Experience the Magic of Christmas All Year Round
🎄He said he was scouting rooftops. What he really found was a new motivational tool for the elf break room… There’s a certain kind of zappy energy that creeps into the air this time of year—not the peppermint-sparkle kind, but the “we-have-fourteen-lists-and-three-hours” kind. And while …
November 16, A North Pole Christmas Story by Mrs. Claus My darlings, Some North Pole stories are quick to tell, and others… well, they need a little time and a bit of distance (and perhaps a fresh set of linens!) before you can truly appreciate …
46 Days Till Christmas
My darlings,
Yesterday’s post left me a little raw, if I’m being honest. Sometimes a heart doesn’t bounce back immediately, even after a good cry and a midnight talk with Santa. I think that’s all right. Some aches just need a little time… and maybe a little company.
This morning, I got just that.
I had called in a small grocery order—mostly flour (we’re going through it like the wind this year), cinnamon sticks, and a few specialty items I can’t seem to keep in stock this side of the solstice. It wasn’t a big order, but I didn’t want to go into town today. I was still wearing my shawl over my nightgown and hadn’t yet wrangled my hair into anything respectable.
So you can imagine my surprise when I heard the knock and opened the door to find Elmo, the grocery delivery elf, grinning like a peppermint cat with cream on its whiskers.
“Elmo!” I nearly shouted, and nearly dropped the bag of oats I was holding. “It’s been too long!”
He hadn’t been by my end of the village in a few weeks, what with the new interns handling the northern routes. But today, by some miracle (or clerical mix-up—hard to say which), Elmo was back.
I asked if he could stay for a cup of coffee, and to my delight, he said yes. He even pulled out a warm nut-roll from his own coat pocket to share—he claimed it was a customer tip, but I suspect he brought it just in case he got invited to sit a while. Smart boy.
We didn’t talk about Santa’s dream, or heavy hearts, or the ache that can rise like frost around the edges of December.
We talked about nothing in particular—until Elmo pulled out the notepad he carries on deliveries and said, “Mrs. C, can I share a few riddles with you? The bakery elves in South Grove have been full of them lately.”
Now, you know how I am about wordplay and wit. Elmo didn’t have to ask twice.
Q: What do you call a snowman with a six-pack?
A: An abdominal snowman.
(I laughed so hard I nearly spilled my coffee. This one’s my favorite. Elmo said he heard it from a second-grader who tipped him with a candy cane and a note that said “stay strong.”)
Q: Why did the gingerbread man go to therapy?
A: He felt crumby inside.
Q: What’s Santa’s favorite kind of music?
A: Wrap music.
Q: Why do Christmas lights never argue?
A: They know how to stay lit without blowing a fuse.
By the time Elmo bundled back up and headed out into the snow, I was lighter. Still tired, yes. Still feeling the pull of all that’s left to do. But better.
The Bible says, “A merry heart doeth good like a medicine…” and I vow if it isn’t true. Laughter doesn’t erase sorrow, but it reminds you that you’re still alive, still held, still human. And sometimes, a riddle shared over coffee is just what the doctor—or the Lord—ordered.
So here’s my prescription today, dear ones:
Find someone to laugh with.
Tell a joke.
Bake something ridiculous.
Sit with a friend for 20 minutes without talking about anything important.
It won’t fix the world.
But it just might lift your corner of it.
With coffee-scented joy,
—Mrs. Claus