To: Mom, From: Santa, Re: Your Present

Do you ever think about going "off the grid"?

I do, once a day at least;

Traveling to a place no one will find me.

A remote place where there’s no accessing Facebook or Twitter or email or even phone calls, maybe.

It’s like I want to exist but not, both at the same time, 

Sometimes wanting to disappear. 

So I planned in advance to do just that

And taking not just me

Off the grid.

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Every year since my kids were babies, I'd wrap a present,

            To: Mom

            From: Santa

Something that hadn’t quite made my Christmas list (purposely maybe). Always using the same special, as if by gloved hand, big bubble print in red and green marker and the same secret Santa paper. 

As our kids passed out Santa’s gifts on Christmas morning, they’d say with excitement, “Mom! He didn’t forget you or Dad!” Because, of course, Mom always included one under the tree for Dad, too.  

My college kids don’t believe in Santa anymore, obviously, although they believed until they were quite old. There are always presents under the tree from him still. They enjoy pretending.

And with Christmas working a bit differently this time, some gifts will be opened early in anticipation of our first trip together, just us four, in more than that many years. And while everyone else receives new swimsuits and books from Santa on Friday evening, I envision a wrapped note like this, for me:

            To: Mom

            From: Santa

            Re: Your Present

“For your trip to a far away island off the coast of a third world Central American country, I, Santa, am granting your wish. There shall be: 

 NO

Cellphones,

Computers,

“i”Anythings,

Only books and playing cards and conversations.

NO 

Texting boys/girls, 

Facebooking, Tweeting,

Or

Instagraming Mom in swimsuits.

Your family's complete and undistracted “presence”

Is your present.

They're all you need.”

It's only a wish, my wish, but I'll anticipate and embrace life "off the grid" if even only for moments.

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This week's Trifecta prompt is the third definition of anticipation: 3. a : visualization of a future event or state

b : an object or form that anticipates a later type

Winter Wonderland and Sitting On Santa's Lap: Stream of Consciousness

Jana, over at her place, said today is a free writing day for Sunday Stream of Consciousness in honor of her birthday. She’s a young thing though, like 37, 38 or something obnoxious like that. Happy birthday, Jana!

The deal is to write for five minutes about whatever, leave it be (no editing) and hit publish.

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This weekend we, again, had the opportunity to go to the lovely metropolis (not a metropolis) of Sheboygan, Wisconsin, undoubtedly the beer and brat capital of the world. Actually, we were in the town of Kohler (birthplace to all those wonderful plumbing fixtures), the sister community to Sheboygan.

There were 10 taverns between our hotel and the restaurant where we ate last night. That should tell you a little bit about what’s important to the Sheboygan-ians. Amazingly, it has a wonderful Italian restaurant called Stefano’s but of course Herbert Kohler, Jr. wouldn’t have it any other way (you should see the size of him).

Speaking of size, the lodge where we stayed had a Christmas brunch this morning with absolutely the best Santa we have EVER seen. His entire girth was his own as was his beard! I swear he must have used a curling iron to get it to roll this way. And he talked with the cutest Minnesotan accent (you know, hey dar!).

There weren’t any children around right then so I asked him if I could sit on his lap. Being a jolly sort, he was very encouraging. He asked what was on my list and I told him “I don’t have a list.”

You know what he said?

“That’s a good thing because you were naughty this year. Santa likes naughty girls. Ho Ho Ho” He giggled.

“I was not naughty.” My childish self said.

And my friends said, “She was too, Santa.”

Thanks girlfriends.

I look really tired. Christmas parties are hard work sometimes.

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Be who you are and say what you feel because those who mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind.

— DR. SEUSS