My Time Helping Santa
Well, I had a rather interesting time during my pre-Christmas sabbatical a few weeks ago.
Around the end of November, Harold Starr, editor of the local rag The North Oxford Herald Star, published a “help wanted” advertisement in search for the “right person seeking adventure and to do some good this upcoming holiday season.” And I believe I was the right person. Shortly after, our deal was finalized: I was going to the North Pole to help Santa! So, that night I packed a bottle of D vitamins, extra socks, and my long, woolen cap onto my dogsled for the long trip to the North Pole. Once there, I would help Santa in whatever capacity he needed to provide Christmas cheer to those on his list.
I left the magical world of North Oxford on the morning of November 29th and traveled straight up through by way of the Kancamagus where I joined a convoy of others heading north for their own adventures (mostly to Hudson Bay). But, oh, what a sight - dogsled teams as far as the eye could see. Once in Canada, our adrenalin began to flow as did the Yukon Jack whiskey. The farther north we traveled, the arctic nights became longer and longer until there was no daylight. It was the colorful Aurora Borealis that lit our way from then on. Then one by one the other adventurers dropped off into the wilderness in their own search for riches. Alone once again, I steered the dogs a little to the northwest, and three days later cruised into downtown North Pole. Santa’s castle wasn’t hard to find being the only castle in the barren, snowy landscape.
After a warm reception and a meal with the Clauses, it was work, work, work. Of course, most of the toys were already made, so just painting and packing needed to be done. I did get to see what many people were getting for Christmas, though. Donald Trump got a truth-sensing nose, one that grows proportionally to his alternate “facts.” JD Vance got several cases of eye-liner cosmetics, so he’ll never run out. And Pete Hegseth got opposable thumbs and a simian tree to climb.
But alas, things don’t always happen as expected or wished for. I was constantly pulling my dogs off those mischievous little elves (don’t call them trolls or they’ll get mad). And all we did was work. Elves constantly sing or whistle joyful songs which drove me bananas. And speaking of food, all there was to eat were lichens and other bland-tasting things that naturally grow in the area. I started to get protein cravings and wanted a big steak (venison or beef - I didn’t care which). Soon after, Santa’s reindeer must have noticed something different in me because from then on, the level of trust between us went to rock bottom. The reindeer bunched together and just stared at me whenever I walked by. One night I found deer turds in my bed with a note that said I was polar bear bait if I tried anything. I could tell my welcome was coming to an end, although I don’t think Santa was aware of my feelings yet.
That night I chose not to stay for the Christmas party - never quite trusting drunk elves. So I packed up my sled for the trip back to North Oxford. Once I shifted up to six dogs, I didn’t down-dog for anyone the whole way back. When I arrived home, I dug the snow out from the dogs paws, gave them a hot, meaty meal, then went to sleep for a very long time.
Next year, I’ll be volunteering elsewhere.
