by Betsy Haynes
A NEWFANGLED CHRISTMAS
By Betsy Haynes
Copyright 2011 Betsy Haynes
Poor Santa, while making toys for his Christmas Eve deliveries, he encounters problems from start to finish. How can he and his elves learn to cope with the problems ever advancing problems is causing? How can they develop toys that today’s children will enjoy?
Chapter 1
AN OLD FASHIONED KIND OF GUY
I talk to The Missus until my tongue collapses from exhaustion. I explain every way I can that I’m just an old fashioned kind of guy. And what does it get me? A computer? I tell her that I’m not into tockniligy or takquoligy or whatever it is.
“It’s technology,” she informs me. “And you should be because kids certainly are.” Then she stamps her foot and gives me THE LOOK.
We’d been going round and round like that for three weeks. That’s when she brought that blasted thing home and set it on my desk. I ignored it the whole first week. Pretended it wasn’t there. Didn’t even exist. I thought maybe she would take the hint.
Huh! I should have known it would have the opposite effect. The more I ignored it, the more determined she was that I’d fire it up. “I’ll fire it up,” I grumped under my breath. “In the fireplace.” But I didn’t say it loud enough for her to hear.
The next week she started in on me again. “Just think of all the e-mails from good boys and girls all over the world that are in your computer waiting to be read,” she would say. Then she would dab a tear away as if she felt terrible. “Aren’t you ashamed? They’re telling you all the things they want--things they deserve for being so good--and you’re not even listening.”
I couldn’t look her in the eye after she said that. To tell you the truth, I am a little ashamed that I’m not mechanical. Can’t even operate a can opener. I’ve always been good with my hands, though. I love to make toys and things. And I won’t kid you that I’m the best magician around. How many magicians do you know who could load all those toys into one little sleigh at sundown and get them delivered all over the world before the sun comes up the next morning. That’s not good enough for her. No, Siree! She’s a modern woman! Up with the times! Or so she says.
But this week she’s really getting to me. She’s on a hunger strike. Oh, she doesn’t call it that. She says she’s just too sad thinking about all those poor children to eat a bite. And, of course, according to her, if she’s too sad to eat, she certainly is too sad to cook. Do you have any idea what that means to a big guy like me? Starvation.
Well, I’ll have to admit, I was stumped this time. I couldn’t last a single day without a meal. I started thinking about her golden crispy fried chicken. Her tender juicy roast beef. Her flaky mouth-watering cherry pies. Then I started thinking about turning on the computer. When she wasn’t looking. Maybe it wouldn’t be as hard as it looked.
I stood in the middle of my comfortable old office and looked around. Its desk was overflowing with papers. Its leather chair was deep and soft. Model toys crowded the mantle above the fireplace. Then I looked at the one thing in the whole room that was out of place. The shiny metal monster sitting among the familiar clutter on my desk. The computer.
I couldn’t help but shiver. The screen stared back at me like a big accusing eye. If I didn’t turn it on pretty soon, The Missus would kill me. She was already pointing to the calendar. I know it’s October already, and if I don’t find out what boys and girls want for Christmas pretty soon, I won’t have time to get all the toys made.
The coast was clear. The Missus was out in the yard with the elves making snow angels. The reindeer were in the pasture practicing take-offs and landings. It was now or never.
I tiptoed over to my desk, sort of like I was sneaking up on that metal monster. I dropped slowly into my big old leather chair. Then I scooched around on the seat until it felt right. I wanted everything to be as near to perfect as it could be.
“Probably won’t even be able to turn it on,” I muttered hopefully.
Then I spied the button right above the keyboard. Beside it were the words POWER on/off. So much for not being able to turn it on.
I poked the button and right away the screen lit up a bright blue. It came on so fast it startled me. From somewhere inside came soft music. And then a bunch of little pictures (I soon found out that they were called icons) popped up all over my screen. I shook my head with wonder. It was hard to imagine that kids all over the world did this sort of thing every day.
“Now what do I do?” I wondered aloud. All the little pictures had settled down. The computer seemed to be waiting for me to make the next move.
“You get on the Internet, is what you do.” The Missus’ voice came from behind me. Boy, I wish you could have heard the sound of triumph in her tone. I wondered how long she’d been standing there.
But I had more important things to worry about. I knew that she knew what my next question would have to be. I closed my eyes and wrinkled up my face. I had to do it. “And just how do I do that?” I finally asked.
“Oh, Santa! I can’t believe my ears,” The Missus cried and threw her arms around me. You’d have thought I had just promised her a Caribbean cruise. The next thing I knew she had snuggled into the chair next to me and was giving me a great big kiss.
Then she started tapping like crazy on the computer keys. I couldn’t believe my eyes. In just about half a second the Missus had not only gotten on the Internet, she had downloaded all my backed up e-mail. All nine million, seven-hundred fifty-three thousand, eight-hundred ninety-one messages!
Chapter 2
THE METAL MONSTER
I was flabbergasted. It was only October. More than two months until Christmas. Suddenly I
realized how many more e-mails I might get. I don’t mind telling you, I started to sweat!
“I’d better start reading NOW,” I mumbled.
“Great,” said The Missus. She clasped her hands together in happy anticipation. “I’ll help.”
“You don’t to need bother,” I said with a sniff. She was carrying things a tad too far. “I’ve got the hang of this contraption now,” I added, before she could argue.
The Missus went off to fix dinner (Thank Goodness!), and I began reading the first letter.
Dear Santa Claus:
My name is Micah Mason and I have been a very good boy this year.
I chuckled. They always say that. Even if they haven’t. But I have ways to check up on them. I read the rest of Micah Mason’s letter.
Don’t believe what my sister Ashley tells Mom. She’s a liar! Anyway, I only want two things for Christmas this year. One is my very own pizza restaurant. That way I can have pizza anytime I want it and I won’t have to share with Ashley. The second thing is an Electronic Spy Night Scope so that I can spy on Ashley in the dark. Thanks. Have a good trip on Christmas Eve. Love, Micah.
I sighed so deeply that I could feel it all the way down to my toes. A pizza restaurant was bad enough. But what in blue blazes was an Electronic Spy Night Scope? Spy in the dark? I’d never heard of such a thing. I could tell right now, it was going to be an interesting year. I knew I’d better not waste any more time.
I got up to fetch my giant ledger. That’s the book where every single boy and girl has a page of their own. On that page I keep track of where they live and every toy they’ve ever received at Christmas. Also whether they’ve been naughty or nice. I couldn’t wait to see Micah’s page.
I keep my giant ledger on top of the book shelves across the room from my desk. The shelves are filled with story books that the kids ask for every year. I scooted my step-stool
over to the shelves, reminding myself that I should find some place lower to keep that book. I’m not a spring chicken anymore, you know.
The first step wasn’t so bad. The second one made me feel a little bit wobbly. Only one more to go and I’d have the ledger. I made it to the top and grabbed the book. As I swung it out I remembered why I had meant to start a new ledger this year. This old one weighed a TON.
Suddenly my head was over the ledger instead of my feet. And my bottom was sticking out the other direction. All this while I was on the tippy top of the stool.
I jerked up and tried to reverse things. Now the ledger was sitting on my stomach, which was being pushed forward from the back. My knees were starting to shake. How was I ever going to get off that stool in one piece?
I thought about calling to The Missus for help. But I knew I couldn’t do that. I’ve always been a take charge sort of guy. I’d just have to figure out how to get off that stool by myself.
Ever so slowly I pushed my right foot toward the edge of the top step. If I could just step down one little step, I’d be almost on the floor. I could feel my toes waving in space. Now if I could get my heel that far without losing my balance, maybe I’d make it.
Finally my heel was off the step. My whole foot was stuck out in the air. Now what was I going to do? How was I going to get it down to the next step without falling over?
“What on earth are you up to?” The Missus shouted at me so hard it blew me right off that step-stool. I landed with a THUD on my bottom with the ledger open in my lap.
“Well, I know what YOU’RE up to. You’re tryin’ to get me killed!” I shouted back. I was mighty riled. How dare she sneak up on me and scare me off the top of a ladder!
Then I saw the look on her face. And the tears in her eyes.
“Oh, Santa,” she said in a trembly voice. “I’m so sorry.” She knelt beside me and put her arms around me. “Are you okay?”
My heart melted like it always does. “Course,” I said. “What’s a little tumble to a guy like me?”
After a few grunts I made it to my feet. The Missus wiped her tears, blew her nose and went back to the kitchen.
Finally I was ready to enter Michael Moss’ Christmas wish into the ledger. Or had his name been Mitchell Moses. Hmph! I’m getting forgetful these days.
I leaned over my desk to check my e-mail in the computer and jumped back in surprise. Miles Martin’s e-mail had disappeared. There weren’t ANY e-mails on the screen! Even those little pictures that The Missus called icons weren’t there, either. But there was something else there that was just plain weird, and I don’t mind saying so. It was sort of like a video of eight or ten snowmen having a big time sledding down a hill. Every time one of them got to the bottom, he’d pull his sled up to the top, and go down again. What was that video doing where my e-mail was supposed to be?
I looked desperately at the key pad. Most of the keys had letters and numbers printed on them, but some had words. There was SHIFT and END and HOME. There were also words I didn’t understand, like BK SP and DEL. But I couldn’t see anything even close to VIDEO.
I swallowed hard. A terrible thought was rising up in my brain like flood water in a basement. My e-mails were gone. Eaten up by this horrible machine. All nine million, seven-hundred fifty-three thousand, eight-hundred ninety-one of them. I wouldn’t forget that number for the rest of my life, because that meant that there would be nine-million, seven-hundred fifty-three thousand, eight-hundred ninety-one children who wouldn’t get toys from Santa Claus this Christmas. I would disappoint every single one of them.
I put my head in my hands and sobbed. What was I going to do?
Chapter 3
THE MISSUS SAVES THE DAY
I must have stared at that computer screen for an hour. Sad little faces paraded through my mind. I could see all those boys and girls standing in front of their Christmas trees and finding no presents from Santa. Some of them started to cry. A few got mad. All of them were sadder than they had ever been in their lives.
Was there any way I could contact them before Christmas? I wondered. I would have to explain that I had lost their e-mails. And tell them how sorry I am. Then I would have to ask them to write me a regular letter and send it through the mail. Snail mail, The Missus called it.
Maybe I could notify the newspapers. Nah, I thought. Kids don’t read newspapers. And I couldn’t expect parents to see the notice and tell their children.
Radio? Maybe, but it still didn’t feel right. Then the answer smacked me right in the face.
Television! All kids watch TV. I’d go to a TV station and ask if I could be on the news. Then I could talk directly to the boys and girls.
I thought about The Missus again and cringed. I’d have to admit to her what I had done. She’d probably never let me hear the end of it. Still, I couldn’t stand to disappoint even one child on Christmas, much less nine-million, seven-hundred fifty-three thousand, eight-hundred ninety-one. And there was no way I could keep a thing this big a secret from her. Maybe I would take her along. She might even like the trip. She doesn’t get out much.
I played with the idea for a while. I could see it all. The reindeer could take us to town. When we got to the television station I’d find the station manager and explain my problem. Surely he’d understand.
Just then The Missus stepped through the door. “Dinner’s ready, dear,” she said in her soft little voice.
I turned around and saw her smile melt into a look of puzzlement. Oh, oh, I thought. It’s too late now. She’s looking at the computer screen.
Then she put her hands on her hips and said in a saucy voice, “I thought you were hard at work in here, reading your e-mails. And here I find you staring at your screen-saver. Shame on you!”
Screen-saver? I wanted to act as if I knew what a screen-saver was. But I knew better than to try to pull anything on her. I squinched up my face and squeezed out the words, “What’s a screen-saver?”
She didn’t answer. She just marched right over to my desk, picked up the mouse and wiggled it. As if by magic those sledding snowmen disappeared and Monte Miller’s e-mail was right there in front of me. Right where it had been before. Except I saw his name was Micah Mason.
Then she explained what a screen-saver was, and I felt as embarrassed as a puppy who’d just been caught peeing on the rug.
Chapter 4
AN ALMOST CONFERENCE WITH THE ELVES
For the next few days I read e-mail messages until my eyes crossed. They came from children all over the world. I also noticed that even though I was making progress, more and more e-mails were stacking up in my in-box. By the time I had entered two-thousand, one-hundred seventy-nine wishes in my ledger, my unread e-mail was up to twelve million, nine-hundred sixty-two thousand, four-hundred eighty-three.
But now I had another problem. The kids were asking for toys I’d never heard of. Baby dolls that grow from infant to crawler to toddler before your very eyes! Animals that move and make sounds without batteries! Action figures that did what you told them to do. Walking, talking robots! I have to tell you, it was scrambling poor old Santa’s brains. Almost every child wanted toys that were electronic! Do you know what that means to an old fashioned kind of guy like me?
Stuffed Teddy Bear requests were down seventy-two percent. Raggedy Anne doll requests were down fifty-nine percent. Of course there were seven giant stuffed E.T. orders so far. And I did get a few orders for squishy Sponge Bob dolls. I could handle that. But how were the Elves going to make electronic spiders?
Suddenly I knew I had to call a conference with the Elves. And do it soon. Like immediately.
I hot-footed it as fast as I could to the workshop. I zipped right by The Missus in the parlor without telling her where I was going. I didn’t have time to stop and explain. THIS WAS AN EMERGENCY!
I stomped out the door and headed dow
n the back steps. I ran down the hill so fast that snow melted under my feet. Scurrying past the reindeer barn, past the take-off and landing strip for the sleigh, I made a bee-line for the workshop in the field by the woods. I stopped for a moment to catch my breath. Then I flung open the door and hurried inside.
The workshop looked the same as it always had. At first, that made me feel good. I leaned against a stack of boxes and looked around. Near the door, half a dozen Elves sat around a table, each painting the face of a Barbie doll. I smiled. We always needed lots of Barbie dolls. I already had more than fifty orders.
Farther back was a skate board assembly-line. One Elf sanded the wood. The next Elf put on the wheels. The next one painted on a design. And on and on until the skate board was ready to be delivered on Christmas Eve.
All over the workshop my faithful little Elves were busily assembling toys. The old fashioned way. Nowhere was there a Heather Hoola swinging a hoola hoop around her waist. Or an electronic Whack-A-Mole game that frantically beat moles over the head with a bat. Or electronic puppies barking to be petted. Or a Superhero waging war against the enemies of Earth. Everything was quiet. Too quiet, I suddenly realized. I shook my head in sadness.