It was a sad Christmas season when I decided there might not be a Santa Claus after all. I understood that with the time zones, he had a good chance of being able to make a 24 hour night of it, so that wasn’t the problem. I can’t recall what particular incident pushed me toward doubt. All those fake store Santas? The limited size of his bag of toys? When some of us made that unfortunate decision—thinking we’re so very smart—there’s a concern that it’s better to keep our parents in the dark. After all, Santa’s certainly not going to bother bringing us gifts if we don’t believe in him, right?Santa never came down our chimney, because it was small and went right into our furnace. Given that he came in the door, he had no reason to land on the roof, either. Luckily we had a big open front yard and I could look out the window and watch, but why take that chance? Get in bed, stay in bed, and close your eyes tight! (To the delight of parents everywhere, it’s the one night when children want to go to sleep, and I was no fool. Everyone, even the doubters know better than to risk forfeiture of presents.)
So I played along.
So I played along.
I don’t remember what gifts I received that year, but I’ve never forgotten my big surprise when I went outside to play on Christmas Day. There was a few inches of snow, most of it new, and as I wandered around I found the strangest set of tracks. Long, thin marks, and lots of animal tracks. Something like deer.
Reindeer and a sleigh. Duh! You can imagine my embarrassment. I told my parents about it, but I never did tell them how I’d almost stopped believing. After all, they had never once shown any doubts. So I learned to never listen to the doubters. The most amazing things in life don’t always make sense, even for a practical person like myself. Children know that, and so do I. Now.Merry Christmas!
Other than writing light-hearted romances and gritty gothics, she has rather normal obsessions such as fabric, peanut butter, vacations, British dramas, and whatever mystery series she's currently stuck on.
Inkwell Inspirations Blog
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Merry Christmas from Humbug. Wish You Were Here!
It’s 1933 in the good old US of A. In the midst of drought, the Depression, and gangsters on the lam, America finds solace in Hollywood's Golden Age.
Ex-pilot Eugene Tanner, determined to pen the lyrics for the movie industry's first "Best Song" award, books a rushed December stay at the remote Humbug Creek Guest Ranch (A Gold Mine of a Getaway!) Where better to find inspiration for an epic Western, than amid all that trail dust and burnt coffee?
Thea Knight gives up her short holiday break from the studio’s costume department to play cowgirl hostess at her family’s struggling guest ranch. But instead of helping their witty and handsome guest, she becomes his biggest distraction. Old flames and past regrets take a backseat when the pair become embroiled in a ghost town mystery marring Humbug, Arizona’s rustic Christmas. Thankfully, the cowgirl is as fast with her Winchester as she is with her comebacks.