It's almost Christmas! In honor of Little Christmas Eve, I present to you my first-ever interview with . . . Mrs. Claus!
Q. Mrs. Claus, thank you for agreeing to this interview. I chose to interview you instead of your husband because I am a staunch believer in the strength of women and women's rights. What are you thoughts on women?
A. Oh, I favor women's rights, too! These are the women's rights Mr. Claus favors: right to make fudge, the right to decorate the tree, the right to cook until their feet hurt. I prefer that women have the same rights as men - they should have a good education, be able to own property, marry whom they please, worship as they wish, be paid the same as a man, and the right to take care of themselves without being told what they can and can't do by a government. Also, everyone deserves good health care. Health care is free for all the elves at the North Pole. And they should be able to drive the sleigh if they want! The oppression in some of these countries is abysmal and growing worse in some of the, shall I say, what used to be more modern countries. I disapprove but I have never been one to interfere.
Q. Don't you think that as a public figure you should speak up?
A. Oh no, I am not that public a figure. My husband gets all of the credit, you know. Never mind that without me those darned elves wouldn't get a thing done. I know how to persuade those little mischief makers to put all their energy into making toys. All the big guy does is "ho ho" this and "ho ho" that. He stands in the spotlight and the cameras flash, but if it wasn't for me do you think his suit would fit? Not at all! That man is rather like Ronald Reagan, only good as a front man to take all the glory while the real work is done behind the scenes.
Q. You sound a little bitter.
A. Bitter? Land's sake, no. I'm not bitter. I've been doing this for centuries now, I'm used to it. It's just that I thought things were improving for women in the 20th century and it's been a bit of a concern to watch progress deteriorate in the new millennium. It's like the world has some kind of elf-rash on its behind and everyone is grumpy. Wait, Grumpy is a dwarf, not an elf. But you know what I mean.
Q. You do not go by your first name. In fact, my records indicate you don't have one. Some countries call you Mother Christmas. Doesn't this negate your personhood?
A. You bet your sweet bippy it does! My real name is Joan. Like Joan de Arc. I don't know where these other names came from. Jessica, they called me in that claymation show with the burgermeister meisterburgers. I mean, really. Where did they come up with that name? But I was a teacher before I married Mr. Claus - at least most of the shows have that part right. I think teaching is a noble profession. Those people who have fussed about teachers in the last few years deserve nothing but coal in their stockings. And that's a fact! They should remember I have access to the naughty-nice list.
Q. Our time is almost up. I appreciate your taking time out of your busy schedule to visit with me. Is there anything else you'd like to say before we wrap this up?
A. Yes! Be nice to one another. Stop all of this sniping, whining, and whinging, and be good boys and girls. Some of you may have to dig deep for it, but there is goodness there. So find it, for goodness sake! Do you know the naughty list grows longer every year? Every member of Congress is on it! Every single one! And some of those boys and girls were such nice young people, too. It's a shame, really. And as for you, young lady, I am watching you. You're not a bad sort and you're certainly not on the naughty list, but you live too much in your head. Next year I'm going to be watching you personally for some indication you are working on your feeling capacity. Not because you're a woman, but because you're human. Changing and growth is important even at your age.
Q. So I have been good? That's nice to know. I will work on myself in the new year, I promise. Our time is up, so any last words?
A. Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!
Showing posts with label Stories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Stories. Show all posts
Monday, December 23, 2013
Saturday, November 10, 2012
A Fable - by me
The moles and the voles lived together in a very big yard. They tunneled to create homes, hunted for food, and raised their young.
Then the moles decided that they wanted more space. They tunneled and tunneled and made great big living areas for themselves. However, in doing this, they took space from the voles. The voles had to leave the yard, where the soil was nice and soft.
The voles now had to tunnel under the woods. This was a lot of work because the woods were full of roots and rocks that made it hard to maneuver. While the mole could move freely about, the voles were expending lots of energy in a much smaller space.
Eventually, the voles complained.
"Your tunnels are too big," the voles told the moles.
"So what?" said the moles. "You have all of the forest."
"But you took the best dirt," said the voles. "You left us with the roots."
"Not our problem," said the moles.
"You should share," said the voles. "We were here at the same time you were. You pushed us out."
"Ha!" said the moles. "We did all of this work. We made all of these tunnels. Why should you get any of the yard?"
The voles decided they couldn't really argue with that, so they went back to the forest, where they continued to work hard to make their meager, root-filled tunnels and feed their families. They often worked much longer hours than the moles had to in order to find the things that voles and moles eat.
The moles, meanwhile, had plenty of food and did not have to work so hard for it, so they grew rather fat and lazy.
Animosity became quite common and it was not unusual for moles and voles to turn their noses up at each other or show their teeth if they happened to accidentally stumble upon one another near the edge of the yard. Even though both were blind and you couldn't really tell a mole from a vole, each knew that their ideas were better than the others. And so they snarled at one another.
It looked like there would be a big fight. The moles, feeling superior, were sure they would win. They were fatter and had eaten better. The voles, though, were lean and trim, and had strong muscles from tunneling around the roots.
The day before the war, the moles and voles heard a loud noise. A great big machine came bearing down on the yard. To the horror of everyone, the machine was so heavy and the soil so soft that it smashed in all of the great big tunnels. The earth tumbled in on the moles, who were crushed by the soil and the machine.
The voles raced into their tunnels in the forest, fearful of what would come next. The machine rumbled into the woods, too, but the ground was much firmer and harder, and the trees were in the way, so they were safe.
And when the machine left, after a month or so, the voles slowly began to tunnel into the soft dirt in the yard, because they had forgotten the plight of the moles.
"We will live here," said some of the voles,"and we will make our homes very large." And they chased away other voles who also wanted to dig in the soft dirt.
And indeed, in a few months, those voles in the yard were so well-fed that they no longer looked like the voles in the forest. So the voles called them moles.
And the moon went through her phases and the sun danced around the earth, and the world continued on.
Then the moles decided that they wanted more space. They tunneled and tunneled and made great big living areas for themselves. However, in doing this, they took space from the voles. The voles had to leave the yard, where the soil was nice and soft.
The voles now had to tunnel under the woods. This was a lot of work because the woods were full of roots and rocks that made it hard to maneuver. While the mole could move freely about, the voles were expending lots of energy in a much smaller space.
Eventually, the voles complained.
"Your tunnels are too big," the voles told the moles.
"So what?" said the moles. "You have all of the forest."
"But you took the best dirt," said the voles. "You left us with the roots."
"Not our problem," said the moles.
"You should share," said the voles. "We were here at the same time you were. You pushed us out."
"Ha!" said the moles. "We did all of this work. We made all of these tunnels. Why should you get any of the yard?"
The voles decided they couldn't really argue with that, so they went back to the forest, where they continued to work hard to make their meager, root-filled tunnels and feed their families. They often worked much longer hours than the moles had to in order to find the things that voles and moles eat.
The moles, meanwhile, had plenty of food and did not have to work so hard for it, so they grew rather fat and lazy.
Animosity became quite common and it was not unusual for moles and voles to turn their noses up at each other or show their teeth if they happened to accidentally stumble upon one another near the edge of the yard. Even though both were blind and you couldn't really tell a mole from a vole, each knew that their ideas were better than the others. And so they snarled at one another.
It looked like there would be a big fight. The moles, feeling superior, were sure they would win. They were fatter and had eaten better. The voles, though, were lean and trim, and had strong muscles from tunneling around the roots.
The day before the war, the moles and voles heard a loud noise. A great big machine came bearing down on the yard. To the horror of everyone, the machine was so heavy and the soil so soft that it smashed in all of the great big tunnels. The earth tumbled in on the moles, who were crushed by the soil and the machine.
The voles raced into their tunnels in the forest, fearful of what would come next. The machine rumbled into the woods, too, but the ground was much firmer and harder, and the trees were in the way, so they were safe.
And when the machine left, after a month or so, the voles slowly began to tunnel into the soft dirt in the yard, because they had forgotten the plight of the moles.
"We will live here," said some of the voles,"and we will make our homes very large." And they chased away other voles who also wanted to dig in the soft dirt.
And indeed, in a few months, those voles in the yard were so well-fed that they no longer looked like the voles in the forest. So the voles called them moles.
And the moon went through her phases and the sun danced around the earth, and the world continued on.
Friday, October 26, 2007
A Tale
A post at Blue Ridge Blue Collar Girl about moths reminded me of a tale I read a very long time ago.
I have not been able to recall the name of this story, or where I saw it. I did a search on the 'net but came up empty handed. Perhaps someone will recognize the story from my paraphrasing and elaborations here and point me towards the original version so I may give proper credit. I am taking many liberties with the basic plot and writing this story:
**Update 10/28/2007: Beth found a link of a very similar story for me. I am not sure if this is the same one I read; I tend not to think so because I don't recall the queen being involved and I thought it was a ghost story, not an angel story. However, it is close enough that it could very well be.**
Now on with my "version" -
****
The Ghost That Saved The Train
The night sky showed stars glittering like diamonds as Ben blew the whistle on the steam engine. The train gathered speed as it carried its passengers through the October night along the grade toward London.
He'd traveled the route many times now, and always felt his pulse race as he headed into Finnigan's Straight Away. The slight incline helped the train move quickly down the tracks toward the trestle bridge.
Suddenly a ghostly figure appeared in the lights before the train. The man waved his arms up and down, frantically signalling the train to stop.
Alarmed, Ben applied the brake for all he was worth. The train screeched and finally slid to a stop, scaring passengers and crew alike.
Ben jumped from the engine and walked down the track, seeking the man who had stopped him.
He found no one.
Puzzled, he sat down for a moment. In the distance he could hear the river and knew he was not far from the trestle bridge. On impulse he walked the track while his crew waited anxiously, trying to calm the passengers. What he found nearly made his heart leap from his chest.
The bridge was out.
The ghostly man had saved the train from pitching over the ravine and into the darkness. He had saved many lives, whoever he was.
Ben hurried back to the engine. It took a long time to find safe passage for the passengers, and even longer to back the train down to the nearest station.
The unknown man preyed on Ben's mind. He wanted to thank this savior. As he headed for bed, he walked around the engine's front and noticed a large moth, now dead, attached one of the lanterns the train used for light.
He picked up the lantern and went into a dark room in the station.
When he lit the lantern, there before him on the wall was the outline of the man he had seen, only this time the arms were not waving.
The moth had saved the train.
I have not been able to recall the name of this story, or where I saw it. I did a search on the 'net but came up empty handed. Perhaps someone will recognize the story from my paraphrasing and elaborations here and point me towards the original version so I may give proper credit. I am taking many liberties with the basic plot and writing this story:
**Update 10/28/2007: Beth found a link of a very similar story for me. I am not sure if this is the same one I read; I tend not to think so because I don't recall the queen being involved and I thought it was a ghost story, not an angel story. However, it is close enough that it could very well be.**
Now on with my "version" -
****
The Ghost That Saved The Train
The night sky showed stars glittering like diamonds as Ben blew the whistle on the steam engine. The train gathered speed as it carried its passengers through the October night along the grade toward London.
He'd traveled the route many times now, and always felt his pulse race as he headed into Finnigan's Straight Away. The slight incline helped the train move quickly down the tracks toward the trestle bridge.
Suddenly a ghostly figure appeared in the lights before the train. The man waved his arms up and down, frantically signalling the train to stop.
Alarmed, Ben applied the brake for all he was worth. The train screeched and finally slid to a stop, scaring passengers and crew alike.
Ben jumped from the engine and walked down the track, seeking the man who had stopped him.
He found no one.
Puzzled, he sat down for a moment. In the distance he could hear the river and knew he was not far from the trestle bridge. On impulse he walked the track while his crew waited anxiously, trying to calm the passengers. What he found nearly made his heart leap from his chest.
The bridge was out.
The ghostly man had saved the train from pitching over the ravine and into the darkness. He had saved many lives, whoever he was.
Ben hurried back to the engine. It took a long time to find safe passage for the passengers, and even longer to back the train down to the nearest station.
The unknown man preyed on Ben's mind. He wanted to thank this savior. As he headed for bed, he walked around the engine's front and noticed a large moth, now dead, attached one of the lanterns the train used for light.
He picked up the lantern and went into a dark room in the station.
When he lit the lantern, there before him on the wall was the outline of the man he had seen, only this time the arms were not waving.
The moth had saved the train.
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