Sitting Nine
Park It
Park It
Fenswick Park was only two blocks from Harry Ventner's home.
It was named in honor of George Robert Fenswick, who donated the money for the parcel of land from his fortune, derived by manufacturing rubber bands. A trust was also provided for upkeep and bi-annual improvements.
Harry was in a hurry on this morning. He gulped down the smoothie his mother had prepared for breakfast, begged to be excused and then ran out the door toward the park, barely hearing his mother's final request, "Be back for lunch!"
Ever since awakening an hour earlier, he had been thinking about heading for the park to try to fulfill the dream which had encompassed his night life.
Such a dream. It was about the North Pole, Santa Claus and his beard, and a great race.
For such an endeavor, he would need to immediately begin training. After all, sometimes dreams come true. And maybe it would happen more often if we knew how to run the first mile.
Likewise, Shanisse Martinez arose early. So early in the morning that her mother yelled at her and told her to go back to bed. Rather than complying, she grabbed two of her favorite board games, meticulously counted the pieces to make sure everything was in place and in order, and then sat in a big, leather chair near her desk, staring up at the ceiling fan, waiting for the time she could finally leave her room and head off to find the venue to hold her boardgame extravaganza, which would include thousands--maybe millions--of people, in pursuit of sharing grilled cheese and tomato soup with Mr. S. Claus.
This had been her dream from the previous night.
Not certain exactly where to head, Shanisse took off four blocks down the road, to the largest open area she knew that was available--Fenswick Park.
Golda Linski awakened, enlivened by her dream, sitting straight up in her bed, with the lyrics of a Broadway tune from a musical named North Pole rumbling around in her head, begging to be sung.
North, north, north
We must go
To a land filled
With ice and snow
South, south, south
Bring the toys
To good little girls and boys.
East, east, east
Hop the sleigh
Fly with Santa
For just today
West, west, west
Chase the star
Never complain
About how far.
She was breathless. She felt inspired. She was compelled by a force beyond herself to write a tribute to the North Pole. She had never even considered writing a song of her own until this moment. She was completely satisfied to sing the tunes of other musical greats, pleasing herself in the joy of their words.
But now, suddenly, she was a composer. And the subject sacred to her soul--Santa Claus, North Pole, elves, reindeer, throw in a little Star of Bethlehem and baby in a crib to satisfy the adults, and then step into her role as Marjorie Claus, the secret benefactor and inspiration of all things Christmas.
She absent-mindedly ate a bowl of Rice Krispies, which seemed to add a percussive background to her creative thoughts. Snap! Crackle! Pop! they agreed. She was so preoccupied that her mother was concerned that she might not be feeling well.
But Ms. Linski, the aspiring poet, musical genius-in-training, and the soon-to-be toast of Broadway, was feeling quite fine. She headed out the door as her mother told her to return by one o'clock that afternoon. She needed someplace to write. She needed even greater focus.
Where could she go, where there would be a constant reminder of her affection of her storyline?
Then all at once she remembered that Fenswick Park had constructed a big pole in the ground, where they hoped to someday build a complete playground for the youngsters who made their way to run and rejoice.
She needed a pole. It would remind her of its Northern counterpart. So off to Fenswick Park she went, loudly singing her new song, her first song--the opening song of a musical which would set the world on fire, ablaze with the good cheer of the Christmas season.
Shanisse was sitting at a picnic table setting up both of her board games, trying to figure out how much space would be necessary for forty thousand such placements, all over a huge stadium.
As she tried to concentrate, a little boy came running by, over and over again. Each time he flew by her position, he screeched, "Swish, swish, one, two, three... Get that beard!"
The words were so full of nonsense that Shanisse became distracted and soon accidentally did something that had never happened before in her life. She took the shoe piece from her Monopoly game and accidentally laid it on the board of the Sorry game next to it. She was mortified. How could she have done such a thing?
"Pardon me," she said to Sorry.
"I will return your shoe," she apologized to Monopoly.
Then there he was again. "Swish, swish, one, two, three... Get that beard."
In a fit of frustration, Shanisse reached out and grabbed the little runner, bringing him to an unexpected halt. She whirled him around, looked into his flushed face and screamed, "What are you doing, crazy boy?"
Taking a moment to catch his breath, Harry replied, "I'm in training. So I must train."
He tried to wiggle from her grasp, but Shanisse held tightly to her captive.
"You made me put my shoe on the Sorry board."
Harry gave her a confused squint. "Sorry...?"
"It's a board game! You know? Have you ever played one?"
"What I meant was, I'm sorry...I, uh, confused you," he said sincerely.
"Why are you running?" asked Shanisse.
"I'm training for a race. A great race. The greatest race." He was so elated to finally share with someone who might actually understand, since she was sitting at a picnic table setting up board games in the early morning light.
"What race?" inquired Shanisse.
"You haven't heard about it because it hasn't been thought of yet, except in my dream, where it was not just an idea, but an actual happening. But of course, dreams don't really work out unless you can take them and make them real. Am I right?"
Harry paused. So did Shanisse.
"I had a dream, too," she said.
"Was it about a race?" questioned Harry.
"No. It was the world's biggest board game tournament with nearly everybody alive--at least everyone who still wants to have fun--and the prize...Well, the prize..."
Harry interrupted Shanisse.
"The prize in my race is to get three hairs from the beard of Santa Claus so I can save the reindeer from being sent to Lapland."
Shanisse huffed and puffed. "You interrupted me. The prize in my contest is lunch at the North Pole with Santa Claus."
"Cool," said Harry.
Just then, another young girl walked up and inquired, "Do you know where that big pole is that they stuck in the ground?"
"What big pole?" asked Shanisse.
Harry jumped in. "I think she's talking about that tall pole out near the wooded area, where they're going to build some sort of jungle gym or something. I don't know the details."
"That sounds right, " said the girl.
"Why do you need a pole?" asked Shanisse.
"Can you keep a secret?" replied the girl.
Both Harry and Shanisse nodded their heads emphatically.
"My name is Golda--Golda Linski."
Shanisse countered. "Oh, I almost forgot! My name is Shanisse Martinez."
Golda continued. "Remember my name. You're going to need to know it someday when they interview you on television about the first time you met the great playwright and composer."
"Who?" asked Harry.
"Me! I am going to write a Broadway musical. You want to hear part of it?"
Golda didn't wait for their consent. She launched into the words of her new song. She was right in the middle of the "west" part when Shanisse interrupted.
"How can a little girl write a musical for Broadway?"
"Yeah. Or...how can a little girl think she's gonna put together a board game for thousands of people in this park?" sneered Harry.
"I like board games," shared Golda.
"I like musicals," agreed Shanisse.
"I don't like either," cited Harry.
"So who shouldn't be here?" said Shanisse, with a sly smile.
"I don't want to be here," replied Harry. "I'm training."
Golda turned to Shanisse. "What's he training for?"
"He's training for a great race to the North Pole, to...I don't know. Why don't you explain it to her?" Shanisse turned to Harry.
"I already explained this once," said Harry, annoyed. "I have to race to the North Pole as quickly as I can to take three hairs out of the beard of Santa Claus and bring them back so the reindeer won't be shipped off to Lapland."
"Where's Lapland?" asked Golda.
"I don't know. It was just what the guy said in my dream," replied Harry, shrugging.
"Hold on a second!" said Shanisse. "Let me get this straight. I had a dream. This boy had a dream..."
"My name's Harry," he inserted.
"Nice to meet you, Harry," said Golda.
"Don't interrupt my deep reasoning," said Shanisse, scolding the pair.
"Yes, mother," said Golda sarcastically.
"Where was I?" mused Shanisse. "Oh, yes. I had a dream. Harry had a dream. And you had a dream."
"Golda Linski. I told you to remember the name. You can probably sell an interview to the Daily Post."
"Right," said Shanisse, deep in thought.
"Well, I already told you I had a dream--about writing a Broadway musical," added Golda.
Harry scratched his head. "So I don't get it. What's the point?"
Shanisse looked at the pair in front of her. "Well, I may be the youngest of the three of us..."
Harry interrupted. "I'm eleven."
"Well, I'm twelve," said Golda with some gusto.
"As I said," continued Shanisse. "I am the youngest of the three of us--ten-and-a-half but darned close to eleven--but I'm putting it all together. We all three had dreams. Last night?" She paused for a response.
Harry and Golda nodded in agreement.
Shanisse continued with great authority. "We all three had dreams. They all had something to do with Santa Claus. And look at us. We've all ended up here at the same park on the same morning, having never met each other before in our entire lives."
"So? What's your point?" Harry said, bewildered.
"My point it that Dream World is trying to bring us together!" said Shanisse.
"Is there such a thing as Dream World?" asked Golda.
"I don't know. You come up with a name for it," countered Shanisse.
"I will admit it's a little freaky, but it's like my Uncle Jackson once said. 'One person's miracle is another person's lucky penny.'" Harry stood back proudly with his proclamation.
The two girls paused and then turned to Harry and wailed in unison, "What?"
"What I mean," explained Harry, "is that maybe it was just one of those things."
"Or...maybe it's a thing that only has one," said Shanisse.
"Oooh, that's deep," admired Golda.
"Deep in stinky-poo dumb," said Harry as he turned away from them and walked over to the bench to look at the game boards.
"Stay away from there!" said Shanisse sharply.
"Why?" demanded Harry. "You said there was gonna be a whole bunch of people playing these games."
"But not yet," objected Shanisse. "I'm still thinking through the thoughts."
"I know what you mean," said Golda. "Words keep popping into my mind but they just don't want to glue together to bloom my second song."
"Are you two joining together to pick on me?" questioned Harry.
"No," said Shanisse. "Don't be such a...boy."
Suddenly Golda sat down on the ground, put her elbows on her knees and both of her hands under her chin, as if deep in thought. Harry and Shanisse stared at her for a moment and then joined her in the seated position. Golda just hummed.
Harry turned to Shanisse and quietly said, "What do you think she's doing?"
"Humming," replied Shanisse.
"I know that," said Harry. "Why do you think she's humming?"
"I'm trying to get some music with the universe, so we can stop our arguing and see if there's a reason why we suddenly are together," said Golda in an out-of-body voice.
"So you feel it, too!" said Shanisse.
"I do," she replied simply.
"Then I do, too," said Harry, not wanting to be left out.
They sat for a long time--at least, it seemed to be a long time in the realm of the minds of those who are too young to want any time to pass without a thrill.
Finally Golda spoke. "I think I've got it."
She pointed at Harry. "You had a dream about Santa Claus."
He nodded his agreement.
She pointed at Shanisse. "You had a dream about board games, but the prize was time with Santa Claus."
"I guess so," Shanisse responded, a little bit perplexed.
"And of course, I had a dream about writing the best musical ever--which involves..." She held out her hand, waiting for them to respond.
"Singers?" offered Harry.
"No!" said Golda impatiently. "Santa Claus."
"So...we all share Santa Claus in common?" surmised Shanisse.
"Yes, I think so," said Golda.
Harry jumped to his feet. "This is getting spooky! All I know is that I'm supposed to train for a race!"
Shanisse also got to her feet and walked over to the table with her board games. "Well, all I know is that I'm supposed to plan this huge competition with board games."
Golda remained seated. "Calm down. I have to write my musical, too. But you can't miss what's happening now by thinking about what may happen next."
Harry was about to run off, but instead put his hands on his hips and replied, "So what's going on here?"
"I don't know," said Shanisse. "Remember? I'm only ten."
"So now you choose to act like the baby," replied Golda.
"I know this is going to sound weird," said Harry, slowly choosing his words. "But for the first time in my life, it might be nice to have a grown-up here to help us figure this out."
Sitting Ten
A Spirited Discussion
Lit was the last to light into the gathering, literally bouncing his way across the room, illuminating with a sparkle of personality and flair.
"Sorry I'm a bit late," he beamed. "I was busy telling a joke to the North Star."
For some reason, all of the spirits gathered for the occasion found this completely hilarious--everyone but Everett Green.
"Is it possible for you to arrive on time?" grumped the aggravated trunk.
"Well, to be completely truthful and on point, there is no time here, so therefore, he could have been early and we completely unaware," said Kris Kringle.
Everett glared at the jolly old elf.
"I do keep time," said Christmas Carol. "And by the way, Holly Sprig is unable to be with us today."
"Why?" barked Everett Green.
"No need to be nasty, Everett," replied Christmas Carol.
Kris Kringle stepped in to alleviate some of the tension. "Oh, she's being a bit of a Mother Hen. Her earthly holly children are in a difficult phase--they're just sprouting their red berries--and she gets a little fussy."
Christmas Carol nodded in time.
Everett stared over at Santere, Mary and Joseph. "Why don't they ever speak?"
"Well, technically, they do from time to time, but they are the older, more experienced spirits of our troupe--over six thousand years of experience among the three."
"I don't understand. What's that got to do with it?" asked Christmas Carol.
"Well, they don't need to speak anymore. They just pass thoughts from one to another, and communicate in that way--which speeds things up," explained Lit.
Everett Green frowned. "Wait--aren't you older than they are? I mean, weren't you there at the very beginning of Creation?"
"Yes. Third thing off the top of God's head. Let there be light."
"So why don't you just...think your way along?" asked Everett, still sprouting a bit of a perturbed profile.
Suddenly the arena brightened. "Because I like to beam," Lit said with a huge sparkle.
"Pardon me for asking, Everett, but you seem a little bit out of sorts," queried Christmas Carol.
"Yes," said Kris Kringle, chuckling over his own upcoming joke. "For an evergreen you seem somewhat blue."
This caused Christmas Carol to giggle in harmony and Lit to flash and blink.
Everett Green, still stung by being made fun of, tried to calm himself down and responded, "I'm fine. It's just that I don't exactly get it. And before you ask me what I don't get, I'll have to answer, 'Almost all of it.'"
Kris Kringle, still chuckling, replied, "Well therefore, maybe it would be quicker for us to discuss what you actually do understand."
Christmas Carol just chorused with more laughter. This time she was joined by Santere, Mary and Joseph, who also seemed to be mocking the frustrated fir.
"What are they laughing at?" challenged Everett, pointing one of his branches in their direction.
"Who knows?" responded Kris. "I guess when you've been around for six thousand years, you have a lot of private jokes."
"What we were laughing at," inserted Santere, "was how you new spirits become so impatient with how the whole process works."
Everett, trying to regain some of his prominence, countered, "Yes, do please explain to us sprouts how this works, because I'm confused. The world is about to give up Christmas in favor of some new name and we spend a few minutes in Dream World with three kids, and then can't really see what they're doing, and we're supposed to dwell in our eternal bliss of ignorance, waiting for these mortals to stumble into some sort of inspiration through their haze of dullness."
"Yeah, that's about it," said Mary quietly.
"Well, there's more to it than that," said Joseph.
Kris Kringle moved forward, intrigued. "Tell us more about the more."
Joseph paused, turning to Mary and then Santere, who bowed out gracefully, allowing the Carpenter to spin the yarn.
"Well, I guess they've left it to me. Let me explain the best I can using my common-man and common-laborer logic and understanding. We are spirits. Therefore the spiritual is our reality. I was once a mortal. When I was a mortal, I touched things. I saw the earth around me in the physical world as being real. When people spoke to me of angels, heaven and even the Father Which Art, I donned a confidence of belief, but hidden in my soul was an aggravating and gnawing doubt about whether that which could not be handled or seen could actually exist. Now that I've graduated to the world of spirits, the entire universe is at my disposal. The unseen becomes my daily vista, and now it is very difficult for me to comprehend the physical world. Nearly as impossible as it was for my carpenter self to ever dream of one day talking to an eternal evergreen such as yourself, Mr. Everett."
Everett Green spread his boughs, trying to understand a bit better. "So you're saying that because we're of the spirit world, everything vast, universal, eternal and spiritual seems real to us. And the physical world seems to be...how should I say?..."
Christmas Carol trilled, "Illusive and unseen."
"Well said," agreed Kris.
"I am the mistress of lyrics," she intoned.
Santere spoke up, assisting Joseph. "As we have had the opportunity to view the workings of the Creator over these many centuries, we have learned to discern small stirrings in the cosmos and interpret them as the real happenings on the physical world of Earth."
Mary added her heart. "It's just like when I was a woman, living in Nazareth. When I prayed, I would sometimes feel and sense that my words were being heard and that the answer was on the way. I had no proof, but there was this tickling in my soul that made me believe I had made a connection that was far beyond my worldly comprehension."
"Well said!" thundered Santere.
"She may have said it well, but I'm even more confused than I was before," complained Everett.
Suddenly, in unison, Santere, Joseph and Mary giggled.
"What are the three of you laughing about? Can you let us in on the inside joke?" Everett was not amused.
"Well, it was a private exchange," said Santere a little nervously.
"No, really," said Everett. "Tell me what you're laughing at."
Mary peered at Santere and then Santere at Joseph, who realized it was his turn to pipe up. "Well, it was a rather quick exchange among our intellects, but basically, Santere thought in our direction that maybe, Everett Green ... that maybe...you're just a pine cone or two short of understanding."
Joseph could barely finish his sentence before laughter overtook him. Santere joined him and concluded, "And Mary thought that perhaps we should be nicer ... and stop needling you."
Everett Green turned his branches away and pouted. "So this is supposed to be super-spiritual, mature humor."
"Listen, Everett," said Mary tenderly. "The more spiritual you become, the more childlike your perceptions."
"So I guess that would make me the most grown-up one here," said Everett, green with envy.
Kris Kringle intervened. "Well, I know that we are incapable of arguments--because that would be foolish and beneath us. So let me try to steer this 'spirited discussion' in a more profitable and helpful direction."
All the gathered took a deep breath and exhaled, ready to move on and find better thoughts.
Kris proceeded. "Let me try to answer Brother Everett's questions while simultaneously giving a report on our present situation. I do believe we all understand the limitations. We are welcome to influence. We are welcome to bring to remembrance. As spirits, we're encouraged to edify. But as you well know, we are not allowed in any sense to intervene and rob the humans of their free will. If the Father wouldn't even consider stepping in to rescue his Son when ignorance was prepared to nail him to a cross and terminate his mission, we must understand that no toleration will be granted for us to manipulate the minds of men, but rather, to use their hearts to try to enliven their sometimes-dormant spirits to think lively again."
There was a hum of agreement among the spirited gathering.
"So what should we do, or perhaps I should ask, where are we in all of this?" sang Christmas Carol.
Santere spoke up. "When I was alive as a man, they called me wise. It took dying to find out how ignorant I truly was. But there were little pieces of knowledge eternal which peppered my temporal mind. Those exist today in the people we are trying to help. Let me assist those of you who are younger in the spirit to understand what is going on, and update you on the progress. We have found three children whose hearts are prepared to take a nightly dream and turn it into a vision of hope."
"How delightful! What are the names of the little ones?" shone Lit.
Everett, still stinging from the previous joking, countered, "Excuse me, Lit. Are you ever depressed? Do you ever lose sight of your goal?"
Without any pause whatsoever, Lit replied, "That would be foolish. After all, everyone's heard of being 'lit up.' But not 'lit down.'"
A great laughter filled all the heavens over such a silly reply.
At length, Santere continued. "Now, as to the children. Let us know them by their first names. There is Harry, Shanisse and Golda--three very different children of God, who have just enough connection with the supernatural that they're able to believe that it can be translated into their natural surroundings."
Everett Green again spoke up, hoping to overcome his image of growler. "So explain to me, what do they know, what can they do and what can we do?"
Joseph piped up. "I'll take the first question. What do they know? Just that they've been given an exciting idea in their dreams, which right now is still intact in their conscious minds because nothing has come along to steal their belief."
"What can they do?" continued Mary. "Now there's a good question. Many spirits have become aggravated throughout the eons of time over trying to rush human beings toward some sort of completion. Here's what they can do if they don't lose faith: they can stall a lazy process long enough for people to think better thoughts. It's similar to when a few souls questioned slavery, and eventually slowed things down enough that others could catch up with their hidden angels and realize the truth of the universe--which is that no one is better than anyone else."
Santere paused for a moment, allowing the beauty of Mary's words to have the honor they deserved. "I guess it's up to me to answer the third question. What can we do? We can do exactly what the Son taught us. In our patience we possess our spirit. Yes, we can lose our spirit by becoming impatient with the human beings that God loved so much that He gave His only Son. No one has a right to be angry at the runners just because they are slow of foot in the race. What we can do is continue to offer encouragement, opportunity, mercy and just a few simple signposts which will remind those who are working diligently among mortals that they are not alone. Hope is real, faith has a substance and the answers are on the way."
Kris Kringle stepped in. "If you will allow this old Dutch toymaker to offer a bit of advice, I was once one of the human walkers myself, and still understand their plight. We all must remember, if we can, that doing good is not difficult. It just is viewed by evil as being self-righteous and by those who are starved for the good as being not enough. A piece at a time. I know some of us may feel foolish for believing that three children can affect a world of calloused grown-ups, but it will only be the faith of the young that will save the spirit of Christmas, as it took a single new-born babe to bring angels, shepherds, wise men and a star all together at the same time, in the same place."
There was a sweet silence that followed the speech of the one called Santa Claus.
"Won't we need some sort of grown-up?" asked Everett, trying to be honest without appearing cantankerous.
It was Lit who offered a final thought. "There is one. Such a precaution has been taken, and another soul who is not limited in year has been enlightened."
"Who?" asked Christmas Carol.
"All in good time, my dear," said Santere. "It is our joy as spirits, if we learn our mission, to not be in any hurry for human beings to become smarter."
WE WILL CONTINUE OUR STORY ON
FRIDAY, APRIL 10TH, 2015.
PLEASE JOIN US THEN!
