Greetings from the North Pole, Part I

Blogger’s Note: Back in 2003, our children mailed their letters to Santa Claus very late and were quite concerned that he might not realize we would be traveling on Christmas. Prior to that winter, Santa had always left a short handwritten letter near the cookie plate, but with more kids and more questions, he found himself in need of assistance. (After all, he is a busy man this time of year.) Several days before Christmas, we found a card on our mantle, and Christmas morning, a letter marked with a script S, but not for Santa! I’ve transcribed them to share, in hopes of spreading holiday cheer and bolstering belief.

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16 December 2003

My dear Thorp children,

Of course we can deliver your presents on Christmas Eve Day — why, your mother used to receive her presents every year on Christmas Eve! We try to accommodate all Holiday travel plans (within reason), for there is nothing more important than Family at Christmas!

So rest easy these next few nights! Know that your letter was very well received — Santa loves to hear from his children, and especially appreciates your Honesty about those times you’ve been less than perfect. We will compare your Wish List against what we’ve prepared for you, but remember! Santa knows best what you need, and often has his own ideas. You may not get everything you’ve asked for, but I am certain you will be Very Happy on the morning of December 24!

Merry Christmas Brendan, Gabriel and Emma!

Siberius Quill
Elf Correspondent

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23 December 2003
The Eve of Christmas Eve

Dearest Children!

Happy Christmas to you all! How fortunate that I should be assigned to your family, for I am the Very Elf who wrote you just a week ago to tell you your Santa Letter was not in vain. (Of course, no such letter ever is!) Ah! I am reminded that you are all so Very Young — I must think more slowly and write more simply. And as you are a New Family, and this is your first letter from a Correspondent, I should introduce myself…

So I shall! I am Siberius Quill III, a Correspondent in Santa’s Letter Corps and fifth-generation Elfin Scribe. I am to be your Personal Contact and Pen-Pal here at the North Pole for as long as you will have me. You see, when human children reach the age at which they begin writing letters, lists and questions for Santa — when he can no longer hand-write a note to you over cookies and milk — we Correspondents take over. Like your Father, my talent lies in language. Let the other Elves make toys; I’ve no knack for tools!

Unlike your Father, however, I am descended from a long and proud line of Writers. My great-grandfather, Siberius the Old, personally penned Mr. Kringle’s first List of Names. (That was long centuries ago, however — several Great Uncles, Uncles and Cousins now compile the names, but The Old Man still has a nose for telling naughty from nice!) My grandfather, Siberius II, is Santa’s Chief Calligrapher, and my father, Scribner Quill, teaches Foreign Penmanship — Japanese, Arabic and the like. My mother’s kin are Writers, too — her father, Brevity Parchment, heads the Tags and Greetings division.

We Correspondents are good for more than just lists and letters, Children — as you get older and wiser, you will likely have fewer questions about What Santa does, and more and more questions about Why and How he does it. Consider me your Primary Resource regarding All Things Christmas — I will do my level best to tell you everything I can! Of course, not even the Elves know everything Pere Noel is about — but what I know I will share, because sharing is one of the simplest Good Deeds you can do. Remember that!

Now then — you’ve asked me no questions, boys, but you did ask your Father one, didn’t you, Master Brendan? Let me see — I believe you wanted to know what happens should children like Yourselves awaken when Santa is about! Your Father told you what he thought, and it’s exactly so — old Santa smiles at them, his eyes a-twinkle; places his pointing finger to his lips, and shhh! Out they go, like an Advent Candle, to sleep deeply and dream pleasant dreams — remembering nothing, or almost nothing, of what they think they’ve seen. Ah, but your Dad remembers — buried in his head are the unconscious thoughts and waking dreams of the Little Boy he used to be. He remembers!

Master Gabriel, I must mention that Santa was most Impressed and Flattered that you wanted a red fur suit for Christmas, to match your Christmas hat, no doubt. Though you’d make quite a strapping elf, you are not quite tall enough for the robes of St. Nicholas, nor round enough to fill Santa’s trousers. Keep growing, young Master, and you’ll make a fine Father Christmas yet.

All our Love to Emma and your Mother and — Can this be? — a new Baby on the way? Bless my soul, but you’ll keep me busy. A fine, Big Family indeed! Happy Christmas, Young Ones — may God bless you and your family as He blessed us all those many years ago, in a Bethlehem stable, in the hay. And a Happy New Year, too!

Your Most Sincerely,

Siberius Quill

P.S. If you like, you may call me Quill!

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As Christmas draws nearer, perhaps I’ll transcribe the others we’ve received over the years.

With Child

People everywhere are having babies, and it’s about time somebody said something. First, a question: do people say “with child” anymore? I kind of like it – it lends a certain gravitas to the proceedings. Moreso than, say, “preggers.” Try it: She’s with child. Now try: She’s preggers.

Totally different.

Second, a poem of sorts – something I wrote several years ago, when we got together with some friends, and the ladies started comparing bellies.

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small wonder

a friend who is pregnant dreams a
golden sunshine painted on her belly.
is that so strange? i watch her husband
circle – he is drawn to her, not close but
never far. she is one of three with child
radiant and exhausted, and
we men talk as though we never
wish to feel the kick of tiny feet
a somersault or hiccups; like we
do not wonder at our wives resilience.
they sip their drinks and hold their sides,
their backs; their bellies impossibly round
as if inside they bore the world
like Atlas, on their hips – small wonder
we can’t pull away from such a cosmic thing.

j. thorp
20 feb 02

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Congrats to new moms, old moms, experienced moms, professional moms, surprise moms, renewed moms, moms-to-be, and moms-thrice-over. You’re amazing.

 

"The New Girl … and Me"

There’s a new girl on my blog. Way over there on the right and down a little bit … yup, just there, under “Friends and Good People.”

Jacqui Robbins helped this guy I know, an awkward, melon-headed kid from Michigan, adjust to life at Yale, and now she’s in Michigan, writing children’s books. And she has a book out, called “The New Girl … and Me.”

And – get this – thanks to First Book and Spoonfuls of Stories, they’re giving the book away for free in boxes of Cheerios right now!

If you have little ones at home, then you’re bound to need Cheerios, and you’ll recognize this story as true-to-life, and beautiful and funny as only kids can be – so pick it up.

If you don’t have kids at home, you can still eat Cheerios (good for your heart), read the story (also good for your heart), read it again en español (the Cheerios version is bilingual), then give it away (very nice!) or keep it (we won’t tell).

The point is, check it out. The Cheerios version is pretty tiny, but I’m sure you can get nice hardcover ones at bookstores and stuff!

Congratulations, Jacqui – and in case I didn’t tell you before, thanks.

Fishing Followup

It’s been quiet around here, mainly because my off-line life has been anything but. Just a quick one tonight: The long-promised group shot of the intrepid trout fishermen from our trip to Colorado. From left to right, it’s Sasquatch, the Kid, Cowboy Bob, and the Buddha. Why the Buddha? Because he smiles often and says little; you rarely know what he’s thinking, but when he speaks, it’s important. Always.