A POTPOURRI OF STORIES ABOUT SANTA’S ELVES
WHO SAYS?
by KLARICE PARMENTIER
He just keeps chasing us around doing all the chores. On and on, he demands we do this, do that and it goes on forever. No wonder we're all skinny and shrunken. No time to eat or sit or even have a short nap. Oh, and of course, we're always to keep happy faces, bouncy steps and eagerness energy exuding all over the place.
The tubby old goof has to get a bigger Santa size outfit every year. Then it takes eight of us to get him into it. He sits and we work, work, work! Everyone believes he's always his jolly photo self with his "Ho, Ho, Ho". Not our scene. He growls and grunts and spews out orders. "Bring me my sack! Where's those candy canes? Who took my soft chair pad? You worthless elves are a pain in my butt!
The pain in his rotund old butt is all that blubber he carries around! Then he roars on and on: "Never on time! You little wimps always hidin' somewhere!"
The elves continued, "Those reindeer all get piles of hay and buckets of oat treats. What do we get? Not even a lolly pop or a Christmas cookie!"
Old Mr. Red Suit plops on his haunches, grins and guffaws. Lines of kids come up, then one by one hop onto his knee. Their hoping list and latest video games flow out of their mouths as they trust that old faker.
Parents pick up the load and fulfill the kids dreams. Santa listens and promises all will come true. He asks each name and repeats it with a vow. How the hell does he know that mom and dad will be there for those little ones?
Does he ever acknowledge each one of us that are his tiny work horses…not on a bet! All we hear is, "You all just get it done!"
Everybody knows those seven dwarfs who each had their own name. I'd even be Dopey if anyone would call me and recognize who I am and what I do year after year. How about those high stepping' Dancer and Prancer and even ol' clowning and blooming nosed Rudolph? Every person in the world knows those Christmas deer monikers.
Well, every December we do it all, everything in place, all set to go for the Ho Ho Ho Guy in the spotlight. We each know our assignments and all unfolds because of us!
Oh, heck, it's all okay…for after all the carols and noels and folks of good cheer, hopes and promises ol' fussy Santa Star himself sluffs off to his trundle bed to recover.
It's then that we spritely elves begin our own party time! Totally on our own, we start it off with a toast to US! and all our doings! Then we'll name ourselves, maybe Bubbles and Cuddles and Jazzy and Sassy. For we're all singers and dancers and truly happy ones for sure.
Oh! We do live it up all the way. We laugh deep in our guts. We cry out "Let's Celebrate!" For all the falsity and make-up fol de rol is over for another year. We're real and we always know how to live it all fully. Our hi-jinx may not be known to all you practical and business-as-usual folks. Be we in Elfdom don't skip a note of fairy tale truthfulness. We do have the finest times ever! You just might join us sometime!
2013
SANTA'S ELVES 2013
by ROBYN MAKARUK
There was a revolt in the Elf Kibbutz at the North Pole. Santa had been working his team to the absolute limit making toys and other presents for delivery to all the good little boys and girls around the globe on Christmas Eve. The place had become a sweatshop, with 12-hour shifts keeping up with the enormous demand to finish in time. The warehouse was chock to the brim with finished product. It was the recipient list that was the biggest matter of contention between the Elves and Santa. Head Shop Steward ElViz had called several meetings to discuss the worthiness of the children who would receive these toys that were made and assembled by Elf sweat. Santa seemed to be turning a deaf ear to the elves and was just going along with his usual schtick, practicing his “ho ho hos” to get the right tone. He had made his annual visit to the Mercedes warehouse to choose a brand new model in gorgeous iridescent red to match his outfit. He was not one to turn down the annual graft offered prominent personages by Big Auto, and had accepted the offer to choose the latest model Mercedes from the German auto maker for free. Typically he would pick up this new model and drive it up to the North Pole, then round up his team of reindeer and take off in the sleigh for his global trip of Christmas Eve deliveries.
But….this year the elves found they, collectively, had a voice in the whole matter. With the many tragedies that had happened around the world in the past few years, there was much suffering, especially by children. There had been wars, earthquakes, tornadoes, floods, massacres, tsunamis, cyclones and there were hundreds of thousands of children who would never see the gift of a bicycle, kite, ball, doll, warm jacket, etc. ElViz had consulted with ElTek and directed him to fabricate a GPS microchip to be implanted in Rudolf. The Elves had already planned a strategy on having the team go to all the areas of strife in the world, Haiti, Syria, Philippines, Iraq, India, Japan and Santa would have no choice but to unload his toys where the GPS system took him. ElTek then handed the programming of the chip over to ElGeek, who not only programmed the reindeer, but programmed Santa’s i-Pad where he kept his list of good little boys and girls to all the needy children around the world. Knowing how meticulous Santa was in checking his list twice and delivering toys to all on it, the Elves took no chances for any errors. The head couturier on the team, ChanEl, had designed Santa a special suit that automatically changed to desert fatigues when in warm climates, thermolite down when in high altitude places, and tie-dyed beach attire when in tropical zones. The only piece of his attire that stayed constant was the red hat, because it had all the radar and guidance systems in it.
Christmas Eve 2013 is just a week and a half away. With this change in the way of usual expectations and conspicuous consumption, the formerly good little boys and girls would show the world what spoiled brats they are and the now really needy little boys and girls in the world would be blessed with gifts of love from the hearts of Santa's Elves. Hooray for Elf Power!
2013
SANTA'S ELVES
by LA KING
Santa was having a very bad day up there at the North Pole. Not only was the ice pack melting like a sink hole in Florida, but the Elves were on strike. The uniforms were now too warm for the weather, they demanded water-proof boots instead of green felt booties because the permafrost was getting squishy, the food was lousy, and such small portions, too. There was also the matter of the leaks in the roof, revealed as the snow melted, causing puddles on the factory floor. The shop-steward pointed out that these were a danger for slipping, to say nothing of electrical shocks if the puddles reached the machine floor.
Santa had contacted Snow White to ask if the Dwarves could fill in during the rush, but they said no, they would not cross the picket line. Well, actually Grumpy said “hell, no”, but that was no surprise.
As if the pressure at the toy factory were not enough, the reindeer were off their feed. Doc, on-call as veterinarian despite the work-stoppage, said that the grazing grounds had gotten infested with worms as the ground had warmed and become soggy. Climate change had hit North Pole Industries, Inc., with a vengeance.
Because of the labor unrest and the infra-structure fraying, King Cole, of Cole Venture Capital, was threatening an audit to review liabilities and find out what other deferred maintenance had now become critical. Santa was particularly worried about the condition of the sleigh which hadn’t had a good going over in, oh, centuries. At least he was confident that the vehicle would ace the smog test, as long as no one checked for methane and solid waste.
Santa’s accountants, Vern Snotmorton, and his lovely wife Gloxinia, of Snotmorton, Snotmorton, and Grimm, LLC, warned that Santa was going to be hit with charges and write-offs, weakening the dividend. This raised the issue of a sell off of stock at a time when North Pole Industries did not have enough liquidity to support a buy-back if the shareholders started dumping the stock.
Could things possibly get worse?
Always a bad question to ask when living under a cloud because, often, the answer is yes. Santa had just gotten an email from Three Kings Distributors that they were canceling their contract with North Pole and going with Amazon and Fed-Ex for the drop-shipment of gold, frankincense, and myrrh, to the Inn in Bethlehem, where they had a strategy meeting with The Star, which had been leading them a merry chase all over the Middle East.
It was just at this moment, while Santa sat at his desk and held his head in his hands, that The Littlest Angel arrived with the delivery of the Christmas Tree. Santa was a bit short on holiday spirit at that point, saying sh*t, sh*t, sh*t, instead of ho, ho, ho.
The Littlest Angel had been drafted for the delivery even though he was several millennia under-age for the work and didn’t have a valid commercial driver’s license. The Littlest Angel, called TLA for short, also was known to have a tact deficit and was inclined to behave with outrageous good cheer, even in the face of the morose. It was a train-wreck just waiting to happen.
“Hi-ya, Santa,” TLA said with a big smile on his little face. “How’s it going? How’s the wife, how’s tricks? Boy, the traffic out there is a mess, all bogged down in the bogs. But never you mind, I made it here with your tree without a hitch, since I had it strapped to the roof of the Jeep instead. … Get it? ‘without a hitch’? Pretty good, huh?
“So, who do like for the Super Bowl? Well, I can’t stick around for long. I have to get back to heaven-quarters because I’m scheduled to do the descant for the heavenly chorus on the 25 th. So I gotta hustle. I’ve got your tree right outside. Where do you want me to put it?
And that, my children, is how the angel got at the top of the Christmas Tree.
Meanwhile, back in Bethlehem, the Wise Guys had finally arrived and gotten the last three rooms at the Inn, where The Star was hanging out with its posse. Who knew there would be so many folk there in the off-season?
While Caspar and Melchior kicked back in the overcrowded tavern, Balthazar, always low man on the totem pole, had to check on the camels in the barn. Even that was overcrowded, with the presence of a homeless family, with a new baby! (can you believe where people take their kids these days?), and a whole gang of smelly shepherds. You’d think they’d never seen a lamb dropped before, the way they were gawking.
It was dark in the barn so he had to step carefully, for numerous reasons. Just as he got to the stall where their camels were, he stepped on the tines of a flat rake that was hidden under the hay. The handle came flying up and smashed him right in the face with a resounding whack! “Jesus Christ!” he yelped, as his nose start to bleed.
The woman in the corner with the newborn looked up and said, “Oooh, now that’s a lovely name! And here we were going call him Frank.”
2013
SANTA’S ELVES
Unit 9-5-4-7-6
by META STRAUSS
The old Chevy wound up the mountain road. It was driven by a chubby woman so short that fellow drivers had to look twice to be sure the car wasn’t driving itself. Mazelle Florentine’s frizzy gray hair spread out like a fan from a red felt beret as she stretched upward to look in the rear view mirror making sure no one was following. She turned left on a one-lane dirt road, really nothing more than a wide path. She swerved around the familiar leaning Oak and guided her vehicle around a series of boulders.
The rustic barn looked deserted, but behind it, nestled in a group of trees, were a dozen or more nondescript cars, similar to Mazelle’s. She was the last to arrive at meetings, so she grabbed her large carpetbag and hurried to the door at the corner of the building. She glanced at the small handwritten sign 9-5-4-7-6. and chuckled. “Just to think that long ago the US Post Office adopted our delivery codes and then when that worked well, they added our plus 4’s. Someone in the government was smart to realize that if anyone knows how to systematize deliveries and fast, it’s our organization.”
“It’s about time, Mazelle.” Homer Watson laughed as he watched his friend and comrade make her way to the large table. He pulled out a chair for her and she sat.
“Now we are all here and accounted for, able to maintain our secrecy once again. Mazelle, we were discussing our serious situation before you arrived. Time is rushing by and we are at a critical point. Not a one of us had heard from Mr. S for over a month. His location is not tracking on our mapping program. There’s not been a letter (his favorite form of communication), or an email, a phone call or a text. There’ve been no Blog or Facebook posts and no Twitters for two months. A very bad sign, indeed.”
A lanky man in a black velvet suit with a bright red bow tie frowned. “We’re used to some short term disappearances but this one has been too long. We are worried and agree we must continue our work without him for now. C Day is only 30 days away.”
Homer glanced around the room at the group of people. None of the twelve was taller than 5 feet 3 inches according to the organization’s guidelines. Ten were gray headed, bodies showing their advanced ages, the other two were ‘youngsters’, probably in their fifties.
Marimar, the oldest member and known to be a close associate of the big man spoke. He had a red-beard, large pointy ears and wore baggy jeans held up with green suspenders. “ The last time I got a text he said he was having a look-see at the west coast. He also said he was depressed. We all know how he has been saddened about the escalation of lavish expectations due to advertising, store displays, news media propaganda to say nothing about the entrance of the internet shopping industry.”
A dark skinned man as wide as he was tall coughed in a manner meant to get the group’s attention.
“Okay, Rastauf, go ahead and tell us what you’re thinking.” Homer leaned back in his padded red and green checked chair, stuffing poking out in all directions.
“When I first started in this business kids were happy to receive a basket of apples or a pair of new socks.”
Homer interrupted, “And how long ago was that? The early 1900’s? The group laughed.
“Hurumph!” Rastauf frowned and cleared his throat. “Regardless how long ago that was, nowadays the young’uns have long lists of toys they demand, half are never played with for five minutes.”
Mazelle looked around the table, “But, then, there’s our focus group. These are the children who feel lucky if they have a bed to sleep in, who can’t understand why they are different; why they don’t have a tree or gifts like others at their schools. It just makes me sick to see them ignored.”
Johnny Beans, one of the young organization members stood up to speak. “When I was a boy I was one of those who pretended he had a Christmas. Each year I’d make up stories about the Christmas I wish I had and tell it to my friends as if it were real. I thought Santa couldn’t find me because I kept moving from foster home to foster home. I was curious, more than angry about why he couldn’t find me. I think that’s why Mr. S recruited me. I told him then and still vow to do everything in my power to locate forgotten boys and girls, like I was, so they can know they’re as important as any other kid.” He laid a stack of computer print outs in the middle of the table. “Here’s the master list of such kids in our delivery area scheduled for service this year.”
“Hey, this looks very complete. Thanks, Johnny.” Marimar patted the young man on his back and frowned. “With such a long list in our local district I wonder how we’ll ever pull C Day off if Mr. S stays MIA.”
“We’ll just have to figure it out ourselves.” Homer polled the group with his eyes. “I say let’s continue our alliance with the USPO, UPS and Fed Ex. They aren’t romantic like the reindeer, but with so many to serve we’re fortunate they help. It’s still amazing to me how we managed to hack into their computer systems so they don’t even know they’re providing most of our modern delivery service.”
Lucas, the most jovial in the group always laughing as he spoke said, “What a hoot. I love to see it! Big Business scurrying around at the last minute wondering why their systems back up each year at Christmas.”
Morris, in look-alike old jeans with red suspenders matching his twin brother Marimar’s, placed a banner across the room with an impressive array of names. “Yes, here’s the list of suppliers for this year. Notice Fisher Price, Mattel, Matchbox, Lego, and Toys ‘r Us are back and we added Pottery Barn Kids. They’ll all donate to our cause.”
“I’m not sure donate is the correct word to use,” said Mazelle still flushed from her trip to their hideaway.
“Okay, use commandeered. In over thirty-five years using our system not one of our suppliers has complained.” Morris continued.
“None realize they are missing merchandise or that they’ve delivered more than shows up in their records. Let me say ‘thank you’ to our friends down in Silicon Valley.” Homer stood up and saluted. The organization members followed his lead.
Hank, their local Hacking Rep and second young member of the alliance smiled and bowed. Unlike the others his head was shaved and he wore tight fitting jeans and a tee shirt with G-o-o-g-l-e stitched across the chest. “It’s a great pleasure to use our skills to be of help with this worthy project each year. We consider it one of our biggest challenges and are careful to limit our forced commandeering so that the deficits won’t be noticed by auditors. Limiting does present a problem. When one toy is THE most requested we have a shortage and can’t please each child.”
Marimar huffed and puffed as he spoke. “This goes back to the problem with greed that filters from adults down to every age. The toy manufacturers make sure the kids want their newest creations with more of that hype I mentioned. I know that’s why Mr. S is disappearing more often and for longer periods each year. He told me himself he thinks his original idea of providing gifts for children has lost its joy and I for one agree. Why keep doing this when there's all we hear is 'more, more, more'?”
Voices around the table grew loud as each spoke at once.
“Mr. S has a point.” Morris grumbled, pulling on his red beard.
“I see children’s houses overrun with toys. Kids don’t take care of them. They scatter them all over the place outdoors when they should be kept indoors.”
“I can’t walk through my neighbor’s home without stepping on or over a toy.”
“I heard a child in Sonoma Market say she has over a hundred dolls and a boy bragged he has two toy boxes filled with tiny-cars.”
"But what about our focus group? They need us?"
"They have plenty of help from other groups!"
Homer stood and raised his hands to quiet the group. “I hate to interrupt such an vital discussion, but we must close today’s meeting and begin leaving according to our rules. We don't want neighbors to discover our group. However, let me leave you thinking about this very important question. Is our mission still valid today?” He pointed to words engraved above the fireplace at the end of the barn. He read, “Out of love in our hearts we vow that each child in our community will receive a Christmas gift and for at least one day each year knows they are important.
The question I put before you is: do we want to continue the 9-5-4-7-6 Branch of the Organization? This is especially relevant when we are not sure if our leader is still interested heading the effort.”
The group quickly agreed to go forward with the current year’s Christmas venture already in progress. They also decided to address their mission statement after C Day at their February 14, 2014 annual budget meeting. Would they disband or continue in the future? Was their mission still viable? Would they hear from Mr. S or had he resigned from his position?
All they knew was that he moved somewhere in Florida long ago due to his age and his arthritis. Maybe he’d had enough and was lying on a beach sipping a Mai Tai considering another more-worthy mission.
2013
MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL
