Best gifts for readers and writers

Everyone’s doing it. Producing lists of things to give people for the holidays. I myself have been plugging Tangerine Tango, the cute little book of writing by women in which some of my deathless prose (and a poem) appears. But I keep running across other great things a book-lover or writer might enjoy receiving. So here goes:

Every writer needs a notebook. This one is designed for the insomniac writer and includes lots of creative writing prompts (Write the shortest story ever written. Describe the taste of regret.) and quotes about the power of nighttime. Only $15.

My Ideal Bookshelf is both a book and a series of art prints that can be hung on your wall. Edited by Thessaly La Force and illustrated by Jane Mount the illustrations show the bookshelves of cultural figures, including writers Michael Chabon, Dave Eggers, Jennifer Egan and Junot Diaz. The cover of the book gives you some idea, but check out the website for close up views of the illustrations. Book $25, prints on archival paper $28.

Protect your favorite writer/reader’s iPhone with a gelaskin from Colin Thompson. $15.

There have been several films about writers this year, including The Words, Writers, and Being Flynn. My favorite, and one I’d give to a non-writing friend too, is Ruby Sparks. a 2012 romantic comedy-drama about a struggling novelist whose fictional character, Ruby Sparks, comes to life. It scored 79% on RT (Rotten Tomatoes) and has a great cast. I loved it. From $18.

For your favorite book snob, to broaden his horizons, or for a young person you want to entice into the classics, Seymour Chwast’s graphic novel of The Odyssey.  It’s not exactly the same old thing.  Odysseus travels by space ship, for a start. Chwast brought out Dante’s Divine Comedy in 2010 and the Canterbury Tales last year. List price $20.

I’m not sure I can explain this one, but it sounds fascinating. Here’s the Amazon description: Everything you need to read the new graphic novel Building Stories in a box: 14 distinctively discrete Books, Booklets, Magazines, Newspapers, and Pamphlets by Chris Ware. If you read the rest of the description. you’ll see it’s something completely original, though don’t give it to someone who has no patience and /or  no intellectual curiosity. (But you don’t have friends like that, do you?)
 
With the increasing electronic incorporeality of existence, sometimes it’s reassuring—perhaps even necessary—to have something to hold on to. Thus within this colorful keepsake box the purchaser will find a fully-apportioned variety of reading material ready to address virtually any imaginable artistic or poetic taste, from the corrosive sarcasm of youth to the sickening earnestness of maturity—while discovering a protagonist wondering if she’ll ever move from the rented close quarters of lonely young adulthood to the mortgaged expanse of love and marriage. Whether you’re feeling alone by yourself or alone with someone else, this book is sure to sympathize with the crushing sense of life wasted, opportunities missed and creative dreams dashed which afflict the middle and upper-class literary public (and which can return to them in somewhat damaged form during REM sleep).
A pictographic listing of all 14 items (260 pages total) appears on the back, with suggestions made as to appropriate places to set down, forget or completely lose any number of its contents within the walls of an average well-appointed home. As seen in the pages of The New Yorker, The New York Times and McSweeney’s Quarterly Concern, Building Stories collects a decade’s worth of work, with dozens of “never-before published” pages (i.e., those deemed too obtuse, filthy or just plain incoherent to offer to a respectable periodical). List price $50. $27 at Amazon.

Or, of course, you could just buy books…

Books about books for book-lovers…from Sally Allen

My friend Sally Allen at Hamlet Hub Westport keeps coming out with great posts about books, reading and writing. Here’s last week’s, which I thought was a propos, since it’s time to be thinking about what to get our book-loving friends for Christmas or Hanukkah. here’s the beginning of the article – click on the title to read the rest of it.

Tuesday Tales: 5 Books About Books

What serious book nerd doesn’t love a reading memoir? This is when you read a book about someone else reading books. If this sounds a little postmodern, well, yes. But it’s great!

Besides exponentially expanding your reading list (gulp), books about books provide insight into and create a conversation around how reading matters to different readers, which is just about as fun to talk about as plot and character, setting and mood. The serious book nerd has his or her own ideas, of course, but experiencing the multiple iterations of reading’s value expands the sense of possibility.

How popular is this kind of book? One page at goodreads.com lists—wait for it—418 books about books. I’m going to provide a much shorter list of great books about books, and they were all released this year.

“Mr. Penumbra’s 24-Hour Bookstore” by Robin Sloan

After art school graduate Clay Jannon loses his job designing logos for a bagel company, he takes a job working the late shift in the titular 24-hour bookstore whose most requested inventory is books written in a mysterious, indecipherable code. As Clay works to uncover the relationship between his quirky customers and their books, he draws on the resources of his friends, wrestles with the limits of technology, and discovers the nature of immortality.

Sloan’s debut novel reads like a delightful mystery (meaning no one is killed), with a cast of imperfect but kind and ethical characters pooling their knowledge and traveling across the country to help Clay discover the secret behind the bookstore’s existence. But what they really find is the meaning of life. If you like to feel good after you finish the last page of a book, you will probably adore this novel.

My favorite read of 2012, it’s a multi-layered story that also has one of the best last lines ever. And did I mention the cover glows in the dark? It’s a metaphor.

Read about her other 4 suggestions here and follow her on Twitter  and Facebook

Guest Post from Writers’ Relief

Writer’s Relief is a highly recommended author’s submission service. They help creative writers submit their work to the right literary agents and literary journals. And they get results.  They have a great newsletter that gives tips for submitting your work, and hot publishing leads. If you’re fed up with submitting and getting no results, or if you “just can’t get round to” submitting at all, check them out here:  www.writersrelief.com

This is what they sent out earlier today – a great seasonal post.

Which Reindeer Are You?

reindeerIt’s that time of year…

So take a break from the holiday stresses (writing, making merry, and wrapping presents all at the same time).

Find out which reindeer you are in Santa’s herd!

Dasher:
Favorite genre: Blogging. The seat-of-the-pants writer. Loves to break the news. Pushes “publish,” asks questions later.

Dancer:
Favorite genre: Poetry. Gets carried away by the music of words. Gushes and revels. Adores rhyme. Regularly seen wearing lavender and smelling of patchouli.

Prancer:
Favorite genre: Literary fiction. Straitlaced and scholarly, believes in hiding technique. Loves ascots and tweed. Doesn’t want to be confused with the likes of Dancer.

Vixen:
Favorite genre: Anything with vampires. Not averse to lengthy love scenes and cover art with shadowy, long-haired men.

Comet:
Favorite genre: Flash fiction. Burns fast and bright, but a little distant and elusive. A regular at open mike night.

Cupid:
Favorite genre: Old-school Mills and Boon romances. Loves billionaire playboy sheiks who are reformed by virginal nurses. Stories for all time.

Donner:
Favorite genre: Horror. The plagiarist. Cannibalizes other writers’ works. Owns trench coats in three different shades of black.

Blitzen:
Favorite genre: Thrillers. A jaded chain-smoker. Pounds on plot points with shock-and-awe relentlessness, but secretly pines for “the one who got away.”

Rudolph:
Favorite genre: Inspirational biography. The underdog who never gives up despite the odds, then goes on to get rhinoplasty and date a supermodel after he makes his millions.

Writer QuestionsQUESTION: Which reindeer are you? (I suspect I might be a mix of Dasher and Prancer…)

 

A Christmas Tale

I entered this piece in a contest called ‘Tis the Season, run by eChook Digital Publishing,  and came second. So much fun (and there was a cash prize…). Every word is true, I swear. Hope you like it! And you can read the other winning stories here: http://echook.com/

‘THE OUTFIT’

by Gabi Coatsworth

It had been at least thirty years since my husband Jay had last worn the outfit. Well, it wasn’t exactly the same outfit, obviously, because he’d mislaid the original years ago. But this one was a faithful replica, and as he thought about how he would look in it, a slow smile spread across his features. He stared at himself in the mirror, and remembered.
The last time, two little girls had been involved. They had been so trusting, innocent really. But Jay knew he wouldn’t be able to fool them forever. And so it proved. The next time Jay had tried to hoodwink the girls, the older one, Amanda, sophisticated beyond her years, looked him straight in the eye as he lifted her onto his lap.
“You’re not really Santa, are you?” she asked, with an accusatory stare. “You’re my daddy.”
Thirty years later, Jay was ready to try again. Actually, it was I who had encouraged him. He had been feeling grouchy, as he always did with the approach of Christmas. The tree I had ordered was too big for the stand they had used for years. The only string of Christmas lights that was working was the one he hated, the multicolored one that blinked on and off all the time. He hadn’t been able to find any icicles to hang on the tree.
“I’ve had it with this tree. Christmas shouldn’t be so complicated. I don’t know why I bother,” Jay groused as he carried the box of ornaments into the living room from the attic.
I gave him a shrewd glance. “You know,” I remarked, “I think one of the reasons you don’t really enjoy Christmas is that you keep hoping it will be the same as it used to be when the girls were little.”
“Nonsense,” he snapped, and headed into the kitchen for something to drink.
Returning into the living room, where I was now hanging ornaments on the tree, he handed me a glass of Cabernet and sank heavily into the leather recliner by the fire. He balanced his glass on the arm of the chair.
“It’s always some psychological thing with you, Gabi,” he said. “I enjoy Christmas, of course I do. By the way, that silver ornament needs to go higher up. It looks wrong there.”
I persevered. “Well, this Christmas should really be fun – we have the girls coming over. So Heather and Ned will be coming with the children. And Amanda with her fiancé.”
Jay tried to enthuse.
“Sure, it’ll be great. I’m looking forward to it, honestly.”
I let the subject drop.

A few days later, walking through the mall, my eye was caught by a brightly colored window display in one of the stores. Santa Suits – one size fits all, I read. Heading into the shop, I took a box from the stack near the door. The contents promised to include a jacket, trousers, belt, hat, beard and even some kind of fake boots that would fit over the wearer’s own shoes. I opened the box and took out the scarlet pants, lifting them up to see how much room there would be in the waist. After considering the pants for a few moments, I decided I’d take a chance that they’d fit. After all, if Jay didn’t like the suit, I could always bring it back for a refund.
Early on Christmas morning, Jay crept off to the kitchen to make me a cup of cocoa, while I pretended I was still asleep. He had been bringing me a cup of cocoa in bed every Christmas Day for years. While he was banging about in the kitchen, I took out the suit and laid it on the bed. When he came back into the room, he stared at it, speechless. Putting down the cup of cocoa, he sat on the edge of the bed and ran his hand over the jacket. Then he picked up the Santa hat and tried it on.
“Ho, Ho, Ho,” he chuckled, giving me a distinctly un-Santa-like kiss.
Heather and her husband Ned arrived around three o’clock, towing Natalie, aged three, and the baby.
“Grandpa,” Natalie shouted the minute she was inside the house, “Pick me up! Make me fly!”
Jay laughed and bent down to help Natalie take off her coat. “Okay, here we go,” He swung Natalie around, then gave her a hug before returning her to the floor.
“Hey, Grandpa, what are we going to do now?”
Jay shot me an enquiring look as Natalie hugged him around the knees. I indicated the tree surrounded by presents, with a sideways nod of my head.
“Okay, sweetheart,” Jay extricated himself. “Let’s look over here, shall we?”
Hand in hand, they walked over to the tree.
Shortly after, Amanda and her fiancé arrived. I served hors d’oeuvres and drinks, while Jay and Natalie handed round gifts from under the tree. Soon Natalie was happily playing with a new doll.
Jay drew me aside.
“I think now’s the time,” he said. “I’m going to get changed in the downstairs bathroom, so don’t let anyone come in. By the way, do you have a cushion I could use for padding?”
“Are you sure you’ll need…” I paused. “Here you are, darling.” I grabbed the smallest cushion I could see. “Sure you can manage?”
“Piece of cake. See you at the front door in about five minutes.”
I returned to the living room, and passed round a tray of canapés. Every so often, I would look towards the front door, but no-one appeared. Smiling brightly at our daughters, I excused myself and hurried towards the bathroom.
A series of muffled curses greeted me as I neared the door. I knocked on it. Sudden silence, then Jay hissed, “Gabi, is that you?”
“Yes. What’s the hold-up?”
“Goddamn suit! I don’t know why they design them like this. They used to be much better. This is some foreign rubbish, I bet.” Jay sounded a bit breathless.
“Shh, they’ll hear you,” I was speaking in a stage whisper. “Do you want a hand?”
“Come in for God’s sake. Look at this. I can’t put these stupid boot things on.”
I opened the door, took one look at Jay and stifled a laugh. He was trying in vain to bend over.
“I think perhaps you’re meant to put them on before you put the cushion under your jacket,” I offered. “Why don’t you sit on the toilet lid and I’ll help you with them.”
The curly white beard which covered the lower two-thirds of Jay’s face was thankfully stifling some of his further comments. Glaring at me balefully, he did as he was told, while I sorted out his footwear.
“There, I think that should do it,” I said, straightening up. “Sure you can cope now?”
Jay stood up and looked at himself in the mirror over the washbasin. He tugged at the beard, which had slipped around under one ear. Finally, more or less satisfied with his appearance, he gave me a ticklish kiss on the cheek. “This used to be so much easier, didn’t it?” he grumbled, as he sneaked out of the back door.
In the living room, the grandchildren were getting fractious as the afternoon wore on. As I walked back in, I winked at Heather whose apprehensive look was quickly replaced by a smile of relief.
A bold knocking came at the door.
“I wonder who could be calling on us today?” I said. I looked at Amanda. “You weren’t expecting anyone, were you?”
Amanda shook her head, and pulled her camera out of her handbag.
“Hey, Natalie, did you invite someone over without telling us?”
“No, Grandma, really.” Natalie was looking a bit anxious.
“We’d better see who it is then. Come on.” I walked over to the front door, followed by Natalie and Heather, who was holding her hand.
As the door opened, a large red object with a top covered in white curls suddenly burst into life.
“Ho, Ho, Ho,” it roared. “It’s me. Santa Claus,” Santa added helpfully.
Natalie stared at him, delighted and then appalled. She stuck her thumb in her mouth and ducked behind her mother’s skirt. Heather bent down, laughing.
“Don’t be scared, sweetie. It’s only Santa Claus. Do come in, Santa,” she added.
Santa Claus was over the threshold and dropping a sack on the floor before Natalie could quite believe it.
“What’s your name, little girl?” he asked.
“I’m Natalie.” She looked for confirmation to her mother.
“Delighted to meet you. I think I was at your house last night, wasn’t I?”
“Oh yes! You brought me a My Pony set and lots of other stuff.” Now Natalie was beginning to enjoy herself. “But why are you here?”
“Come and sit down with me and I‘ll tell you.” Santa sat in Grandpa’s favorite chair, and pulled Natalie onto his lap. “The reindeer and I were on our way home to the North Pole, and Rudolph stared to complain that he was hungry. So I was wondering whether you might by any chance have a carrot or two I could give him?”
Natalie looked at me hopefully.
“Do we Grandmama?”
“I’m sure I can find some.” So much for the roasted carrots I had been planning to serve with the turkey.
I returned a few minutes later, to see Santa reaching into his sack.
“Since you are being so kind as to give me some carrots for Rudolph, maybe I can find a little something in here for you, young lady.”
He pulled out a package and handed it to Natalie.
“And here’s something for your little sister, too.” Natalie wasn’t interested. She was busy tearing off the wrapping of her gift, to reveal a pink tutu with matching tights.
“A ballet dress,” she breathed, clutching it to her chest. “Thank you, Santa.”
“Well,” said Santa, sounding regretful, “This has been very nice, but I’m afraid I must get going. Mrs. Claus will be wondering where I am.”
He stood up.
“May I have a hug, young Natalie?” he asked, scooping her up.
Natalie obliged, wrinkling her nose a bit as she landed among the white curls of Santa’s beard. Santa put her down, and turned to wave, before the door closed behind him.
“I wonder where Rudolph and the other reindeer are?” asked Natalie.
“Oh, I expect they’re out there in the woods, looking for something else to eat,” I said.
“Can I look?”
“Of course. Stand up here on this chair. I’ll hold you.”
Natalie frowned in concentration as she peered through the glass. It was twilight now, and there were shadows among the trees.
“I think….I think I see them, Grandmama.” Natalie pointed into the sky.
“I do believe you’re right, darling,” I said, kissing the top of my granddaughter’s head.
“Grandpa, can you see them?” Jay, looking flushed with exertion, was striding back into the room.
“See what, sweetheart?”
“Santa’s sleigh and the reindeer.”
“Darn. You don’t mean to say I missed them? Just my luck. Come here and tell me all about it.”
“Well, Rudolph was feeling hungry…”

The End

A Christmas tale

I entered this piece in a contest called ‘Tis the Season, and came second. So much fun (and there was a cash prize…). Every word is true, I swear. Hope you like it! And you can read the other winning stories here: http://echook.com/

‘THE OUTFIT’

by Gabi Coatsworth

It had been at least thirty years since my husband Jay had last worn the outfit. Well, it wasn’t exactly the same outfit, obviously, because he’d mislaid the original years ago. But this one was a faithful replica, and as he thought about how he would look in it, a slow smile spread across his features. He stared at himself in the mirror, and remembered.
The last time, two little girls had been involved. They had been so trusting, innocent really. But Jay knew he wouldn’t be able to fool them forever. And so it proved. The next time Jay had tried to hoodwink the girls, the older one, Amanda, sophisticated beyond her years, looked him straight in the eye as he lifted her onto his lap.
“You’re not really Santa, are you?” she asked, with an accusatory stare. “You’re my daddy.”
Thirty years later, Jay was ready to try again. Actually, it was I who had encouraged him. He had been feeling grouchy, as he always did with the approach of Christmas. The tree I had ordered was too big for the stand they had used for years. The only string of Christmas lights that was working was the one he hated, the multicolored one that blinked on and off all the time. He hadn’t been able to find any icicles to hang on the tree.
“I’ve had it with this tree. Christmas shouldn’t be so complicated. I don’t know why I bother,” Jay groused as he carried the box of ornaments into the living room from the attic.
I gave him a shrewd glance. “You know,” I remarked, “I think one of the reasons you don’t really enjoy Christmas is that you keep hoping it will be the same as it used to be when the girls were little.”
“Nonsense,” he snapped, and headed into the kitchen for something to drink.
Returning into the living room, where I was now hanging ornaments on the tree, he handed me a glass of Cabernet and sank heavily into the leather recliner by the fire. He balanced his glass on the arm of the chair.
“It’s always some psychological thing with you, Gabi,” he said. “I enjoy Christmas, of course I do. By the way, that silver ornament needs to go higher up. It looks wrong there.”
I persevered. “Well, this Christmas should really be fun – we have the girls coming over. So Heather and Ned will be coming with the children. And Amanda with her fiancé.”
Jay tried to enthuse.
“Sure, it’ll be great. I’m looking forward to it, honestly.”
I let the subject drop.

A few days later, walking through the mall, my eye was caught by a brightly colored window display in one of the stores. Santa Suits – one size fits all, I read. Heading into the shop, I took a box from the stack near the door. The contents promised to include a jacket, trousers, belt, hat, beard and even some kind of fake boots that would fit over the wearer’s own shoes. I opened the box and took out the scarlet pants, lifting them up to see how much room there would be in the waist. After considering the pants for a few moments, I decided I’d take a chance that they’d fit. After all, if Jay didn’t like the suit, I could always bring it back for a refund.
Early on Christmas morning, Jay crept off to the kitchen to make me a cup of cocoa, while I pretended I was still asleep. He had been bringing me a cup of cocoa in bed every Christmas Day for years. While he was banging about in the kitchen, I took out the suit and laid it on the bed. When he came back into the room, he stared at it, speechless. Putting down the cup of cocoa, he sat on the edge of the bed and ran his hand over the jacket. Then he picked up the Santa hat and tried it on.
“Ho, Ho, Ho,” he chuckled, giving me a distinctly un-Santa-like kiss.
Heather and her husband Ned arrived around three o’clock, towing Natalie, aged three, and the baby.
“Grandpa,” Natalie shouted the minute she was inside the house, “Pick me up! Make me fly!”
Jay laughed and bent down to help Natalie take off her coat. “Okay, here we go,” He swung Natalie around, then gave her a hug before returning her to the floor.
“Hey, Grandpa, what are we going to do now?”
Jay shot me an enquiring look as Natalie hugged him around the knees. I indicated the tree surrounded by presents, with a sideways nod of my head.
“Okay, sweetheart,” Jay extricated himself. “Let’s look over here, shall we?”
Hand in hand, they walked over to the tree.
Shortly after, Amanda and her fiancé arrived. I served hors d’oeuvres and drinks, while Jay and Natalie handed round gifts from under the tree. Soon Natalie was happily playing with a new doll.
Jay drew me aside.
“I think now’s the time,” he said. “I’m going to get changed in the downstairs bathroom, so don’t let anyone come in. By the way, do you have a cushion I could use for padding?”
“Are you sure you’ll need…” I paused. “Here you are, darling.” I grabbed the smallest cushion I could see. “Sure you can manage?”
“Piece of cake. See you at the front door in about five minutes.”
I returned to the living room, and passed round a tray of canapés. Every so often, I would look towards the front door, but no-one appeared. Smiling brightly at our daughters, I excused myself and hurried towards the bathroom.
A series of muffled curses greeted me as I neared the door. I knocked on it. Sudden silence, then Jay hissed, “Gabi, is that you?”
“Yes. What’s the hold-up?”
“Goddamn suit! I don’t know why they design them like this. They used to be much better. This is some foreign rubbish, I bet.” Jay sounded a bit breathless.
“Shh, they’ll hear you,” I was speaking in a stage whisper. “Do you want a hand?”
“Come in for God’s sake. Look at this. I can’t put these stupid boot things on.”
I opened the door, took one look at Jay and stifled a laugh. He was trying in vain to bend over.
“I think perhaps you’re meant to put them on before you put the cushion under your jacket,” I offered. “Why don’t you sit on the toilet lid and I’ll help you with them.”
The curly white beard which covered the lower two-thirds of Jay’s face was thankfully stifling some of his further comments. Glaring at me balefully, he did as he was told, while I sorted out his footwear.
“There, I think that should do it,” I said, straightening up. “Sure you can cope now?”
Jay stood up and looked at himself in the mirror over the washbasin. He tugged at the beard, which had slipped around under one ear. Finally, more or less satisfied with his appearance, he gave me a ticklish kiss on the cheek. “This used to be so much easier, didn’t it?” he grumbled, as he sneaked out of the back door.
In the living room, the grandchildren were getting fractious as the afternoon wore on. As I walked back in, I winked at Heather whose apprehensive look was quickly replaced by a smile of relief.
A bold knocking came at the door.
“I wonder who could be calling on us today?” I said. I looked at Amanda. “You weren’t expecting anyone, were you?”
Amanda shook her head, and pulled her camera out of her handbag.
“Hey, Natalie, did you invite someone over without telling us?”
“No, Grandma, really.” Natalie was looking a bit anxious.
“We’d better see who it is then. Come on.” I walked over to the front door, followed by Natalie and Heather, who was holding her hand.
As the door opened, a large red object with a top covered in white curls suddenly burst into life.
“Ho, Ho, Ho,” it roared. “It’s me. Santa Claus,” Santa added helpfully.
Natalie stared at him, delighted and then appalled. She stuck her thumb in her mouth and ducked behind her mother’s skirt. Heather bent down, laughing.
“Don’t be scared, sweetie. It’s only Santa Claus. Do come in, Santa,” she added.
Santa Claus was over the threshold and dropping a sack on the floor before Natalie could quite believe it.
“What’s your name, little girl?” he asked.
“I’m Natalie.” She looked for confirmation to her mother.
“Delighted to meet you. I think I was at your house last night, wasn’t I?”
“Oh yes! You brought me a My Pony set and lots of other stuff.” Now Natalie was beginning to enjoy herself. “But why are you here?”
“Come and sit down with me and I‘ll tell you.” Santa sat in Grandpa’s favorite chair, and pulled Natalie onto his lap. “The reindeer and I were on our way home to the North Pole, and Rudolph stared to complain that he was hungry. So I was wondering whether you might by any chance have a carrot or two I could give him?”
Natalie looked at me hopefully.
“Do we Grandmama?”
“I’m sure I can find some.” So much for the roasted carrots I had been planning to serve with the turkey.
I returned a few minutes later, to see Santa reaching into his sack.
“Since you are being so kind as to give me some carrots for Rudolph, maybe I can find a little something in here for you, young lady.”
He pulled out a package and handed it to Natalie.
“And here’s something for your little sister, too.” Natalie wasn’t interested. She was busy tearing off the wrapping of her gift, to reveal a pink tutu with matching tights.
“A ballet dress,” she breathed, clutching it to her chest. “Thank you, Santa.”
“Well,” said Santa, sounding regretful, “This has been very nice, but I’m afraid I must get going. Mrs. Claus will be wondering where I am.”
He stood up.
“May I have a hug, young Natalie?” he asked, scooping her up.
Natalie obliged, wrinkling her nose a bit as she landed among the white curls of Santa’s beard. Santa put her down, and turned to wave, before the door closed behind him.
“I wonder where Rudolph and the other reindeer are?” asked Natalie.
“Oh, I expect they’re out there in the woods, looking for something else to eat,” I said.
“Can I look?”
“Of course. Stand up here on this chair. I’ll hold you.”
Natalie frowned in concentration as she peered through the glass. It was twilight now, and there were shadows among the trees.
“I think….I think I see them, Grandmama.” Natalie pointed into the sky.
“I do believe you’re right, darling,” I said, kissing the top of my granddaughter’s head.
“Grandpa, can you see them?” Jay, looking flushed with exertion, was striding back into the room.
“See what, sweetheart?”
“Santa’s sleigh and the reindeer.”
“Darn. You don’t mean to say I missed them? Just my luck. Come here and tell me all about it.”
“Well, Rudolph was feeling hungry…”

The End