At the North Pole [FICTION]

“Hello, mom.”

I look up to find Elfis eying my leftover turkey sandwich with wide, greedy eyes.

“I am not your mother. And do you really have to appear before December?”

“You know the children can’t wait to see me,” he glances around the room, “or maybe you don’t? Where’s the tree, mom?”

I swallow a mouthful of sandwich, “I am still eating my turkey. The tree can wait.”

“Tsk. Tsk. I think we need to work on your holiday spirit.”

I sigh and place my sandwich on the plate. “Fine.” I brush crumbs off of my hands and head toward the attic.

Twenty minutes later, I stand in the middle of the living room, surveying my Christmas decoration boxes. As I begin setting up the tree, I look up to find Elfis supervising me while nibbling on a piece of pumpkin pie. 

“You could help, you know? What brings more Christmas spirit than an elf?”

“Gotta save my energy for more important duties.”

“Like eating my food?”

“Yep.” He polishes off the pie and sticks his tongue out at me. “And reporting back to the keeper of the Naughty and Nice lists.”

I shake my head and resume turning my house into a Christmas lover’s dream.

~~

By Christmas Eve, Elfis’ influence illuminates every room. Day after day, he motivates one of the members of the household place just one more decoration. With the kids, he motivates them to make something new. Inevitably, they choose to make one more tiny rendition of Elfis to decorate our halls. Now the real elf stands in the middle of the kitchen, surveying our collaboration with bright eyes. 

“This is good work, family.” He pats my knee affectionately before hugging each child.

“Thanks, Eflis. We’re ready for Santa now.” My oldest declares.

I turn my head so they can’t see me roll my eyes. I know I will be solely responsible for cleaning up every piece of tinsel and handmade treasure and storing them all away carefully so we can overdo Christmas again next year. Elfis basks in their accolades and the soft glow of string lights for a few more minutes and then looks anxiously at his watch.

“Time to report in,” Elfis turns away from us, “One last report before Santa’s big ride.”

The kids cheer and disappear into the kitchen, arguing over which cookies Santa will want this year. Elfis’ attention remains on his watch, so he doesn’t weigh in for a change. I reach out to tap his shoulder and ask one last question, as he looks up from his watch expectantly.

The world around me wavers. My living room blurs like I am looking through mist and then disappears completely. Then I find myself in the middle of a Christmas card, complete with a very happy elf at my side.

“It worked.” Elfish exclaims happily.

“Apparently so.” I agree as I take in my new surroundings.

“Oh. You’re here?” He frowns at me.

“Uh-huh.” I agree absently.

Snow falls gently, adding to the soft white blanket already covering the gentle slopes all around. We stand outside what appears to be an enormous barn. Twinkly lights run along ever edge and every window, casting a soft glow on the stately pine trees that surround it. The soft hum of Christmas carols emanates from two immense doors. One of them opens and a small elf peeks out the door. Upon seeing us, they turn and call out something to those within the workshop. A throng of elves comes rushing out to greet us.

Warmed by the appearance of what obviously constitutes his North Pole fan club, Elfis’ face softens toward me. “Well, since you are here, let me tell you about my home.” He clears his throat and croons from deep down in his frostbitten soul. 

[to the tune of “In the Ghetto”]

“As the snow flies

On a North Pole Christmas Eve mornin'

Another perfect toy is made

At the North Pole

“(At the North Pole)

And children rejoice

'Cause new toys come to life every day

Soon enough Santa will be on his way

From the North Pole 

(From the North Pole)

“People, don't you understand

Santa needs a helping hand

To get gifts to all the boys and girls on Christmas Day

“Take a look upward with me

And you will surely see

That Santa brings joy tonight

But will this Christmas be white?

“Well, the world turns

And another elf finishes a cookie

So he can make a masterpiece toy

“At the North Pole 

(At the North Pole)

And the pride he takes

In what he creates brings toys to life

So another good child basks in Christmas light

From the North Pole

“(From the North Pole)

“That one night changes children’s hearts

Santa Claus brings joy to all

He soars so fast, he doesn’t stall

Down each chimney, and under each tree

“He leaves a sweet gift

To be found Christmas morn by each boy and girl

Who was good and kind through the whole year

From the North Pole

(From the North Pole)

“So he brings perfect gifts 

(From the North Pole)

“On a North Pole Christmas Eve mornin'

Another perfect toy is made

At the North Pole

“(At the North Pole)

“And Santa brings joy

From the North Pole 

(From the North Pole)

(From the North Pole)”

I stare, mesmerized for a second by his revision of a heartrending classic. I may have stood staring in wonder forever if another elf hadn’t rushed up to shake his hand.

“Agent Peppermint, that was fantastic.”

Spell broken I ask, “Agent Peppermint?”

“A guy can’t pick his last name,” he mutters. “Don’t mention it again.” He raises his head forcefully to give me a stern look and the loose lock of hair that dangles over his forehead jumps erratically.

“Of course,” I breathe deeply to stifle the laugh bubbling up inside.

Elfis narrows his eyes, “To anyone…or it’s the Naughty List for you forever.”

I nod silent agreement. No one wants to be on the Naughty List—no matter how old we get.

~~

I know some of you wait for more from Elfis every year, so this contribution is for you. As I wrote this one, it occurred to me this one might make a better music video than a story, but if I take up drawing and animation, I will never finish any of the items on my already bulging list of “to dos”. I have to realize at some point that I can not pursue all my interests at once. Good thing I believe in eternity, right?

Being Thankful Every Year (Should Be Every Day)

I know. Two weeks without a fiction break might be too much, but this is the time of year when most of us allow ourselves to think about our gratitude. We are grateful for the big things like our homes and the little things like our tiny humans blowing us kisses. So let tell you about a number of things I am grateful for.

1. Heavenly Father. He loves me and He loves you. You don’t have to believe it, but I do, so be kind and don’t assume the worst of me. By the same token, I am grateful for Jesus Christ. For those who need reminded of one of the most memorized scriptures ever, John 3:16: “For God so loved the world, that He gave His Only Begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish but have everlasting life."

2. Faith. It sounds like a repeat, but it isn’t. Faith in the Lord keeps me pointed in the right direction spiritually. Faith in myself helps me accomplish more than should honestly be expected of one human being.

3. Family. Whether we share blood or we have adopted each other, family makes life better. They offer moral support, provide amusing stories to share (if you have met my real or adopted brothers, you know what I speak of—my adopted sisters are all beautiful angels, so they provide sweet uplifting anecdotes), and they remind us of the best qualities in ourselves and others.

4. Food. I love most food. I know that is obvious. I like discovering new flavors, enjoying flavors I already know I love, and sharing comfort foods with others.

5. Muses. Without inspiration, this blog would never have any posts. Keep encouraging my muses and me. We like chocolate, amazon gift cards, and words of appreciation…among other things.

6. Words. Okay, so I complain about them a lot and burst into song (rewatch “My Fair Lady” and you will know what I mean), but words can be so useful. They help us communicate. For book lovers, they help us escape to far away lands whether we are escaping housework or boredom. 

7. Readers. That’s right. Anyone who stumbles on my writing and appreciates it brightens my day. Of course, until I buckle down and self-publish something, I may never know if I have more than three true blue lovers of my words.

8. Animals. Though I currently live in a pet free environment, I could write a whole book about animals I have loved. In fact, even after a decade sans kitties, people still have to patiently pretend to listen when I tell tales of purrs I have loved and lost.

9. Children. Yes, they drive me crazy, since I made little hobbits who are always hungry, but you really can learn a lot from children. I love watching my children root for every sports team with their friends or father, show concern for friends who are hurt or upset, and be willing to talk to everyone and anyone without having to point out their differences. (Though that last one can be terrifying to a mama who reads too many thrillers.) 

10. Friends. With me, this one kind of merges into number three most of them time, but it is always good to have people to rely on and vent to about how terrible other drivers are, etc. (Quick diversion: Also, it is nice when they giggle because you claim you want to go back into a store and buy more of an item simply because the cashier tried to discourage you yesterday because he would have to enter it manually since it isn’t in the system. It is also good when they don’t encourage you to do so since you don’t need said items but really don’t get people not wanting to do their job.)

11. Music. When I can’t find my own words to express my feelings, the right song can really hammer the point home. Honestly wish the lyrics of Sarah McLachlan’s “Good Enough” and Tori Amos’ “Leather” didn’t seem to punctuate my interactions with people, but sometimes Sarah McLachlan’s “Loving You Is Easy” winds its way into my mind as well. If you have seen my girls, you know and you already feel sorry the boys they meet. (Maybe I should spend more time listing to The Tabernacle Choir at Temple Square.)

12. Pie. Even though it gives me pie brain (my new definition of this inability to remember important things like putting on a coat when it is in the 30s outside., I love pie. I love to think about it. I love to smell it baking. I love to make it. I love to eat it. I love to smother it in yummy vanilla ice cream. I love to share it with friends. (Or you can find the song from the movie “Michael” and get the same general idea. I decided to link all these fabulous side notes. The librarian in my soul rejoices.)

13. Libraries. You know I love libraries. They have free books, movies, music, programs for everyone, friendly (or at least very interesting) employees, and so much more. 

I had to stop my list somewhere or I would go all day. Thanks for bearing with me. Your patience will be rewarded with a fun story next Friday, so stay posted and stay warm.

Writing Mom on Strike [RANT]

As National Novel Writing Month nears its midpoint, I find myself once more waging a battle with words. Will I find the right combination to keep myself interested in my project and reach the coveted goal of 50,000 words in one short month? So far, I am lagging by a whopping 7,000 words, so…

Not if my family has anything to say about it. Moms are held to very high standards. We also are expected to mix in an array of unexpected tasks with the ones that happen regularly. 

As of today, this mom is on strike, so she can write more and worry less. Want her to pick up the pan, whisk, broom, and sponge again? Then offer her a few tokens of appreciation:

1. Hugs and kisses are always appreciated (and they don’t always have to be from Hershey’s).

2. Don’t make mama repeat herself more than twice. If you don’t catch it the first time, listen closer so you understand the second time. Then please do what mama asks.

3. Make the effort to do some little things instead of leaving them for mom. Examples: throw away the wrapper from your snack, lightly rinse your plates and put them in the dishwasher, make your bed, put your dirty clothes in the hamper…

4. Clean up your own messes. If you played with the toys, you can put them back where they belong. If you pile your mail one mama’s counter, you could have easily put it in a more appropriate place—the trash, the recycle bin, maybe even your own to do pile…

5. Let mama take a break when she says she needs a break. She has been working at top speed on at least three things at a time most of the day, so let her sit when her body requests some rest. And, for the love of chocolate, don’t try to make her feel bad about it or immediately begin making requests the second her butt hits the couch cushion.

~~~

Should I actually share this list with my dear family or does the need for the second statement indicate that it will fall on deaf ears? I have some experience with people being super determined to leave tasks for me. I came home from college for the weekend once to find every dish in the house piled up in the kitchen sink. Honestly, they had to use a step stool to put those last couple of layers on the pile because I had to use one and stretch to take them down and start the piles on the floor that cleared the sink out enough to start washing the vile mess, while the grey Persian cat complained that I took over his territory with my to-be-washed pile. At least I know he didn’t put any of those dishes onto the tower of filth.

Electing to Be More [FICTION]

Who knows how we will feel next week, but our recent round of polls lean toward our candidate winning the race at the polls. Both logic and superstition dictate that we shouldn’t celebrate prematurely, but when the hottest guy in the office offers to buy me a hot cocoa, I nod my head eagerly and grab my bag.

“So, Kate, what do you want?” He holds the door open for me and guides me to a table looking out onto the street.

“Surprise me.” I offer him a flirtatious smile before turning my attention back to a store across the street.

It still sports a festive and mildly creepy tableau of monsters I recognize and creatures I hope never to see again. I glance back at James, appreciating his self-confident swagger as he crosses over to the counter. The barista tosses back her hair and laughs at something he says. A part of me whispers of jealousy, but my eyes find their way back to the creatures watching me across the quiet street.

“Homo sapiens cedo belua.” James mumbles as he sets a piping hot mug before me.

“Huh?” I glance at him but find my eyes drawn back into the darkness.

“I hope you like this.” He winks as he places a mug on the table before me.

Wisps of warmth float off of the cup invitingly. I lean in to breathe in a hint of what awaits me. I grin as pumpkin spice tickles my nose and promises delight to my taste buds. Despite the draw of the tantalizing aroma, I can’t stop peering into the dimly lit window across the street. A creature in the window has caught my attention, hypnotizing me with immense, glassy, red eyes. 

“Kate?” James rests his hand gently on mine for a second.

Pulled away from my contemplation of the winged monstrosity, I offer him a tentative smile. “What?”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes. Fine.” I pick up my cup to take a sip.

“You sure?” He persists.

The aroma hasn’t misled me. My eyes close as the delicious flavors of chocolate, pumpkin spice, and vanilla whipped cream mingle on my tongue. As James continues to search my face intently, I feel compelled to assess why he is so concerned. I frown into my mug. I do feel a little odd, but I don’t want to admit that and ruin our first date. Instead of responding, I take another sip. I blink my eyes as flames seem to erupt through them.

“Kate?” James’ face pales as he rises from his chair. “Is there a doctor here?” 

As he anxiously scans the roomful of people, focusing all their attention on me, I hide behind my beverage. This time I swallow a hefty dose of pumpkin love. Pain erupting in my shoulders pushes away all thought of my eyes. I fumble in my purse, shaking my hands to combat a peculiar sensation creeping up my fingers. The numbness persists, but I manage to extract an aspirin from the depths of purse, pop it in my mouth, and chase it with a warm chug of cocoa. As the cocoa and medicine slide down my esophagus, the world becomes pain. I squeal and close my eyes. My purse tumbles toward the floor and excited voices draw closer to the table.

A great whooshing sound flows around me, barely noticeable over the pain tearing my atoms apart to reconstruct them in a perfect image of suffering. Then, everything ends. No more voices. No more pain. No more friendly hands probing for ways to help. I take a breath and open my eyes.

I scream as I come face to face with the monstrosity across the street—so close I could touch it. Grey-blue feathers crown a round head with almost human features, except for large tusks protruding past the lips from the top and the bottom of a wide, silver-lined mouth. Fierce reds eyes peer into my soul, assuring me that they know everything about me, particularly my weaknesses. I shudder away from the creature, realizing it moves as I do, almost as if it fears me. As my eyes adjust, I realize why. The creature blinks with me, tilts its head to the right in consternation when I do, and opens its mouth to release a pained exclamation with me.

“My reflection?” I mumble, deciding not to speak again after hearing the screech of my voice.

I reach out to touch the glass, noting that two skinny arms rest beneath oversized wings that sprout from my shoulders. The wings flap as I peer out into the dark night in search of James and the other denizens of the coffee shop.

From this side of the street I see vague shadows through the coffee shop window. James waves his arms excitedly as he talks to two uniformed figures. Other shadowy figures nod in agreement as he points to the cup and my purse. I reach up to my shoulder, whimpering as feathers brush against each other. I know I cry, but the fine feathers on my cheek keep me from feeling them running down toward my rounded chin.

I watch people milling around the coffee shop. Before long the cops escort James from the shop. I gasp as they lead him to their patrol car and push his head down as he sinks into the backseat. 

“At last,” a soft voice says at my side.

Other voices echo it. For the first time. I remember the other creatures in the window display. I slowly turn to peer at them. To my surprise, they gaze back at me with intelligent eyes. I gasp, too many questions whirring through my head to express.

“We were confused, too.” The soft voice addresses me from within a clump of matted fur at my feet. She stretches upward, so her coal dark eyes can peer into mine. “Until we realized James doesn’t want to share credit when our candidate wins.”

“Our candidate?” I lean in to peer into her eyes. “Gina?”

“No wonder he saved you for last. You are smarter than the rest of us.” She laughs sadly.

“I thought you had to help your sister?”

“Nope. I got a special brew from our fearless leader, James.”

“Yep.” Dracula mutters sadly around his fangs. “For me, it was black coffee?”

“George?” He nods and then shakes his head in the negative when I ask, “But your wife is sick?”

“Triple fudge latte with extra whipped cream.” The wolf man howls sadly. “And I didn’t abandon you for the opposition.”

“Plain hot chocolate…” Another bizarre bird creature caws. “And you didn’t even notice I disappeared.”

“Did James tell you that, John?” I ask. “He told us you had food poisoning. I assumed that meant you drank too much on Halloween night.”

He perks up at my recognition. “I guess I can’t be upset that you might make that assumption.”

“Water? How did he hide it in water?” A lithe python hangs her head in shame. “And how could you believe I ran off to marry a donor?”

“Some of those donors are very handsome, Jane.” I try to smile but realize such a thing isn’t be possible with my new face as she shies away from me.

“All you had to do was share your best ideas and “poof”, he added you to his window of shame.” Gina mutters.

“Probably shouldn’t have tried it the seventh time though…” Jane hisses.

“Even the police were smart enough to catch onto that.” Gina murmurs.

Despite our plight, which appears permanent, we share a laugh. Talking with beast mouths takes more energy than I expect, so we huddle together in miserable silence as night draws on. Soon the soothing sounds of my fellow monsters snoring lulls me to sleep. 

A click and a bang pulls me back out of a disturbing dream. I turn my feathered head toward the door. I snarl as sore muscles awaken. A lanky man regards me from under scraggly dirty blond hair that hangs to his shoulders.

“What has my cousin done now?” He whispers softly as snarls, hisses, and waking sighs escape from my fellow monsters.

“Jamesss?” Jane questions.

The man hangs his head. “Yes. James is my cousin. Please don’t hold it against me.” He steps to the edge of the window and pulls a cord to close heavy, blue velvet curtains. 

Fear rises up to choke me. From the sounds emitted by my companions, the same wariness overcomes them as the outside world disappears from view. The man turns to regard us with apologetic eyes. Then he straightens his shoulders and boldly declares.

“Belua cedo homo sapiens.”

“Hey, that sounds like…” I begin to say before a giant, invisible hand seals my mouth shut.

“I’m so sorry,” the man says, “The return to truth hurts more than becoming a monster.”

I throw both hands and wings over my ears to muffle the screams reverberating through window display. When the pain finally fades to a pale memory of every bone breaking as the monster melts into my familiar form, I slump weakly to the floor.

“I guess I should say 'thank you’,” John says from a nearby puddle of tortured human.

“I will get you some food and some better clothing,” the man doesn’t acknowledge the gratitude. “It is the least I can do for every trusting my ruthless cousin with arcane knowledge.”

He gazes at us with pleading in his eyes. I nod understanding, realizing he blames himself for this. As he disappears to grab supplies, we huddle together to decide what to do next.

~~~

Apparently, I felt my terrifying offering last week fell short of my “high-pitched scream” standards. Hopefully, anyone who got their pants scared off them was home alone or with people they don’t mind showing their skivvies to. In order to avoid real life horror stories, please vote responsibly next week…. Or “vote early and vote often” like one social studies teacher insisted on telling my grade school class.

Please forgive any grammatical errors. I am already behind on my word count, so my editing skills may not be fully on display with this one.