Holiday Adventures of The Shushing Librarian

'Twas last year before Christmas, and all through the land

Auntie Nettie was being Ms. Grinchy Grinch of Bah Humbug, Grinchland.

She asked me, S.L., to give her a gift,

to help her find a way to give her holiday spirits a lift.

(Okay, look. I'm not a poet. I don't even like more poetry, iambic pentameter or free verse. Let me just tell this story my way, okay, Omniscient Narrator?)

As we all know, the holiday season can pass in a blur. With all the preparations, early over-commercialization, and faux-ness, not everyone has a ball. Reflecting upon this, I tried to find some carolers to help get Auntie Nettie in the right mood. I have quite the can-do attitude, you see.
Nettie's a little old-fashioned, so I thought that these folks might succeed with their versions of The Holly and the Ivy or Greensleeves, over Rudolf or Jingle Bells.
It almost worked, until this elf came by and ruined the mood. He hit us both in the head. It was not one of my more crowning moments.
I decided I better get some advice on how to get Auntie Nettie back in the proper holiday frame of mind. I hopped on an accommodating reindeer and asked for a lift to see Santa Claus.
I thought I had bearded St. Nick in his lair, but this guy wasn't the real deal. He spent the time trying to mop up my connections to the book trade. I "hairied" out of there in a hurry.
My journey took me all over the world. Every jolly fellow in red I met got the same question: "Are you the real Santa?"
Finally, somewhere in the Far Northeast, this bespectacled-greybeard whispered secret instructions to me on how to find the real Mr. and Mrs. Claus. I had to promise not to reveal my source.

Although it may appear that my lips are sealed, I've spent a year thinking about this. I'm an information professional. It is my duty to share and disseminate.First. You must believe.

Every Santa's Helper, Elf, Hanukkah Harry, Papa Noel, Father Christmas, Kris Kwanzaa, Saint Nicholas, Bell Ringer, or "Santa Claus" agrees. You can't find the real Santa Claus or the real Christmas Spirit if you don't believe.
Second. Things must be sweet.

You. Your attitude. Your gifts. Things you make. Things you eat. Even your houses must be sweet, or filled with "the sweet."
That's part of the reason that milk and cookies are left out on Christmas Eve. It's a signal that you believe and that Santa and the Spirit are welcomed in your home. (I'm told that carrots and hay are acceptable cultural/regional substitutions because of the natural sugars in the make-up of those offerings.)
Third, even if you are naughty, know that you are getting a gift.

Coal may not be what you want. But you are getting SOMETHING, so be grateful.

Now. I believe. I like to think I'm sweet, and I'm grateful for any and everything that I get. I figured all of this would give me an express pass to the North Pole.

Just to be on the safe side, though, I closed my eyes, and whispered "I believe Tinkerbell. I believe."

Then I rang a bell or two so Clarence could get his wings.

THEN I wished upon a star that I could find the Clauses and get advice to help Auntie Nettie's holiday spirit.

Just as I began to despair, I felt an Arctic breeze whisper by, faintly smelling of candy canes, gingerbread, and eggnog. With a "Ho Ho Ho" and "Merry Christmas, Shushy," Mr. and Mrs. Claus welcomed me to their workshop. I have to say, I revelled in their warm embrace. I was going to explain my mission, but they told me they already knew why I was there. They too were worried about Auntie's attitude in recent years, but told me they understood why she was so upset.

For they were too. They despaired that the purpose and joy of the holidays was being forgotten, buried in stress, expectations, wrapping paper, gift cards, debt, and that by starting the hype so early people were being innudated, overwhelmed, and desensitized.

They suggested a trip to a simpler time, where in a lowly inn, surrounded by family, humble animals, and only a few select visitors, the Christ Child was born. Hark, The Herald Angels were Singing, while other hosts of Angels, (we) have Heard on High. The Little Drummer Boy played his song for Him, Far, Far, Away on Judea's Plain. And Oh, Holy Night was sung beautifully, in the Little Town of Bethlehem.I thanked them so much, blessed by their advice and wisdom, and travelled home to Auntie Nettie; "home" to our growing family, celebrating together, in quiet ways, albeit spiced with childish enthusiasm and presents, all tempered by a sense of overwhelming gratitude to our Older Brother.

So this is our advice and wish for you this Christmas Day.

Get far away from the maddening crowd.

Find a quiet place. Reflect. Refresh. Relax.

And then ... Be with your loved ones.

But above all else, Remember the true reason for this special season. Merry Christmas,

Auntie Nettie and The Shushing Librarian

Silent Night

Silent night, holy night!
All is calm, all is bright.
Round yon Virgin, Mother and Child.
Holy infant so tender and mild,
Sleep in heavenly peace,
Sleep in heavenly peace.

Silent night, holy night!
Shepherds quake at the sight.
Glories stream from heaven afar
Heavenly hosts sing Alleluia,
Christ the Savior is born!
Christ the Savior is born.

Silent night, holy night!
Son of God love's pure light.
Radiant beams from Thy holy face
With dawn of redeeming grace,
Jesus Lord, at Thy birth.
Jesus Lord, at Thy birth.

~Joseph Mohr