Great Grandfather Claus

  
     My grandparents immigrated to the United States from Norway, and my father claims that they are descendants of reindeer herders far to the north in the arctic lands that lap the Barents Sea. It is a land of midnight summer sun and a darkness in the heart of winter made bearable by swarms of stars and the cryptic dance of solar winds; a mountain-crowded landscape of deep snow and quick crops, glacial fjords and ice-sculpted valleys where nomads live in close communion with the swing of the seasons and can hear the call of the wild from out of the mists of myth.

     These are my antecedents, I carry them in my bones and even though it hasn’t been proven, if you climbed further up in my family tree I think you would find that I am related to the Merry Old Elf himself!

     If you have seen Miracle on 34^th Street, you know what happens to kindly old men who claim to be Santa Claus, so you might think I am daft to claim kinship to that jolly saint of Christmastide, but there are indicators impossible to ignore: 

• My grandmother’s name was Elfrieda
• My favorite color is green
• I wilt in the heat and thrive in cooler climes
• I express my love and affection for others by giving them gifts
• My favorite holiday is Christmas
• I often prefer the company of children to that of adults
• I spend far too much time wrapping my Christmas gifts
• If either of my brothers put on a red suit, most children would think they were looking at the real thing
• Along with all of my siblings, I have an insatiable sweet tooth
• I don’t look like an elf, but I am told I have hobbit feet
• My heart soars at the first snowfall of the year
• With any exertion my cheeks bloom with roses, my face is naturally broad and as the years go by, I can’t seem to shed that bowl full of jelly…

Do you see what I mean? Impossible to ignore. Ho Ho Ho…

Merry Christmas.

reindeer photo credit: Daisy Gilardini