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S 1 1 y vv » 4U rdSR* / a f /\_ ( ^4 A/%A( A/>i Wednesday, December 23, 1998 COMMUNITY CALENDAR • LIFESTYLES • SPORTS • COMMUNITY CORRESPONDENCE • TV USTINGS 1 0 w W : w OTtii The year that Sarah had her very own Santa Claus, Christmas started at Halloween and just wouldn't stop. The gifts came down the chimney faster than Sarah had ever seen the smoke going up. When you have your own Santa Claus and your own fireplace, you're lucky that way. Every day is like Christmas morning and every wish turns instantly into toys, books, clothes, candy, computers, games, and a whole department store of gifts. She didn't know when she had been so happy. Sarah got her Santa Claus on Halloween, which was Sarah's favorite night of the year. She knocked on the door of the spooky old house near the park, where her friends were too afraid to call. They said a witch lived there, but Sarah didn't believe them and wanted to see the witch herself. When Sarah rapped on the big, creaky wooden door, nobody answered. She was disappointed, of course, but quickly ran back to the sidewalk and then noticed a funny-looking silver thing beside the garbage bags. It looked, to Sarah, like a magic lamp. So, Sarah stuck it in her bag and ran home. And that is how Sarah got her very own Santa. Sarah supposed that the witch who lived in the old house must have thrown out the lamp with one wish left inside it. For, when Sarah rubbed the lamp, out popped a giant blue genie in balloon-shaped clothes, complete complete with beady eyes and corkscrew moustache. Well, you know how it works with génies. You get to ask them for something and they have to give it to you. Now, it so happened that Sarah had just been looking at a Christmas catalogue and wondering how she could choose just a few gifts for her Christmas list. So, when the genie appeared out of the smoke from the lamp and asked "What do you desire?" Sarah didn't have to think very hard. "I want a Santa," Sarah answered. "I want my very own Santa Claus to bring me all of my very own presents." So, faster than you could say "Merry Christmas," a full-sized Santa slid down the chimney and popped out of the fireplace in a puff of soot. Tinker, Sarah's big grey cat, hissed at the intruder and arched his back. "Quiet," Sarah ordered. "That's no way to treat my Santa." The cat glared at him suspiciously and walked away. Sarah decided she would ask for just a little little thing to see if her Santa could get it. "I would like a new set of pencil crayons," she declared. "Make it a big set, with 164 dif- feront colors. And erasers, and rulers and sharpeners. Sarah's Santa gave a big, white-bearded nod, and disappeared up the chimney. He was gone only a few minutes and landed again with a thump on the hearth. In his sack was the set of 164 colored pencil crayons, just like Sarah ordered. Over the next few days, Sarah's Santa returned with an artist's easel, a Meccano set, 15 Barbie dolls, Barbie clothes, books, Beanie Babies and an entire miniature village with miniature people all decked out for Christmas. For Tinker, the cat, Sarah instructed her Santa to bring a rhinestone collar and food and water dishes decorated with mice and fish. Tinker only looked at his gifts and went back to sleep. But, for Sarah, this was so much fun. Every day, when Sarah came back from school, she raced upstairs to her big room with the fireplace and asked her Santa for something more. As the weeks went on, she got braver and asked for bigger things. Somehow, Sarah's Santa squeezed down the chimney with Sarah's very own computer, camera, television, Sony Play Station and a big stereo for Sarah's tapes and CDs, with speakers the size of phone booths. Sometimes she asked for clothes. Sometimes she asked for candies. But, always she got what she wanted. When she wasn't sure what she wanted, Sarah opened the toy catalogue and just pointed. Santa brought her everything and Sarah kept him hidden in her room, where she fed him milk and cookies. Now, there were some drawbacks to having a Santa. For one thing, Sarah's normally tidy room was a mess. Keeping all those toys organized organized was too much work. As the weeks went on, the neat sets of pencil crayons overflowed into the miniature city. The jigsaw puzzles lost their pieces, the games their dice and the dolls their clothes. Sarah's own shoes and clothes just wouldn't fit into the closet and spilled around her room like fallen leaves. Sometimes, Sarah found herself walking on top of all the plush toys to get to her desk or computer. There were other problems too. Sarah usually got high marks in her school work. But now, with so many toys to play with, there just wasn't time to study spelling or practise practise multiplication tables. Sarah's teacher frowned a little bit and looked surprised when Sarah got 14 mistakes on her math test. And, playing with those toys took time. At night, with a flashlight, so her parents wouldn't see, Sarah would read or dress her Barbies or cat candies. So, Sarah was looking very tired and feeling very grouchy these days. And, with all that candy coming down the chimney between meals, she wasn't eating well. She never played with her friends after school because she always ran home to her toys. But, the worst was Tinker. Sometimes, she was afraid she had lost him among all the stuffed animals. Once, climbing over a mountain of plush toys, she stepped on his tail, He shrieked and ran away to hide for a long time. As days went on, more things came down the chimney, A mountain bike, and a guitar, and a small piano. The list just wouldn't stop. One night, Santa brought down the chimney a giant plush cat that stood on the end of Sarah's bed, where Tinker used to sleep. Sarah's real cat was not happy at all. He took one look at the impostor and howled. "Don't be silly," Sarah insisted. "It's cute. It's a big, grey cat just like you." But, Tinker ran out the door and wouldn't come back. Things got worse. That night, Sarah dreamed that her Santa Claus kept bringing her more and more stuffed animals until they filled the room like the water from a flood and rose higher and higher. Sarah, clung to the light fixture on her ceiling and watched the toys rise like a wave. And, just when it seemed they would drown her in one big ocean of plastic and plush, there was a horrible cracking sound as the floor of her room gave way and she fell down down down, in an endless descent. She woke up before she hit the ground and saw her room in the early morning sunlight sunlight for what it really was. It looked like a badly organized department store toy floor that had been hit by a tornado and turned upside down. And, where was Tinker? The big grey, stuffed cat had taken her real cat's place at the foot of the bed. Her Santa sat dozing on the one chair that floated on the sea of toys. Tinker was nowhere to be found. "I think he may have run out the front door," said Sarah's mother when she asked her about the cat. "It's not like him to run off like that. But, I'm sure he'll be back." All day, at school, Sarah worried. Tinker was a house cat and he'd be cold and wet outdoors. Or he might get hurt by a car or be chased by a dog. And she silently vowed that she'd trade the whole mess in her room if only things would go back to the way they used to be. If only there was a neat room, with a few well-placed toys, books, clothes and her cat asleep on the foot of the bed. When Sarah got home and found Tinker was still lost, she had an idea. She'd use Santa to find him. "Go and get my cat and bring him home," she ordered her Santa Claus. He disappeared up the chimney and was gone almost all evening. When he finally crawled out of the fireplace at Sarah's bedtime, he was empty- handed. He shrugged his shoulders. A tear ran down his face. And, although Sarah's Santa had spoken not a word since she met him, she had a pretty good L. idea what he was trying to say. Sarah's Santa was telling her that he iTÏp couldn't replace what was lost. And he JSÉIÉlSC couldn't control any living creature. Hé could only bring her stuff. And that wasn't iv eno "g h .- try ' ■") V nn ■ „ He held out a candy-cane, but Sarah \ waved him back to his chair. She had some mfflSÊÊtiSÊmm thinkin s to d °- All of the next day, she worried her 1 :V " 1 '"*■ ■ u '*' 4> " , way through school and raced home to look for her cat. He was still gone. Sarah cried for a while. But then she decided to try another plan. Sarah said to her Santa... "Take it back. All of it. I don't know where it came from, but I don't want it any more." The Santa Claus sighed and started to pack up the toys. That night, Sarah slept poorly. Her dreams were full of bumps and thumps and puffs of soot as Santa hauled the stuff back up the chimney. And there were frightening dreams in which Sarah kept hearing her cat meowing, but she couldn't get to him. In the snow-pale light of the morning before Christmas day, Sarah awoke to find her Santa sweeping the last candy-wrappers, cardboard and shards of broken toys into a garbage bag. The room was just the way she remembered it before her Santa arrived. The books were neatly shelved. The toys were in their chest. The clothes were in their closet and every drawer was closed tight. Santa looked at her expectantly and Sarah replied. "Come with me," she said. "No more chimneys for you. We'll go out the front door this time." And so, they descended the stairs, where Sarah found Santa a last glass of milk and a cookie in the kitchen. Then she walked him to the front door and gave him a big hug. "You can go now," Sarah told him. "I don't need a Santa of my own any more. Just the real Santa at the North Pole is all I need. I'm just going to have fun with what I have. I'm going to be surprised by what I get for Christmas tomorrow. I'm going to play with my friends, go to school and grow up. I'm going to let you go home, wherever that is. I know you're not the North Pole Santa, but you're still a Santa and I'll bet you could find lots to do, with this being Christmas and all. For the first time ever, Sarah heard her Santa give a hearty "Ho! Ho! Ho!" He tousled her hair and wished her a Merry Christmas. Then he burst out the front door and almost danced down the street. "Merry Christmas," she shouted after him. She scarcely noticed the grey shadow that scampered around the door frame and began lapping at the cat food in his dish in the kitchen. He didn't say much, but she knew Tinker was glad to be home. "And Merry Christmas to you, too," she declared. Tinker flicked a rough tongue over his paw and proceeded to wash his whiskers. He didn't have to say anything. She knew what lie was thinking. It may have been the day before Christmas, but they both already had everything they wanted. Z'/y/.r-' S/A/, "?■ v 1 l, XZ'V Z» •mirni ■ ■■■■ WW eflKMxsifv B wemww | y-ftitiryom ■.«IMUOMI tvi