No, Virginia, There Is No Santa Claus

Below is the never before published "private" reply to  eight-year-old Virginia O'Hanlon's letter to The (New York) Sun asking if there was indeed such a person as Santa Claus.  This private reply was written by the paper's editor, Francis Pharcellus Church, and hand delivered to Virginia by courier shortly after the "cleaned up" version was published on 21 September 1897.

Francis Pharcellus Churd hand delivered by courier on behalf of the paper shortly after their "cleaned up" version was printed on 21 September 1897.

Virginia's beloved letter (suspected of actually being written by her father -- who is oft-times regarded as the "Founder of the 'Viral Video' of His Day") is known far and wide as one of the most heartfelt and touching dialogues ever printed -- predating "Dear Abby" and paving the way for the popular "Question and Answer" segments featured in countless newspapers and magazines, world-wide.  

This never before disclosed discourse is as follows:

Dear Editor—

I am 8 years old. Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. Papa says, "If you see it in The Sun, it's so." Please tell me the truth, is there a Santa Claus?

Virginia O'Hanlon
115 West Ninety Fifth Street

No, Virginia, there is no Santa Claus.

Forgive me for being so blunt, but...the fact of the matter is -- there is no Santa Claus.  Your "little friends" are right; your parents have misguided you...and you trusted them.  This parent/child bond is now forever broken and, sadly, one day you will probably need therapy.  And when I say "one day", I mean...you will need years and years of weekly therapy by a trained psychoanalyst, at the unheard of fee of $30.00 per session to rid you of your trust issues. 

Honestly, from this point onward, you will look back and wonder -- while you are lazily gazing out of your classroom's window, years from now -- when you are lying, spent, on your back looking up at the ceiling after a lover's encounter, or tomorrow -- when you are in bed, head under the covers, trying to fall asleep...those thoughts will creep into your mind and you will undoubtedly have flashbacks of various things your parents have assured you about over the years. 

Things such as: 

"Am I really an only child?" 

"The Easter Bunny - another sham to make me behave?" 

"Did my pet goldfish really safely swim out of his bowl to the East River to be reunited with his family that one day when I went to grandma's for tea?" 

"Are there really no monsters under my bed, especially now, because I'm lying wide awake in my bed for hours on end, and...for some inexplicable reason my father and mother always close the door after they shun my requests for a kiss 'goodnight' -- and, would they even hear my muffled cries for help if a monster got me?"

Absolute poppycock and pure hogwash, Virginia!  In fact...chances are that's not even your REAL name.  By that I mean -- yes, it's your name now...but, before you were adopted (and by this abject refusal of affection your "parents" deny you, chances are good you aren't even remotely related to them...or perhaps you are the bastard child of that aunt they never speak of) it was probably something else.  But, it might have been Elsie or Gertrude, so consider yourself lucky, in a way.

Lastly, there are probably no monsters under your bed...but this made up creepy fat guy in a red suit shimmying down your chimney to gain access into your house just to poke around in your sock drawer because he has a stocking fetish...well, let's just say the monsters are the least of your worries, my dear!

In closing, I wish you the best of luck with the rest of your life, trudging onward from this point, being hounded by the press and taunted by your so-called "little friends" up until the day you die -- as I'm going to publish your full name and address in our paper, haha!

Or as "Santa" would say (if he existed, but my dear delusional child...rest assured, as best you can in your bed, late at night -- the very same bed without the monster under it -- he certainly does not) -- "Ho! Ho! Ho!"

-- Regards, F. P. Church, Editor

My Tribute to John Lennon

A sad, sad day in history. John Lennon was murdered.

I remember talking to my mother in the living room when my father came out of his bedroom about midnite and said that John Lennon had died. I told him that I didn't think his joke was at all funny (my father was notorious for thinking his "jokes" to piss my mother off were funny - so I assumed this was one on me) - but he insisted he just saw one of those "We interrupt your regularly scheduled programming for this special news bulletin..." things they would run before the dawn of 24-hour news channels on television. I flipped the television on and there was nothing...so that furthered infuriated me that my father would make such a flippant remark regarding the death of someone I "grew up with" and loved. Then I turned to the radio station, WMMR in Philadelphia, as no one in their right rock and roll mind in the vicinity of the broadcasting airwaves of WMMR would listen to anything other than that.

They were playing a Lennon song. I thought to myself, "Well, that's quite coincidental..." but as they did typically play Beatles songs...and songs of them individually, I thought the timing was a bit odd...but, again, in disbelief that he had died, I waited. The next song they played was another Lennon one, but figuring this was, technically, Tuesday...and "MMR" (as we called it) played "Two for Tuesdays" songs, this was again, nothing atypical.

When the next song was his...then it began to have some credence. When they broke after that song, they did indeed state that "Lennon had died of an apparent gunshot wound."

I don't think I will have to describe what anyone with any regard for life was thinking. I was thinking this was not true...that someone couldn't have done this...this is a man who, while sometimes embroiled in controversy, was just a man who sung songs we all enjoyed at one point or another in our lives. Hell, my father, who was born in 1914, and always told us to "turn that damn music down already" had asked me once who was singing a song that I had on...it was "Happy X-mas (War is Over)" by John and Yoko. He said it was "really pretty".

This man, who even made my father say a nice thing about a "hippie with long hair", was now dead -- never to pen another song, sing another note, nor cause another issue for the media to blow out of proportion.

I don't know how many of you have ever seen "A Hard Day's Night" - but, if you haven't, you really should -- it's one of the best films ever made and, in it, you will probably fall in love with the extremely likable persona who was John Lennon. While I used to love Paul back in the day...I grew to like John later in life...and then later still, after his death, I grew to admire and respect George most of all.

But John will always hold a special place in my heart...and that heart broke...along with so many others'...when that bullet broke the silence back on this December day in 1980.

(You have my permission to share this write-up/article. If you like it, please share away.)

Just A Holiday Cat Blog

It's almost Christmas - and that means that some of you will put up a tree. Some of you who put up a tree also have cats. Some of you who put up a tree who also have cats are also uninformed about things, so I'm going to chime in at the risk of sounding like a jerk. I do love cats...so that's why I'm saying it.

Tinsel. Cats are notorious for doing things like going after strings. I've had to yank a yarn piece out of my cat's mouth once that was about two feet long. About a foot and a half of it was way "inside" of my cat. I love the film "While You Were Sleeping" - but I get so mad at the part where Sandra Bullock goes to open her door and drapes the strands of tinsel over her cat's head. Tinsel doesn't "digest" like a natural fiber and can strangle a cat's intestine and doesn't always pass right through the cat and out into their litter box. Please, if you have cats, use something else that isn't so fascinating for a cat.

Dangling ornaments. If you are going to have them, and your cat is prone to knocking them off the tree...please just use string instead of one of those metal hooks to tether them to the tree. Trust me...the cats have a much harder time trying to unloop a string than to bat a hook-type ornament off. Plus, the likelihood that your cat ingests a broken ornament or the hook (and we used to use actual fishing hooks when I was a kid) is greatly decreased.

Tree-toppling. Yes, we've had our tree knocked over because the cats climbed it. Nothing "better" than hearing a crash sound and seeing a cat running. Do what I do. Buy some of that thicker fishing string (again - the fishing motif here) as it is "clear" and unobtrusive...and hook at least two sides of your tree's top to opposite sides of the wall or ceiling (a triangular pattern is best, if at all possible). If the cat climbs up...and it's prone to falling over...it won't. The most it will do is wobble...this works, I've done it every year since the tree-toppling incident. Granted I don't have 12 foot ceilings or anything - but with a regular-sized tree - they haven't gotten it to fall over since.

And, if someone has figured out how to get a cat who loves to pee on the tree skirt...to stop peeing on the tree skirt...especially while all the pretty boxes are under the tree, absorbing the pee...feel free to let me know. I have one cat that apparently thinks the tree skirt is a fancy litter box to use during the holidays.

(I dispensed with mentioning chewing on wires...as we have wires throughout the year -- and chowing down on pointsettias...because your cat would have to eat a whole lot of them and there are many more poisonous plants to worry about than just those.)

"That's not a monster, Mommy...that's YOU!"

Well, my attempts to gain employment in this town have again been shot down and that got me remembering a pre-Christmas silliness I wrote up and posted on Facebook. This got about as much interest there as it will here, but I figured my calendar blog was going to be much better than it was, and it wasn't, so I scrapped that idea; you will get this one instead. This was "inspired" by countless Facebook "friends" sharing their "oh-so-talented" kids' drawings with one another -- and then their friends "oohing" and "aahing" over them -- sounding about as genuine as a porn film starlet.

In my world (which is about as wide as my sofa)...this would be the perfect job for me until some ad agency scoops me up right before I get hired to write my novel...



For a limited time only I will critique your child's artwork or story they've made up. The cost will be $10.00 for three; yep, you heard it right...THREE pieces of artwork and/or stories. Two stories and one drawing of the outside of the house with your whole family standing outside? No problem. Three stories...even if written in crayon -- heck, I'll take them all on.

As the 2003 winner of the "Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest", I feel I am more than qualified to do the writing portion - and as I've been attempting (not attempting very well, mind you) to be a docent at the art museum here...I also have some qualifications for that as well.

Afraid that your little Chagall or Michelangelo is only a three-year-old kid and not a protege? Do you want the validation to NOT have to stick that piece of crap they call "art" up on your fridge? Well, scan them and I'll do it for you. I will give you an entire write-up telling you my feelings...from a realistic and completely unbiased opinion standpoint.

If your son is more J. K. Cringing than J. K. Rowling...I'll be the one to let the hammer fall - and you can walk away with a clear conscience. You won't be disappointed in yourself when you hear those muffled sobs coming from the bedroom...because you will know you honestly didn't just break your little "writer's" dream -- I did.

So, again...this is a limited time offer - the price gets bumped back up to $5.00 each after the 1st of the year. Take advantage of our "Before Christmas Plan" -- a personalized lovely letter (sent by me) with gold stickers and happy faces all over it if your child has any talent whatsoever. Your little one will be running to check the "real" mail each day to see if their envelope has a "Mr. Happy" or "Mr. Yuk!" sticker on it. Either way, you'll thank me...plus they'll get exercise...OUTSIDE!

It's a win-win situation for all!

Bulging at the Seams With That "Can-Do" Christmas Spirit

'Tis the season of giving...where we open our hearts to share our good fortune...and our cupboards to share our bounty...with those less fortunate than ourselves...

...or so the old heartfelt sentiments they've instilled in us would have you believe.

Okay...back to that thought in a minute...I just wanted to say I was in a slump the last month and didn't write a blog. One could say I was tired of making the rounds to countless doctors' offices and, coupled with reading endless dismal news items centering on people killing children...or more precisely, their own children (or in their blood-line somehow) - like the one yesterday about a grandmother nonchalantly tossing their grandchild off the third floor Fairfax County, Virginia, mall's balcony to her death...well, I was figuring life itself doesn't hold enough jubilation for me to write about...lately.

That was...until today.

Today I went to yet another doctor's office and spied a ginormous sparkly wrapping-papered box sitting next to the television cabinet in the waiting room.

I, of course, went to peer inside as I am the curious sort.

Inside were a few cans. Oh, isn't that nice - a box set out for people to give to others who can't afford their deductible or health insurance to start with. Nice sentiment and all, right?

Guess again.

Out of the (maybe) nine cans inside...seven were dented. And not dented a little. Not like the ones that used to be in the mark-down aisle in any supermarket when I was a kid -- the ones we'd routinely consume because the difference between 35 cents and 29 cents was a large enough amount of money to risk your family's health because you were too strapped for cash to pony out the extra six cents. We're talking majorly mangled...bordering on seepage and explosion upon contact. I didn't look closely enough to see if the expiration dates were from the 1990's. Something held me back in the hope that human kindness wouldn't allow such a thing.



But then again...human "kindness" decided to go foraging for cans of stuff they bought ages ago (think "ghost of Christmases past" impulse buys like decadent French chestnuts or Dickensian English plum pudding)...or accidentally dropped from off the top shelf whilst looking for more "normal" things to eat. Then think of someone actually starting up their $48,000+ automobile and driving all the way to the doctor's office to gingerly insert them in a bedazzled box destined for people less fortunate than themselves to consume. Keep in mind these are the very same people who wouldn't think twice about tossing out a can of Fancy Feast cat food if it had so much as a friggen ripped label.

So, it's okay to give sub-par food to someone you don't have any ties to...it's okay...because, as they say: "It's the thought that counts."

Ugh.

(Written "the other day"...but not posted until today.)

Monkey Sea...Monkey Due

I don't know about you, but when I was a kid I got two presents a year if I was lucky. And most times I wasn't lucky and I got one combined "Birthday and Christmas Present"...the "luck" of being born ten days before Christmas. Sure, I saw my sisters and brother get TWO presents a year, but I would just sometimes get one. Sometimes it was a really nice present...like the year I got my purple Schwinn bike with the silver glitter banana seat with the purple and silver handlebar streamers...but mostly it was crap.

And speaking of crap...there are things we (people my age) always wanted but never could afford to get.

I remember wanting a Gumby and Pokey set in the worst way. Did I get one? No. Did I get something else I seriously didn't want? Yes.

That was the way things happened in those days...we didn't have Happy Meals, Gameboys, and unlimited parental funding every...single...time we went into some store. Nowadays kids don't look forward so much to Christmas, sad to say; as Christmas pretty much happens throughout the year for most kids in some shape or form.

And when I was a little kid I remember reading comic books. They weren't MY comic books as I never had comic books...I did, however have a "French-English Dr. Seuss Dictionary" book and a Barbie wedding set that's worth nearly millions now if only I kept them IN the box and never played with them.

But, again, as usual, I'm digressing.

In the very back of most comic books you'd see these marvelous things you could order for a few bucks...and a few bucks more for shipping and handling. You remember the things...if you are as old as me..."X-ray Specs"...guaranteed to allow you the superhuman ability to see thru clothing...but, for some reason, stopped at underwear. I don't know about you, but I never wore any lead-lined undies - but as the glasses were cheap, perhaps they only allowed you one layer of fabric before their power waned a bit.

So, when I ran across something I always wanted, in, of all places, TJ Maxx...well, I just had to get it.

Then I promptly rang up my friend and proclaimed, "I got something at TJ Maxx I always wanted as a kid! Three guesses what it is!"

"Uh...a bra."

"No...I have bras. C'mon, think um...something you wanted as a kid but you never bought it...they'd have them advertised in the back of comic books."

"Um...a Weenie Whistle?"

"No...but I watched 'The Santa Clause', too. I never wanted a Weenie Whistle ever. C'mon...you always knew someone who had a friend who had them...and they said they were bogus..."

"Seahorses."

"NO! You almost got it - SEA...???..."

"I said seahorses already."

"No! Sea Monkeys!"

(My son, by the way, guessed "Weenie Whistle, too - but did manage to get it right after the 2nd clue. Naturally, I had to call him up, risking life and limb talking on my cell phone in my car, as a monumental thing like Sea Monkeys...well, can't wait until you get home.)

Yes, I, a grown woman of - um - a certain age...plunked down $8.99 plus tax to finally get my dream present.

But, remember...in the ad they had a castle and a whole family and you could watch them grow and prosper and colonize a whole microcosm...right there in your own home! (You didn't need a whole pool. Oh...go read my second-to-last blog.) This wasn't just your run of the mill brine shrimp. No sirree..these were specialized "Sea Monkey" spawn, for cripes' sake. The ads...the ads wouldn't show little faces and tails and stuff if it wasn't so. I mean, this was one of those "money back if you're not satisfied" deals that guarantees this is the real McCoy. And, honestly, how would you even mail back a bunch of living, growing sea creatures, anyway?

Aha!

See???

So...I carefully laid out my instructions and three foil packets...and removed the paper which surrounded my Sea Monkey habitat...and laid that out as well. Sure, it read like a car or stereo manual...with pictographs and hieroglyphics and arrows and such...but since I have only one shot, I want to make sure I don't do anything wrong. There is, after all, freeze-dried life at stake here.

So, there I was, with my Sea Monkey paraphernalia strewn in front of me like Indiana Jones and a temple map...my eyes darting from one instruction bit to the next...making sure I wasn't going to screw up a crucial step and somehow upset the delicate balance of Sea Monkey-ness.

Everything I did would have to be carefully planned and carried out...plus double checked and rechecked...and rechecked again before I even started. Once I got that ball in motion, as in "Indiana Jones"...there's no stopping it and no turning back.

Day 1: Pour water into Sea Monkey container...let sit for 24 hours.

Damn, damn, damn, damn.

But I've waited for 40 years...another day won't make THAT big a difference.

Sure, that's what grown-ups tell you when you get all antsy and can't wait another minute...and, true to form...I felt like I couldn't wait an entire day. A whole day was light years away...and I was that little kid on Christmas Eve again.


("Monkey Sea...Monkey Blog Two" next time.)