time paradox?” Isaac asked.

“Maybe I just won’t remember any of this,” Past Isaac said.

“What if I put the time back to the correct time and just finished my journey,” Isaac said. “I think that could work.” They walked down the hall and stared at the cheerful blue clock on the floor.

“Maybe. It’s all a little strange,” Past Isaac said.

“Should we give the clock to Great-Aunt Bethyl and her friends?” Isaac asked.

“Is it safe to have anyone messing around with time travel?” Past Isaac asked.

“You’re right,” Isaac said. “Do we have a big enough shoe box?”

“Yes, the one for boots that Marianne used for the craft paint. It’s on the garage shelf,” Past Isaac said.

“I’ll transfer the paint to one of those clear storage containers from the kitchen,”Isaac said.

“Much better for storing the paint anyways,” Past Isaac said. “You can see what’s in the box.” Reluctantly, they went into Charlie’s room.

“Off I go then. Does this mean I’ll never see you again?” Isaac asked.

“I am you,” Past Isaac said.

“Sort of. You’re me without the coming back in time which won’t happen now,” Isaac said.

“I’m still not sure how that works,” Past Isaac said.

“I wonder if this is what it’s like to have a twin. I always wanted a brother, you know,” Isaac said.

“I know.” Past Isaac said. “If I’m still around to remember this, I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too,” Isaac said. He gave himself a quick hug, and then he picked up the clock. “Goodbye,” he said. He twisted the knob carefully. Past Isaac disappeared.

Isaac sadly removed the batteries from the clock. He switched over the paint and packed the clock away carefully.   He taped up the box and used a marker to label it “Articles on Stormwater Management and Watershed Protection”.

He stored the box in the far corner of his closet shelf and left his room with a sigh. Pizza and an early bedtime tonight. Today had been a crazy day.

12-15-clocked

A Hat Fit for a Queen

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Queen Matilda needed a new hat. She often attended parades and festivals and speeches and so many, many things. They were nearly always outdoors and lasted for hours.

It was her job to smile and nod and listen closely so that she could answer questions later. Her whole life was a pop quiz. Everyone was always watching her. She couldn’t scratch her nose when it itched, because that wasn’t ladylike.   Neither was frowning or slouching or rubbing her eyes.

Applying sunscreen after being outdoors for an hour wasn’t allowed either, even though it would be a good example for the citizens. So, she wore hats rather than burn an unladylike red.   Because she would have to wear a hat for hours in all sorts of weather, she was rather picky about what she wanted.

However, no one really listened to her order. It used to be the same for her clothes until she’d found her current tailor. Everyone had wanted to dress her in big frothy things that weighed forty pounds and were armored in jewels and embroidery. So impractical.

The current milliner was yet another disappointment. However, now that she’d made an order, she couldn’t back out without seeming rude. “I do prefer something light and sophisticated. Something simple, really,” she said again.

“Oh yes, your majesty, I know just the thing. Something mauve maybe with a spray of ostrich feathers and a little jeweled button and some embroidery right there?” The milliner said.

“No, I’d like gray. It would match more of my wardrobe. And I’d like a wider brim on the hat and fewer decorations,” the queen said.

“I suppose,” the milliner said. She looked skeptical. “I’ll see what I can whip up. Come back in two days at the same time.”

“Very well,” the queen said. “Thank you.”

The very next day, the milliner’s website was advertising the queen’s new hat.   The hat was buried in roses and hydrangeas. By noon, the milliner had added a fake nest and some cherries. That evening there was a plastic bird perched on top. It all looked like it was a centerpiece for a May Day celebration.

The queen sighed. It could be worse. Her assistant shut down the computer with a giggle. “I think you should wear it just like that,” the assistant said.

“Nonsense,” the queen said. “No one would take me seriously.”

“They’d be too busy staring at your hat,” the assistant agreed.

The next morning, the queen checked in on her hat. There were two fake kittens nestled in among the flowers.   They looked like they were carved out of wood. That must be ridiculously heavy.

At noon, the hat had bunny ears poking up from the back. It had to be some sort of joke. There was also a large red bow front and center. The ends of the ribbon hung down from the brim, where they’d surely dangle in front of her eyes.

The queen was horrified. She would never put this hat on her head. It was out of the question. Her assistant was snorting in laughter. This was the worst hat yet.

The rest of the milliner’s hats seemed normal. Why had she gone crazy with this hat? Why did people think she wanted flashy hats and dresses? It’s not what she normally wore. It’s not what anyone she knew wore.

So, her assistant picked up the hat with a smile and paid the exorbitant price tag. When she’d brought it back to the palace, the queen unpacked it and sighed. Together, they carefully peeled off all the decorations. The basic hat underneath was actually quite nice.

They kept a rose and added a ribbon. Not bad. She wore it the next day to a charity luncheon and accepted many compliments on her new hat. The milliner’s website had a picture of her at the event by evening.

The website claimed that the other hat was of course a joke to keep the real hat a secret until the queen wore it for the first time. The milliner sent her two more hats in the same simple style as the hat she wore to the luncheon with the milliner’s compliments and an apology.

Perhaps she’d finally found a milliner she could work with? She’d find out with her next order.

A Thoroughly Modern Snowman

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It all began when a man went stumbling by the snowman late at night and dropped his phone. The snowman was so curious. He’d been watching the world go by and seen how attached all the people were to the little devices. His curiosity had grown for three days, and now there was a phone sitting so close he could nearly touch it.

No one was looking. All he had to do is figure out how to move. For three hours he willed himself to bend over and move his twiggy arms.   A shooting star raced silently across the sky. Then another. He bent over and picked up the phone.

It had taken some work, but by the time it was light out again, he’d hopped off to a wooded area where he could figure out the phone in peace. He was delighted with what he’d found. Well, most of what he’d found. Who knew winter was so short?

Fortunately, he’d managed to stay calm. After a little research, he’d been happy to discover cryogenics. Unfortunately, such things cost money. After a little more research, he started a gofundme account.

Unfortunately, phones had a limited life. This phone would need to be charged soon, and its owner would probably disable the account at some point. This required some strategy. He erased his history and at nightfall returned to his post, leaving the phone on the ground nearby.

He watched the humans go by, looking at the brightly lit phones jealously. Surely there must be a way to get one into his cold little branches? Libraries had access to the internet, but humans were alarmed by beings that seemed different. It seemed a disguise was in order.

Luckily, this time of year, people were heavily bundled up. Not only would this disguise him, but it could also serve as insulation against the warm building.   He wouldn’t have much time.   However, first he’d have to find that disguise.

In the end, it took less work than he expected.   He’d hopped carefully around the local businesses after sundown. It was cold and few people were outdoors. Those that drove by in cars were focused on the road and didn’t notice an oddly placed snowman.

Some bags had been left in the donation area of a local thrift store.   The coat he’d found was in rather terrible shape, but it was quite large and had a hood. There were gloves in the pocket that were torn, but his fingers didn’t really need the insulation.

A few days later, at a quiet time of day, he hopped into the library. The computer area was near the front. He followed the directions posted nearby and logged on. He nearly melted in relief.   His gofundme page had earned just enough money. He wouldn’t die when the snow melted. He quickly arranged a pickup from the cryogenics lab he’d decided on and transferred the funds.

He hopped quickly to the woods and tore off the coat and gloves. He’d been in the library too long, and he’d melted just a little. It hurt.   The internet hadn’t said it would hurt.   Of course, the internet didn’t really have much information on snowmen at all.

He met the cryogenic scientists in front of the hospital, just like they’d requested. They jumped and seemed skeptical when he spoke to them, but in the end he convinced them to honor the contract. Including the nondisclosure agreement. They loaded him onto a refrigerated truck and packed him in ice. It was soothing and rather lovely.

The lab was a little eerie, but he had a metal canister to stand in that was just right temperature-wise. Unfortunately, the room was boring. Few people ever came through. They’d check the little dials and such on all the canisters and move on. He talked their ears off and borrowed their phones when he could and in general made a nuisance of himself.

One of the lab assistants started visiting more often. He seemed to feel sorry for the bored, lonely snowman. He talked to his supervisor, who finally agreed to get the snowman a phone of his own. The snowman paid for his phone by doing advertisements for the lab, pretending to be a computer generated snowman.

He spent a year editing wikipedia and working for snowpeople rights. Unfortunately, humans didn’t take his crusade seriously. On his birthday, he took a walk outside to enjoy the nicely frigid air and think.

He looked down at his wooden hands and looked up at the moon shining brightly in the clear winter sky. Perhaps he hadn’t been dreaming big enough. He needed to take a giant leap for snowkind.

He could live indefinitely. He had several lifetimes to plan. Someday, he would take his people to the moon. They would be safe there and free. He felt filled with energy and determination. A shooting star flew across the night sky. Then another.

12-15-visionary-snowman

The Violinist

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As the great violinist Dean Gelato aged, his technique and performance on the violin improved. However, his ability to find the correct venue for his performance grew steadily worse.   He tried to cope by leaving earlier and earlier. This meant that the assistants who came to drive him straight to the doors kept missing him.

It didn’t help that no one would tell him if he arrived at the wrong place.   When he arrived at what looked like a suitably busy venue, they would welcome him in and show him into a nice room so that he could tune his violin and mentally prepare.

He’d come out onstage to perform an opening solo, only to discover he was guest performing for a rock band or a baseball game or a track meet or a political debate or the academy awards.

His assistants would somehow manage to track him down at this point and drag him away to the waiting audience that had bought tickets to hear him perform.   As he usually was only a little late, the audience would laugh and applaud and no real harm was done. It even became a running joke. It was just very embarrassing.

Dean swallowed his pride and admitted he had a problem. He started waiting for his assistants. However, by this point part of his fame was tied to wondering where he’d turn up next. People liked when he got lost. It had become an international joke at a time when the world needed something harmless to laugh at.

So, the assistants would take him to the wrong place on purpose.   Occasionally this was prearranged, but mostly they’d drive around looking for somewhere that looked rather busy.   Dean would come out onstage, ready to perform and realize he was in the wrong place again.

And he’d play anyway. It’s what he loved best, after all. He played like an angel. The world may laugh at his sense of direction, but they were moved to tears when he performed. His popularity soared.

Dean had always avoided interviews. It was difficult to know just what to say. However, sometimes it was impossible to avoid an interview.   One of these times was when his youngest nephew became a journalist and was hired by a major newspaper.

Dean’s sister called to tell him the news. “And Dean,” she added, “he wants an interview for Christmas. He’ll call you next week.”

“It’s September,” Dean said.

“So you’ll get some of your Christmas shopping done early. Tell him a deep dark secret so he can get a bonus or something.” She said.

“I don’t have any deep dark secrets, not really,” he said. “But I’ll give him an interview. Isn’t that enough?”

“Well, I guess I won’t disown you anyways,” she said.

A week later, his nephew called. “Hi Uncle Dean! It’s Aiden,” he said.

“Hi Aiden, I hear you want to interview me,” Dean said.

“Yeah. So, are you ready?” Aiden asked.

“Go, ahead, Aiden,” Dean said. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

Aiden cleared his throat. “Mr. Gelato, it’s good to talk to you. My name is Aiden Short. Would you mind if I recorded this interview?”

“No, that’s fine,” Dean said.

“Mr. Gelato, the world wants to know. Do you arrive at the wrong venue as a publicity stunt? Do you believe your playing isn’t enough to speak for itself?”

Dean sighed. This was worse than usual. Obviously Aiden takes after his mean, mean mother. “Sadly, I’m not that clever. Originally, I just kept getting lost. Now I have assistants to take me to the right place, but I still end up in the wrong place. I think they think it’s funny.”

“So you believe it is some sort of plot. Do you have any other conspiracy theories you’d like to share?” Aiden said in a low, sinister voice.

“Listen, Aiden. I’m going to pause this interview,” Dean said.

“You can’t do that, Mr. Gelato,” Aiden said.

“I can. I want you to take this to your editor and see if this is really the kind of interview they want to run.   Then you can call me back,” Dean said.

Aiden called back an hour later. “Uncle Dean,” he said. “What’s your favorite color? Do you have a cat?” The interview went better after that.

Fortunately, Aiden wrote an article that was popular with both readers and his employers. He received a lecture for the first interview and a bonus for the second. “Uncle Dean, guess what I want for my birthday,” he said.

Dean laughed. His life had become some sort of farce. At least he still could play his violin. In fact, it was time to practice and find that oasis of calm again.

“Sorry, Aiden, I can’t talk right now,” he said. “I have a concert to prepare for.”

12-15-just-in-case