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Christmas 1909

10/12/2025

'Welcome to Meidling House, palace of losers.' The bluff tone was laced with a sneer, and the speaker, a man known as Big Hoff, was clearly familiar with the place. Unlike the young man standing next to him: a pale creature, long greasy hair, a frizz of beard, his stooped posture tented in a coat several sizes too large for his thin frame.

'But the soup's alright, the bread decent,' Hoff conceded. 'And there's a Christmas tree.'

The young man turned to look at him, blue eyes seeming to blaze. Hoff was amused, said, 'It's Adi, isn't it? Or Dolfi?'

Dominoes

10/12/2025

The house of cards missed the jack of spades. Chess was without the knight. The presents were wounded. Snowfaked ash from olive trees in their land, uprooted and set alight, made Ahmad’s nose itch. Baba had left in the darkness on Christmas Eve. Not willingly. They’d dragged him by his beard. Tasked with entertaining himself while Mama and his older brother made rushed phone calls and exchanged spiralling speculations about Baba’s fate, Ayman couldn’t decide what to do. He didn’t feel much like playing.

Finally, he lined up plastic dominos. He carelessly flicked one. They toppled over, one by one.

If You Can This Christmas

10/12/2025

An empty sack. The fireplace was cold. No sleigh bells rang.

The night he wrote the letters, he became the villain. No parent nor child was unaware: Christmas was canceled.

Rudolf agreed. As long as rockets paint the sky instead of stars, the sleigh stays grounded. Except, Santa faced a dilemma.

Sara’s card was simple. Mud sketched on a folded label from a discarded tin. “Dear Santa, please fly me away this Christmas (if you can).”

On Christmas Eve, soaring across the sky, snuggled between all the other children, Sara’s laugh sparkled like a tinkling bell, or a shooting star.

Precious Ornaments

10/12/2025

"I remember this reindeer, from that time..." she began, and cut off. She picked up another, our faces engraved in the silver globe. They spilled from her hands. I walked over and grabbed a snowflake. "This was from kindergarten. And she was so proud, remember? But it had someone else's name on the back!" I chuckled. She smiled through tears, and together we hung it on a high branch. One by one, we decorated the tree. I plugged in the lights, and at once, bright memories of her mother, and my wife, once again filled the room, and the day.

An Artificial Tree

9/12/2025

Abignold crept out of bed and peaked over the banister.
In the middle of the dining table was a dead goose, bald from plucking.
Abignold expected the goose would be roasted and served for Christmas lunch the next day.
At the end of the table, there was a large pail filled with green liquid and Abignold's mother was swaying gleefully across the floor, dipping long goose feathers into the pail, and then waving them around her head.
The next morning Abignold found those green feathers splayed around a wire next to the fireplace with a neatly wrapped present beneath it.

Holly and Tinsel

9/12/2025

Holly, an only child who’d moved into a new house, sighed as she watched neighborhood kids playing out the window.

“Join them,” Mom suggested.

“Later,” Holly said. “After I finish decorating the tree.”

Dad had already put the star on top (a tinfoil creation she’d made with Grandma, before Grandma passed away).

Holly fell through a loop of tinsel while untangling it, and suddenly, she was on a tree branch, ornament sized.

She climbed the tree. There was Grandma, seated on their star!

Grandma kissed her. “Go play.”

Holly became normal sized again.

She went outside, and made some friends.

Baubles

9/12/2025

Meg was torn between the emerald and the regal purple. The baubles glimmered in the window of a tiny store she wandered into while looking for presents. Outside, the snowflakes had begun their delicate dance, and the shop owner smiled.
“I think you should take both.”
Meg hesitated.
“We have a two-for-one deal today,” the elderly woman added.
Meg hadn’t even planned to put up a tree for her first post-divorce Christmas. The card beeped, and she said, “I haven’t seen your shop before. Are you new?”
The woman packed the baubles.
“We’re a pop-up, dear. Just for this Christmas.”

By the Light of the Moon

9/12/2025

As the footsteps coming up the stairs got closer, Jem pulled the covers over her head. And waited.
The rustle of Granny changing into her nightie. The tinkling as she peed into the metal chamber pot. The heavy breathing as she climbed into bed and fell asleep. At last, silence.
Jem peeked out into the pitch darkness, her eyes landing on the window, curtains left wide open. Would she see him tonight? She stared at the bright moon and wished.
And there he was; Santa with his sleigh and reindeer soaring across the sky. Jem blinked and he was gone.

The Gift

9/12/2025

It was another lonely morning since her husband passed. As she poured her coffee, she looked out at the glistening lawn and remembered how he hated shoveling that snow. Cars lined the street for the holiday. Children built snowmen.

She sat by the fire and turned on festive music just as the doorbell rang.

Who could that be?

The family from down the street stood smiling.

“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Johnson!”

A gift? For her?

With tears in her eyes, she opened the beautifully wrapped box.

“Good for one car wash.”

“One lawn trimming.”

And in a child’s scribbles:

“One hug.”

The Beat of the Music

9/12/2025

A party. Music, babble, shouting, drinking, snogging.

“The war is over!” somebody roars and everybody cheers, raising glasses and bottles.

‘The war is over. How did I survive?’ he wonders.

Mud, always on edge, ruins, explosions, terror, blood, bones, bodies. Friends turned into corpses in the blink of an eye.

What did it all mean?

A girl staggers into him. She’s drunk. She puts her arms around his neck.

“Dance with me,” she says.

He dances. Outside, a Hunter’s Moon rises into a peaceful sky. The guns have gone silent; only the beat of the music reverberates through the night.

Playing Santa

9/12/2025

Our usual Santa, down with flu, offered his suit to anyone who would stand in for him at the annual office winter skating party. First-rate suit and an excellent white beard. I dug out some old wire-rimmed glasses. The first small child was maybe 4. He was completely star-struck. He stared at me, his mouth open. He was speechless and in the presence of The Man. He was completely taken in by my substitute Santa. I was moved. The next kid, much older, relished in telling me that he recognized me and had not believed in Santa Claus for years.

I Wish for Last Year

9/12/2025

I see Dad putting up the decorations Mum can't reach and Mum adorning the small tree but nowhere else. It's just through habit this year. Fewer baubles, no joy, plenty of quiet, less tinsel, several stops for tears.

I watch both torn between staring at unwrapped presents and an empty seat on the cold sofa. I listen to hymns and carols playing in the background. Mostly hymns. Slow. Droning. No 'Jingle Bells'.

I wish I could touch.

This isn’t like last year, before the symptoms, the diagnosis, the death.

I hope they'll cope without me; they still have my brother.

A Yuletide Love Story

9/12/2025

Benny planned to invite her over to decorate the tree. Just the two of them. He placed the star on top and timed it perfectly. “What do you say we get married?”

Jean looked up smiling with her face aglow. “Sure,” she whispered.

“Did you get a ring?” his mother intruded. “Here, take grandmother’s gold wedding band- it’ll do. And go see Pastor about this. Remember, she is of a different faith.”

Benny drove to his friend’s house and played basketball for about an hour. When he returned, his mother was waiting. “So?”

He grinned broadly. “Pastor said: ‘Merry Christmas.’”

Everyone Deserves a Present

9/12/2025

Emma woke up to Santa climbing up the chimney.
“Merry Christmas! What’d you get me?”
“The stuffed animal you wanted,” he said.
“Thank you!! Wait.. but what about that cranky grandma or the angry man down the street? Are they on the naughty list?”
Santa smiled. “I used to think that way. But I’ve learned everyone is trying their best. For some, even getting up in the morning is hard. What matters is that they keep trying, even on the toughest days.”
He tipped his hat. “Everyone deserves a present!”
Before Emma could answer, he disappeared with a jolly laugh.

The Christmas Gift

9/12/2025

My first wife, who had wanted many children, and I divorced on friendly terms after reading the laboratory reports. We had agreed not to disclose the secret.
Then I married Martha, who said that she didn't want any children. I thought it superfluous to tell her about the reports.
She had promised to give me a special Christmas present. As the day was about to end, I reminded her of her promise.
She held my hand over her belly and asked innocently, "You're not choosy about the child's sex, are you?"
I was aghast. Several laboratories had declared me impotent.

At Last

8/12/2025

Keenan McTavish is sitting in the third row of the auditorium, clutching his wife’s hand. He has been writing novels for nearly his entire life. At 70, this is the first time he has been nominated for an award at the International Book Festival.

“Don’t be nervous. You are a good writer, even if you don’t win,” his wife whispered.

“And our final award goes to Keenan McTavish for his splendid novel, Three Bridges of Edinburgh. Congratulations!”

Out in the lobby, surrounded by friends and admirers, Keenan announced,

“Come celebrate with me at the pub. The scotch is on me!”

Don't Take Reindeer for Granted

8/12/2025

Elwin the elf trudged through Arctic snow, searching for a replacement for the sick Donner. He spotted an antlered beast eating near the forest’s edge. “You there! I have a favor to ask!”

“What?”

“Do you want to do something magical?”

“What’s more magical than roaming the enchanted forest?”

“Helping Santa deliver presents.”

“Who’s Santa?”

Elwin climbed onto the massive animal. “I’ll show you.”

Upon arriving at the workshop, Elwin proudly told Santa, “Look what I found, sir.”

“You did well, Elwin,” Santa said, raising a bewildered eyebrow, “but he’ll never get off the ground. You brought back a moose.”

Christmas in America

8/12/2025

After watching a football game on TV, Jewish lawyer Rich Cohen took his family out for dinner. But it was Christmas Day. Businesses were closed until they found an open family-run Chinese restaurant. A window sign announced “We thank Lord Jesus for allowing us to serve our Jewish brethren on this holy day”.

Soon Navin Verma, a neighborhood Hindu Indian doctor arrived with his family. One of his daughters placed a sign below the previous sign; it read “Love and peace to our Buddhist neighbors on Christmas.”

Once all inside, Mr. Zhang began serving hot duck soup and spring rolls.

Family Tradition

8/12/2025

Every Christmas Eve, the family gathered for dinner and gift exchange. Each bought for only one adult or child. Small sleepy children went home early and adults went to Mass at the local church.
‘Right so, we’re off’, Madge said for the umpteenth time as she tugged at her gloves. This time, she really did leave, shouting back ‘don’t be late’, as a whiff of cold air whooshed through the open door straight into the little cottage.
Gerry tapped his pipe and glanced at the clock as he stretched out by the fireplace. One last peaceful smoke before Midnight Mass!

Christmas Day, Da Nang, 1968

8/12/2025

After the village was burned, the villagers walked in single file to the evacuation camp seven miles away. We watched from the side of the road, some of us on tanks. The villagers were barefoot, smeared with soot from the ashes, carrying in woven baskets what hadn’t been lost in the fires. One woman walked with a small boy, naked from the waist down. He sat and wouldn’t get up. She scolded him in Vietnamese. He got up and walked for a while, then sat down again. She yanked him up by the hand, and then it started to rain.

Anticipation

8/12/2025

Snow had fallen for three days. Light, fluffy flakes that were easily sent airborne with the leaf blower. Skiers called it ‘champagne powder’, and in the bright sunlight each flake glittered and sparkled just like bubbly.
The smell of turkey and sage, sweet potato and corn filled the kitchen and wafted through the house. Butter tarts and pumpkin pie cooled on the counter. Winter ale and a pitcher of cranberry bellinis chilled in the fridge.
And a mountain of gifts sat under the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree, awaiting the delight and surprise of the recipients. Ready for family.

Christmas in the Mojave, 2015

8/12/2025

My father opened the life vest and slammed it across the room.

“Dad. Please,” I said. “Just think about it.”

“Not a fucking chance.” He’s an Afghanistan vet. Marine. Said he didn’t need any damn help.

That night, I wake to his screams.

Then, when I switch on the light, he’s sitting up, gasping, deer-eyes scouring his room. The thin whine of the wind raking the desert sand.

I toss him the orange vest, and he claps it against his chest.

And then his breath slows.

Eyes come into focus.

“Maybe you’re right,” he says, still blinking back his tears.

Anchovies

8/12/2025

It’s the day before Christmas. A woman searches the canned aisle of a grocery store for a tin of anchovies; she needs it to make her husband’s favourite dish. She spots the price tag on a shelf, but the shelf is empty. The woman hurries to a man dragging a pallet into the store’s stockroom. “Can you check if there’s anchovies back there?” she asks. “I think we’re sold out,” the man says. “Can you double-check, please?” she asks. The man smiles, leaves the pallet behind, and walks into the stockroom. The woman waits beside her trolley, her fingers crossed.

Girls Mature Quickly

8/12/2025

When they visited their son’s family for Christmas, they were surprised that Margot, their little granddaughter, opened the door and greeted them in fluent French. She said the Boeuf Bourguignon and Crème Brûlée would be ready soon and asked whether they preferred wine or imported beer.

During dinner, Margot led the conversation, discussing theatre, recent bestsellers, philosophy, advances in technology, and next year’s elections. The proud parents were justifiably beaming with pride.

The evening was most pleasant until the grandparents remarked that they hadn’t expected such sophistication from a five-day-old. Margot objected at once, saying the remark sounded rather ageist.

Personal Diary: Entry 3546

8/12/2025

Yule on StarCruiser 1001 isn’t like my Grandma’s stories.

Her tales from the time of accumulation and rapacity fascinate me. I’ve never had a gift, nor bought one. Never seen tinsel or baubles.

Here, there’s an iridescent waterfall in a stable that represents something even Grandma can’t remember, a citrus-scented Cousht for the moon-based Larrisans, a bedecked Vildhabeast statue for the Crutians. The usual assortment.

Our evening’s mix of celebration and acknowledgement of endings result in a party with the atmosphere of a funeral, she told me.

Tonight? We all get a single wish. I’m wishing to see Grandma again.

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