Jubilators … December 9th, 2018

Jonathots Daily Blog

(3881)

Jubilators

Sitting Fourteen

The Pop Quiz

Since lunch, Christopher had tried to reach Shelley on the phone, only to get her answering machine ten times. He left ten messages.

Each one was a little different–the first three a trifle frantic, the next three were a little defensive, trying to explain why he had made his stand with Mr. Markins, and the last four had increasing degrees of groveling, begging for her forgiveness.

There was no response.

So Christopher was grateful that he had the diversion of going to Fenswick Park for the 10:45 meeting with Golda and her friends. As he walked toward the park, he had second thoughts about the rendezvous. What was he trying to do? How would his presence be perceived by these unknown children?

He arrived at 10:40 and promptly at 10:45, Golda came walking up to him. Standing about twenty yards away was another girl. A boy, who was sitting on the ground, grabbing little sticks and stones and casting them down in disgust.

As Golda walked up, Christopher asked, “Why are your friends staying over there?”

“Because of you,” said Golda.

“What’s wrong with me?” asked Christopher, still a bit bruised from the luncheon calamity.

“I tried to explain to them that I had a great conversation with you, and you seemed okay, but they just can’t believe that any grownup could be trusted or helpful,” said Golda.

“But I’m not a grown-up,” insisted Christopher. “Not a typical one.”

“I’m sorry, but they just don’t believe me,” said Golda. She turned to exit.

“Wait!” said Christopher. “Tell them to give me a chance.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” said Christopher. “Test me. Question me. Something.”

Golda paused. “Tell you what,” she said. “Let me go talk to them again and I’ll be right back.”

Christopher watched closely as Golda reasoned with the pair. He tried not to be too observant lest he scare them away, but still peered in their direction to find out what might be the end result. The three argued and fussed, and Golda finally put a finger on each of their noses, making a final point. They nodded their heads and she slowly made her way back to Christopher.

“So what’s the word?” said Christopher anxiously.

“They want to test you,” replied Golda.

“Test me?” asked Christopher.

“Yes. A series of four tests, to see if you’re really different, or if you’re just an average grown-up, trying to pretend you care about kids.”

“Okay,” said Christopher, uncertain but satisfied to have an opportunity.

Golda motioned to the two kids to come over. As soon as they arrived, the boy stepped in and took charge. “My name is Harry Ventner, and I will be conducting your test. This is Shanisse Martinez, and she helped me come up with the questions.”

Shanisse folded her arms across her chest, glaring at the Chris.

“So what do you need to know?” he asked.

“Question one,” said Harry. “Name Santa’s reindeer.”

“Let me see,” began Christopher. “What was the song again…?”

“You can’t use the song!” interrupted Harry, wagging his finger in Christopher’s face.

“Oh, that’s mean,” said Christopher. “You are tough. Okay. Here we go. There’s Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Comet, Cupid, Donner…”

“That’s six, mister. There’s two more,” challenged Harry.

“Okay,” said Christopher. “Let me start again. Dasher, Dancer, Prancer…VIXEN! There’s one.”

He continued. “Comet, Cupid…I got it. Donner and Blitzen.”

“He got them,” said Shanisse, surprised.

“It took two tries,” noted Golda.

“Give me a break,” said Christopher. “I think even Old Man Claus might forget sometimes.”

“He is not an old man,” said Harry. “You are.”

“Right,” said Christopher, realizing he needed to be more careful. “And don’t forget Rudolph!”

“Rudolph is retired,” said Shanisse.

“He’s been replaced by his son, Randolph,” added Harry.

Randolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer?” queried Christopher incredulously.

“Yeah,” said Golda. “What’s your problem?”

“No problem,” said Christopher. “You know what they say about Rudolph. He is…or was…Santa’s designated driver when Mr. Claus had too much nog in his egg, making for a foggy night.”

Christopher laughed. Alone.

“Was that supposed to be funny?” Golda asked.

“No,” said Christopher. “Just an anecdote.”

“Part two!” announced Shanisse. “Follow me.”

Christopher rose and followed the children across the playground over to the slide. Harry spoke up. “We want you to climb up the slide and slide down.”

“What?” exploded Christopher.

“I told you that’s what he’d say!” exclaimed Shanisse. “A real child would never say ‘what’ to the chance to go down a slide.”

“Then neither do I,” concluded Christopher determinedly.

He carefully put his big feet onto the steps and maneuvering his chubby bottom onto the slide. He pushed off, getting caught halfway down the descent because he was too thick. All at once there was a cracking sound.

Golda ran over, waving her hands in the air. “You didn’t make it, and you broke the slide!”

Christopher struggled, finally freeing himself from the apparatus and rising to his feet. “The issue was not whether I would make it all the way, but whether I was willing to go down the slide. Am I right?”

The kids looked at each other and had to agree.

“Next question,” said Golda. “It’s dinner at your house. You hate vegetables. But which vegetable would you rather have your mother serve? Broccoli? Asparagus? Or carrots?”

Christopher paused, thinking deeply. Obviously a trick question. “Well,” he said. “Asparagus is too weird. Carrots…uh…I don’t think so. All right. Broccoli.”

The three children burst out laughing.

“I told you he was just a grown-up,” said Harry.

“Wait!” Christopher objected. “Doesn’t broccoli taste better than carrots or asparagus?”

“They’re vegetables!” said Shanisse. “You don’t plan on tasting them.”

Golda stepped in. “The issue is which vegetable can you slip into your hand easily under the table and have the dog eat without your parents knowing.”

Harry concluded. “Any kid would know that dogs don’t eat asparagus or broccoli. Your best chance would be carrots.”

The three children nodded in unison.

“Good point,” said Christopher. “You got me on that one. I am learning.”

“I think he’s flunkin’,” said Harry.

“C minus,” offered Shanisse.

“Let’s give him one more chance,” said Golda. She faced Christopher. “Why does Santa bring toys?”

Harry jumped in. “And be careful. Don’t give some dumb grown-up answer.”

Christopher wanted to win. He desired their acceptance. As silly as it seemed, the past few months had been difficult for him–especially since he had started seeing Shelley, who made him feel immature because she didn’t share his enthusiasms.

He walked back over to the park bench, followed by the three young ones. He sat down, looked at them, and said, “I suppose I could tell you that Santa brings toys because he loves children, but everybody says they love children. But not everyone brings them toys. I suppose some people think Santa brings toys because he’s copying the gift of the Wise Men, who brought gold, frankincense and myrrh to little baby Jesus. But it’s more than that. Then there’s the idea that Santa isn’t real, and we use him as a way of making a holiday of gift-giving, so big companies can make big money. But I don’t believe any of those to be true. I think Santa brings toys because he’s still a child himself and he just likes toys, and he’s looking for other people who like them, too.”

A quiet settled on the park as three children considered the fate of a grown-up. They looked at one another and concurred.

Harry stuck out his hand towards Christopher. “Good answer. Only a kid would have known that.”

Christopher took the hand of the little fellow and then shook each child’s hand as a confirmation of their union.

For the next hour they talked. The children shared their dreams. They told of additional dreams, where they were being prompted to hurry and make their night visions come true. Christopher revealed some dreams of his own. Soon there was a unity only experienced by those who share a common heart. The children forgot that they were too young and Christopher forgot that he felt rejected by the adult world around him.

At the end of the visit they agreed to meet back in three days to put together some plans to make all their dreams come true. As they left they held hands and made a promise, reciting these words: “May we work together to let Christmas be Christmas.”

That said, the children ran away to their homes, and Christopher ambled down the path alone, towards his car.

Emerging from behind a tree, dressed in a navy-blue wool trench coat and a matching fedora, with a beard that lay upon the coat like freshly fallen snow was an aged man with a cane.

He watched as the foursome departed, and then chuckled to himself. He turned and walked away, with an intermittent giggle punctuating his pace.

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Jubilators … November 18th, 2018

Jonathots Daily Blog

(3860)

Jubilators

Sitting Eleven

Everything’s Coming Up

It was raining.

Not pelting–more a determined drizzle that booked the atmosphere for the day.

Christopher Timmons had invited Shelley to lunch. She requested they first stop off at Fenswick Park to look at a parcel of land she was considering for shooting a commercial, employing Charrleen and The Jubilators. They were to meet at 10:45.

So Christopher was sitting on a park bench with an umbrella protecting him from the rain.

He felt droopy.

He wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was the downpour, or the fact that Shelley was late.

So he stared off at a point in the distance, trying to escape the dreariness which was creeping into his soul. A little girl came and sat down on the other end of the bench. When she cleared her throat and coughed, he was shaken out of his trance and peered over at the little lady, who was completely encased, head to toe, in a polyurethane rain suit, accentuated with pink flowers and yellow trees.

He nodded to her, and she peeked at him, then turned away. They sat in silence as the rain persisted. Christopher felt uneasy with the stillness, so he spoke up.

“What are you doing out in the rain?” he asked.

“Waiting,” she replied.

“Me, too,” he said.

More silence.

“What are you waiting for?” she asked.

“My girlfriend,” he answered. “Well, not exactly my girlfriend. She’s a friend who’s a girl, and we’re dating, and I like the way it’s going, but I’m not sure she does, so I’m not certain what to call our relationship, so … well, anyway, my girlfriend. Kind of.”

The little girl nodded in disinterest.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what I’m waiting for?” she said.

“Sure,” Christopher replied, turning in her direction. “What brings you out in the rain today?”

“I have a meeting,” she answered.

“With a family of ducks?” he joked. She didn’t understand. Christopher considered explaining, but decided to distance himself from the lame duck joke

“No, they are not ducks,” she answered politely. “It’s two of my friends. We are planning things.”

“Planning things?” repeated Christopher. “What things?”

The little girl turned to him as if energized by an electrical current and replied with great animation, “Do you believe in dreams?”

“I have dreams,” cited Christopher.

“I know that,” she said. “But do you believe they have hidden messages? Do you believe that God is speaking through them? Or maybe not God…because you could be an atheist. Are you an atheist?”

“No… not really,” said Christopher, a little nervous.

“Do you know the song, Everything’s Coming Up Roses by Ethel Merman?” asked the girl excitedly.

“Not well,” said Christopher. “I mean, I think I have heard it at some time or another.”

“I love Ethel Merman,” said the little lady. “By the way, my name is Golda.”

She held out her hand.

“Christopher,” he replied, shaking her hand..

“Golda Linski. Now, I’m not Jewish, not that there’s anything wrong with being Jewish,” she added. “My daddy’s Polish, and he came over from Poland for new opportunity in this new land.”

A well-rehearsed speech.

“Christopher Timmons,” he said. “I don’t know what nationality my father was. I did eat a lot of sausage growing up.”

“Polish sausage?” asked Golda intently. “I bet it was! I bet it was!”

“Probably,” said Christopher, adjusting the grip on his umbrella.

“Anyway,” continued Golda, “in the song, Everything’s Coming Up Roses, it starts off with, ‘I had a dream.’ It’s so perfect for what’s going on with me right now. Because I had a dream, too, and by the way, in the last part of the song…I bet you didn’t know this…she sings, ‘Everything’s coming up sunshine and Santa Claus…'”

Christopher listened carefully, though he thought he might have stumbled upon a miniature wacko. She kept going. “You see? That’s my dream! I have a dream to write a Broadway musical about the North Pole, which will bring the sunshine of Santa Claus to the whole world! Do you believe in Santa Claus?”

“Well,” said Christopher, “I not only believe in Santa Claus, I also play the part of Santa Claus during the holiday season.”

“You??” she squealed.

“Yeah, me,” he said, a bit offended. “Why? Don’t you think I could be a good Santa Claus?”

“You’re fat enough. But you’re too old, right?” Golda partially asked, but also concluded.

“How old do you think I am?” he queried.

“Thirty?” said Golda.

“Close,” said Christopher. “I’m 35.”

“That’s even older!” Golda inserted.

“Yeah, but how old do you think Santa Claus is?”

“Silly,” she smiled. “Santa Claus doesn’t have an age. He’s a spirit. He lives forever.”

“My mistake,” apologized Christopher. “I guess because I’m fat enough they overlooked the fact that I’m too old. Anyway, I have the pleasure of getting to play Santa Claus for all the boys and girls each year.”

“So you might get it,” Golda said. “You might be able to understand why we’re meeting.”

“First of all,” said Christopher slowly, “who is we? Because right now, all I see is you.”

“Yeah,” said Golda. “But I’m willing to believe you have a girlfriend even though I don’t see one.”

“Good point,” said Christopher. “I guess what I mean is, who are these two other people you’re speaking of. Is it two?”

“Yes, it’s two. One is a boy who had a dream about a race and saving the reindeer. And the other is another little girl about my age who wants to have a gigantic board game tournament, with the winner getting a special lunch at the North Pole with Santa Claus.”

“So,” said Christopher, “let me get this straight. The three of you are meeting here in the park to discuss your dreams and…” He paused. “And what?”

“How to make them come true,” said Golda with the seriousness of a funeral director. “You see, the dreams haven’t stopped. They keep coming. They keep filling our minds with more ideas. Every night I can hardly wait to get to my bed and close my eyes to see and hear the notions from the spirit world, telling me how I can make…well, make something great.”

Christopher was intrigued. Part of him was completely disinterested in the conversation, frustrated that Shelley had left him out in the rain, ready to launch into a tizzy fit. But another portion of his being was entertained by the little girl and was curious if he had perhaps been brought to this bench to hear her story.

Yet a silence settled in. Maybe the little girl felt that he was just another grown-up who was too busy to think about dreams. Or maybe she thought she had shared.

Christopher realized it was up to him to continue the conversation.

“I remember Ethel Merman,” he said. “She had a real big voice.”

Golda looked over at him with a big smile. “Yes. It was a real big voice. ‘Everything’s coming up roses,’” she sang, “‘for me and for you.‘”

Christopher joined in. She moved an inch closer to him.

The rain continued to fall without mercy.

“So… what are you planning to do about your dreams?” asked Christopher.

“Well, that’s the problem,” said Golda sadly. “No matter how much we plan, no matter how much we get excited, we’re just kids. Who will listen to us?”

“I’m listening.”

“That’s because you’re a lonely grown-up sitting in the rain waiting for a girl and you don’t even know whether she’s your friend or not–who plays Santa Claus in a world that doesn’t believe in him.”

Christopher was startled. This young lady was either wise beyond her years, or a witch. But she had pretty well summed up his condition. He was mostly adult, but with just enough child to annoy his counterparts, and just adult enough to look like a pedophile when he hung around children.

“I don’t think my friends are coming,” said Golda.

“Why do you say that?” asked Christopher.

“Because they’re not here and it’s raining, and their moms probably didn’t let them come out, and they probably don’t have a cool rain suit like me.”

“It is a cool rain suit,” admired Christopher.

“I like your umbrella, too,” shared Golda. “Maybe your friend that’s a girl decided not to come out in the rain, too, and figured you would know not to show up.”

Christopher suddenly realized that Golda could be right. He grabbed his phone and called Shelley, who answered on the second ring. Christopher put it on speaker phone so he could hear better.

“Where are you?” Shelley shouted through the phone.

“I am in the park–where we agreed to meet,” said Christopher with a touch of petulance.

“It’s raining,” shouted Shelley.

“I know that,” replied Christopher.

“I just figured you would know not to meet me in the park in the middle of a rain storm,” Shelley said matter-of-factly.

Golda leaned over. “Told ya’.”

Christopher waved her off. “Well, it would have been nice if you had called.”

“Called and said what?” posed Shelley. “‘It’s raining?‘”

“No,” said Christopher, frustrated. “Just told me that you weren’t going to come out to the park today in the rain, so I would not be sitting here on the bench, clutching an umbrella.”

“Well, thank God. At least you have an umbrella,” said Shelley, relieved.

“What?” growled Christopher. “Do you think I’d be sitting here in the rain without an umbrella?”

“Well, honestly, Chris, you were dumb enough to sit in the rain. The absence of an umbrella wouldn’t be that shocking.”

Golda giggled. “She’s funny…”

“So…” continued Christopher. “What do you want to do?”

“Are you there with someone?” asked Shelley.

“Yes, I’m sitting here with a little girl.”

“My name is Golda!” She shouted towards the phone.

“Why are you with a little girl, Christopher?” challenged Shelley.

“I’m not with a little girl,” explained Christopher. “I was sitting on the bench and a little girl came and sat on the other end of the bench and we’ve been talking.”

“I had a dream!” Golda projected.

“Are you interpreting little girls’ dreams, Christopher?” said Shelley, feigning worry.

“Listen, you’re not going to turn this on me,” said Christopher. “You are the crazy one for not telling me that you were cancelling our park meeting.”

“Interesting,” observed Shelley. “I’m the crazy one? I am sitting in my dry apartment, and you are sitting in the park in the driving rain, menacing a little girl.”

“What does menacing mean?” Golda yelled at the phone.

“It means shut up!” said Christopher, completely annoyed.

“Did you tell that little girl to shut up?” Shelley challenged.

“No. I mean, yes. Kind of,” fumbled Christopher.

“Don’t worry!” called Golda. “I didn’t listen to him. I never shut up.”

“Good for you!” said Shelley, trying to match the volume.

Christopher took a deep breath. “What do you want me to do?”

“Well,” said Shelley, “I would like to have our lunch, but if you don’t mind, it has to be at the downtown Marriott, and we are going to have other people there… if you don’t get angry… because it needs to be a meeting… because Mr. Roger Dunleavy, one of my bosses…is bringing in the singer, Charrleen, to talk about the promotion we’re doing in the park–the one where you’re sitting–and I still want us to have lunch so we can be together, but…it kind of has to be this meeting, too. All right?”

Christopher paused. “Do I have a choice?”

“Not if you’re hungry and you want to see me,” Shelley replied. “By the way, what is the little girl like?”

“You realize she can hear you, right?” Christopher inserted.

“Oh, that’s right. You’ve got the phone on speaker,” Shelley said.

Christopher considered. “What is she like?” he repeated. “Well, she is either a reincarnated gypsy act from Old Vaudeville, or a midget.”

“O-h-h-h,” said Golda, rebuking him. “You don’t call them midgets! They’re ‘little people.'”

“She’s right,” said Shelley. “They’re ‘little people.'”

“Oh. My mistake,” said Christopher. What time should I meet you at the Marriott for this private luncheon which has now gone public?”

“You seem upset,” said Shelley innocently.

“No,” said Christopher. “I passed that long ago…”

One o’clock,” said Shelley. “See you there, sweetie.”

Shelley hung up before Christopher could say anything else.

“I think she likes you,” said Golda. “She called you sweetie. Of course, that’s what my grandma on my mother’s side calls me, and she’s usually pretty mean.”

“Listen,” Christopher interrupted, “I’m a weirdo. Not in the sense of chasing little girls or anything like that. I’m weird in the sense that I believe… Well, I believe in things. So answer me a question. When is your next meeting with your two friends?”

“We meet every day at 10:45 A. M., right here in the park.”

“Can I come to the next meeting?” asked Christopher.

“Why?” said Golda.

“Because you’re kids. And you might have something to say. And you just might need a grown-up to help you.”

“Do you know one?” asked Golda, wide-eyed.

“Well, Golda, I was thinking of me,” said Christopher dryly.

“Oh. You,” said Golda. “Well, I guess it’s a start.”

“Then it’s a date,” said Christopher.

“I’m not allowed to date,” shared Golda seriously.

“I’m sorry. Poor choice of words. I’ll meet you here tomorrow at 10:45. And tell all your friends to bring their dreams.”

“We always do,” said Golda, kicking her feet and splashing a puddle of water into the air.

 

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Jubilators … November 11th, 2018

Jonathots Daily Blog

(3853)

Jubilators

Sitting Ten

A Spirited Discussion

Lit was the last to light into the gathering, bouncing across the room, illuminating with a sparkle of personality and flair.

“Sorry I’m a bit late,” he beamed. “I was busy telling a joke to the North Star.”

For some reason, all of the spirits gathered found this completely hilarious–everyone but Everett Green. “Is it possible for you to arrive on time?” grumped the trunk.

“Well, to be completely truthful and on point, there is no time here, so therefore, Lit could have been early and us completely unaware,” dead-panned Kris Kringle.

Everett glared at the jolly old elf.

“I do keep time–as in rhythm,” said Christmas Carol. “And by the way, before I forget, Holly Sprig is unable to be with us today.”

“Why?” barked Everett Green.

“No need to be nasty, Everett,” replied Christmas Carol.

Kris Kringle stepped in to alleviate the tension. “Oh, she’s being a bit of a Mother Hen. Her earthly holly children are in a difficult phase–they’re just sprouting their red berries–and she gets a little fussy.”

Christmas Carol nodded in good measure.

Everett stared over at Santere, Mary and Joseph. “Why don’t they ever speak?”

“Well, technically, they do from time to time,” said Kris, “but they are the older, more experienced spirits of our troupe–over six thousand years of experience among the three.”

“I don’t understand. What’s that got to do with it?” asked Christmas Carol.

“Well, they don’t need to speak anymore. They just pass thoughts from one to another–which speeds things up,” explained Lit.

Everett Green frowned. “Wait–aren’t you older than they are? I mean, weren’t you there at the very beginning of Creation?”

“Yes. Third thing off the top of God’s head. Let there be light.”

“So why don’t you just…think your way along?” asked Everett, still sprouting a bit of leftover perturbed.

Suddenly the arena brightened. “Because I like to beam,” Lit said with a huge glow.

“Pardon me for asking, Everett, but you seem a little bit out of sorts,” observed Christmas Carol.

“Yes,” said Kris Kringle, chuckling over his own upcoming joke. “For an evergreen you seem somewhat blue.”

This caused Christmas Carol to giggle in harmony and Lit to flash and blink.

Everett Green, stung by being made fun of, tried to calm himself down and responded, “I’m fine. It’s just that I don’t exactly get it. And before you ask me what I don’t get, I’ll tell you. Almost all of it.”

Kris Kringle, still chuckling, replied, “Well therefore, maybe it would be quicker for us to discuss what you actually do understand.”

Christmas Carol just chorused with more laughter. This time she was joined by Santere, Mary and Joseph, who also seemed to be mocking the frustrated fir.

“What are they laughing at?” challenged Everett, pointing one of his branches in their direction.

“Who knows?” responded Kris. “I guess when you’ve been around for six thousand years, you have a lot of private jokes.”

“What we were laughing at,” inserted Santere, “was how you newer spirits become so impatient with how the whole process works.”

Everett, trying to regain some of his prominence, countered, “Yes, do please explain to us sprouts how this works, because I’m confused. The world is about to give up Christmas in favor of some new name and we spend a few minutes in Dream World with three kids, and then can’t really see what they’re doing, and we’re supposed to dwell in our eternal bliss of ignorance, waiting for these mortals to stumble into some sort of inspiration through their haze of dullness.”

“Yeah, that’s about it,” said Mary quietly.

“Well, there’s more to it than that,” said Joseph.

Kris Kringle moved forward, intrigued. “Tell us more about the more.

Joseph paused, turning to Mary and then Santere, who bowed out gracefully, allowing the Carpenter to spin the yarn.

“Well, I guess they’ve left it to me. Let me explain the best I can using my common-man logic and understanding. We are spirits. Therefore the spiritual is our reality. I was once a mortal. When I was a mortal, I touched things. The physical world was my reality. When people spoke to me of angels, heaven and even the Father, I tried to believe, but hidden in my soul was a gnawing doubt about whether that which could not be handled or seen could actually exist. Now that I’ve graduated to the world of spirits, the entire universe is at my disposal. The unseen becomes my daily view, and now it is very difficult for me to comprehend the physical world. Nearly as impossible as it was for my carpenter self to ever dream of one day talking to an eternal evergreen such as yourself, Mr. Everett.”

Everett Green spread his boughs, trying to understand a bit better. “So you’re saying that because we’re of the spirit world, everything vast, universal, eternal and spiritual seems real to us. And the physical world seems to be…how should I say?…”

“Elusive and unseen,” Christmas Carol trilled.

“Well said,” agreed Kris.

“I am the mistress of lyrics,” she intoned.

Santere spoke up, assisting Joseph. “Because we have had the opportunity to view the workings of the Creator over these many centuries, we have learned to discern small stirrings in the cosmos and interpret them as the real happenings on the physical world of Earth.”

Mary added her heart. “It’s just like when I was a woman, living in Nazareth. When I prayed, I would sometimes feel and sense that my words were being heard and that the answer was on the way. I had no proof, but there was this tickling in my soul that made me believe I had made a connection that was far beyond my worldly comprehension.”

“Well said!” thundered Santere.

“She may have said it well, but I’m even more confused than I was before,” complained Everett.

Suddenly, in unison, Santere, Joseph and Mary giggled.

“What are the three of you laughing about? Can you let us in on the inside joke?” Everett was not amused.

“Well, it was a private exchange,” said Santere a little nervously.

“No, really,” said Everett. “Tell me what you’re laughing at.”

Mary peered at Santere and then Santere at Joseph, who realized it was his turn to pipe up. “Well, basically, Santere thought in our direction that maybe, Everett Green…that maybe…you’re just a pine cone or two short of understanding.”

Joseph could barely finish his sentence before laughter overtook him. Santere joined him and concluded, “And Mary thought that perhaps we should be nicer … and stop needling you.”

Everett Green turned his branches away and pouted. “So this is supposed to be super-spiritual, mature humor.”

“Listen, Everett,” said Mary tenderly. “The more spiritual you become, the more childlike your perceptions.”

“So I guess that would make me the most grown-up one here,” said Everett, green with envy.

Kris Kringle intervened. “Well, I know that we are incapable of arguments–because that would be foolish and beneath us. So let me try to steer this ‘spirited discussion’ in a more helpful direction.”

All the gathered took a deep breath and exhaled, ready to move on and find better thoughts.

Kris proceeded. “Let me try to answer Brother Everett’s questions while simultaneously giving a report on our present situation. I do believe we all understand the limitations. For instance, we are welcome to influence. We are welcome to bring to remembrance. As spirits, we’re encouraged to edify. But as you well know, we are not allowed in any sense to intervene and rob the humans of their free will. If the Father wouldn’t even consider stepping in to rescue his Son when ignorance was prepared to nail him to a cross and terminate his mission, we must understand that no toleration will be granted for us to manipulate the minds of men, but rather, to use their hearts to try to enliven their sometimes-dormant spirits to be hopeful again.”

There was a hum of agreement among the spirited gathering.

“So what should we do, or perhaps I should ask, where are we in all of this?” sang Christmas Carol.

Santere spoke up. “When I was alive as a man, they called me wise. It took dying to find out how ignorant I truly was. But there were little pieces of knowledge eternal which peppered my temporal mind. Those exist today in the people we are trying to help. Let me assist those of you who are younger in the spirit to understand what is going on, and update you on the progress. We have found three children whose hearts are prepared to take a nightly dream and turn it into a vision of activity.”

“How delightful! What are the names of the little ones?” shone Lit.

Everett, still stinging, countered, “Excuse me, Lit. Are you ever depressed? Do you ever lose sight of your goal?”

Without any pause whatsoever, Lit replied, “That would be foolish. After all, everyone’s heard of being ‘lit up.’ But not ‘lit down.'”

A great laughter filled all the heavens over such a silly reply.

At length, Santere continued. “Now, as to the children. Let us know them by their first names. There is Harry, Shanisse and Golda–three very different children of God, who have just enough connection with the supernatural that they’re able to believe that it can be translated into their natural planning.”

Everett Green again spoke up, hoping to overcome his image of growler. “So explain to me, what do they know, what can they do and what can we do?”

Joseph piped up. “I’ll take the first question. What do they know? Just that they’ve been given an exciting idea in their dreams, which right now is still intact in their conscious minds because nothing has come along to steal their belief.”

“What can they do?” continued Mary. “Now there’s a good question. Many spirits have become aggravated throughout the eons of time due to rushing human beings toward some sort of completion. Here’s what they can do if they don’t lose faith: they can stall things. Get people to think better thoughts. It’s similar to when a few souls questioned slavery, and eventually slowed things down enough that others could catch up with their hidden angels and realize the truth of the universe–which is that no one is better than anyone else.”

Santere paused for a moment, allowing the beauty of Mary’s words to have the honor they deserved. “I guess it’s up to me to answer the third question. What can we do? We can do exactly what the Son taught us. In our patience we possess our spirit. Yes, we can lose our spirit by becoming impatient with the human beings that God loved so much that He gave His only Son. What we can do is continue to offer encouragement, opportunity, mercy and just a few simple signposts which will remind those who are working diligently among mortals that they are not alone. Hope is real, faith has a substance and the answers are on the way.”

Kris Kringle stepped in. “If you will allow this old Dutch toy-maker to offer a bit of advice, I was once one of the human walkers myself, and still understand their situation. We all must remember that doing good is not difficult. It just is viewed by evil as being self-righteous and by those who are starved for the good as being not enough. One piece at a time. I know some of us may feel foolish for believing that three children can affect a world of calloused grown-ups, but it will only be the faith of the young that will save the spirit of Christmas, as it took a single new-born babe to bring angels, shepherds, wise men and a star together at the same time, in the same place.”

There was a sweet silence that followed the speech of the one called Santa Claus.

“Won’t we need some sort of grown-up?” asked Everett, trying not to be cantankerous.

It was Lit who offered a final thought. “There is one. Such a precaution has been taken, and another soul who has not been tainted by the passing years has also been enlightened.”

“Who?” asked Christmas Carol.

“All in good time, my dear,” said Santere. “It is our joy as spirits, if we learn our mission, to not be in any hurry for human beings to become smarter.”

 

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Jesonian … October 30th, 2018

 Jonathots Daily Blog

(3841)

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The disciples of Jesus decided that children had no business hanging around with the big, important people who were doing big, important things for God in a big, important way.

After all, they were kids and all they wanted to do was have fun, and such jubilation is often an unwelcome interruption to austerity.

They decided, as grownups, in a mature way, that they would make an adult provision to eliminate these brats, as they frowned from their ancient faces.

Jesus disagreed.

He explained that the message of the Gospel is for children, and the goal was not to make younger people act older, but to make older people act younger.

It’s amazing that his message is now celebrated by those who are on the verge of death instead of those who are just beginning their lives.

Jesus had a children’s message because he said we’re all supposed to become children.

It’s the only way to escape growing up, being mean and acting childish.


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Jesonian … September 18th, 2018

 Jonathots Daily Blog

(3799)

Because God can see us, don’t touch your penis. If you’re in a lurch, come to Mother Church. We will make you a priest to rule among the least. It may sound corny, but if you’re horny, diddle the little one. It’s your rightful fun.

No need for a wife or children in your life–loving a woman is dirty, and it certainly can come across flirty. So give the altar boy a try, even if it makes him cry. You can dry all his tears, even though you are the demon of his fears.

All Romans know sex is truly nasty and will keep you from the “Everlasty.” Fast, pray, deny–then abuse, destroy and lie.

For the Cardinal defends the Bishop and the Bishop guards the priest, while the priest, in total frustration, acts like a beast.

No birth control, no protection for those given birth. The Pope in Rome has no home, nor any spirited insight of the sensual praise and romantic blaze radiated by holy lovers in delight.

*****

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*******

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3 Things… August 23rd, 2018

Jonathots Daily Blog

(3774)

That Mentally and Emotionally Disturbed People Could Do Instead of Shooting Up Schools

1. A rugged buffalo hunt in the Montana Mountains with members of the Shoshone Tribe (you could even use your assault rifle)

 

2. Bingeing video games, mixing tequila with Gatorade and trying to set the record on the most pizza eaten in a 24-hour period (that’s a great shot)

 

3. Take advantage of months and months of free therapy provided by the tax payers, who would much rather see you comfortable in a hospital than for them to attend the funerals of their children.

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G-Poppers … June 22nd, 2018

One of G-Pop’s children came to him with great concern.

She was troubled about two gentlemen she knew who were in the midst of a contentious and vicious argument over politics. They were both good men, good fathers and they were both Christian.

But the climate of division had overcome both of them, and they began to take it out on each other, leveling nasty insults in the direction of the other person, once a dear friend.

One man was a Republican and one man was a Democrat. But they both were Christian–shall we say Jesonian?–followers of the heart of Jesus.

Like many people in the lifetime of Jesus, they were looking for political solutions rather than personal revivals in their own hearts.

These two gentlemen had taken their eyes off the personal prize of discovery and placed their faith into the knowledge and politics of the day.

They were arguing about President Trump.

The Republican brother found himself in the defensive profile, trying to explain what was happening in our country the best he could, while the Democrat brother was using insults, derogatory statements and anger to attack the leader of our country.

It is affecting their friendship.

It is taking what was meant to be unified and breaking it apart.

Each one of them is convinced that the other couldn’t be a Christian and maintain the feelings he has about President Trump. They fail to understand that there are three principles set forth by Jesus of Nazareth.

If the Republicans ignore any of the three, then for a season we must walk away from the Republicans. Likewise, if the Democrats set any one of the three to the side, that party has to be negated in favor of greater words.

The three principles are:

1. No one is better than anyone else.

2. Judge not or you’ll be judged.

3. Love your neighbor as yourself.

These can’t be compromised just because we want to promote a candidate, and they certainly can’t be ignored to maintain affiliation with a political party.

Two good men are fighting because both of them are sacrificing their Jesonian beliefs to support an earthly power structure.

So G-Pop says to his children, don’t speak evil of the President of the United States. Keep your hand on the plow and follow the three principles listed above. And where you see problems come in, don’t resort to cheap insult and vulgar retort. Hang on.

The words of Jesus have lasted much longer than any ideas from any politician, and they certainly will be around long past the next election.

 

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