THE GLITCH THAT ALMOST STOLE CHRISTMAS.
Once upon a time there was a wee enchanting isle called Brigadune. Its inhabitants, the Duners (pronounced Dooners), were a gay lot. Spring, summer, and fall they played and frolicked, swimming in, sailing on, and fishing from the pristine waters surrounding their island home. Then as the harbingers of winter appeared, they busily prepared for the upcoming holidays.
Cookies were baked, lights hung and decorations made. Onto this scene of joy and peace came Sandy, the wicked glitch of the Northeast(er). These people should not be so happy she thought, and she cast her evil spell. She blew and she galed until the waters began to rise. Higher and higher they rose until they overflowed their banks. She was raising cane in a hurry. Streets were flooded, then lawns, and like an insidious plague, it invaded the Duner’s homes.
As the water first rose, the Duners were scared, as their homes were ruined, they were mad, and seeing their precious mementoes destroyed, they became sad. Sandy was pleased with her work and departed to wreak havoc elsewhere.
Santa, upon hearing news of his favorite isle’s fate, was angered. Donning mufti and climbing into one of his prized red Mercedes [nothing is commercial free anymore], he set off for Brigadune. Block after block he toured, saddened by what he saw. A mountain of belongings were stacked at the curb in front of nearly every home. Especially sad was the sight of sodden box after box of ruined holiday lights and decorations. A tear welled in Santa’s eye, and it ran down his rosy cheek like a streak of liquid crystal. He had seen enough, so off to “The Pole” he went.
Calling together his foreman elves, he laid out his plan. “But Santa, but Santa” cried one of the elves. “We can’t possibly fit all you request into your sleigh”. “Then commandeer the Polar Express and load it up” replied Santa. So it came to pass, the train was loaded; flatcars carried decorated trees, box cars were crammed with furnishings, Santa’s sleigh was coupled to the cowcatcher of the lead locomotive, and Mrs. Claus’s caboose attached to the rear. The elves piled into the coaches, Santa into his sleigh, and all was ready.
With the blasting of steam whistles and the blatting of diesel horns, the Santa Special leapt into the evening darkness. Arriving at the island, the elves wasted no time. In nary the blink of an eye, first one home, then another, then a street, then a block, then a neighborhood came aglow with the light of millions of Christmas bulbs. Furnishings were replaced, restoration elves repaired precious keepsakes, and the trees were placed with care. Santa could see their gleam through the windows of the homes.
The Duners were again happy and danced with their neighbors in the streets, sipping hot chocolate, eating cookies and singing carols. Santa circled the island, and disappearing from sight, he called out to all below with all of his might, “A Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night.” “Bah humbug, Sandy.”
Bye, George.
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