Or should I call you Mr. About to be My Dinner?
Yum.
I really should check the pockets before I wash...
The stained-glass part is made from melted lifesavers.
People really seem to dig this drift boat.
I met a friend of mine in the airport a couple of months back. I know, this happens to all of you, small world, san jose airport, yada yada yada.
But it almost never happens to me. And when it does it's because someone else has recognized me. In my world, the airport is nothing but a blur of lights, buzzing sounds and shiny faces. I am mission-oriented about air travel and my goal is to not miss my plane. Once, when I was visiting my grandparents in Alabama, I literally hugged them too long and they closed the airplane door on me. I had to knock on the outside of the plane for them to let me in. They did (this was a long time ago).
I stress about things like this.
What were we talking about? Oh yes, my friend Deb. In fact she is a long-lost friend from a company I worked for 20 years ago (damn, I'm old). The greatest person. Warm. Genuine. Smart as a whip. She makes me feel all happy when I talk to her. Some people just have that quality of warmth. When you're with them you just want to be with them longer. That's Deb.
So I'm literally barrelling down the corridor to my gate when I hear my name. My whole name is required to get my attention, Karen is simply too common for me to pay attention. But I hear my whole name and I look around. I don't see anyone. And then this woman I don't know is coming over to me to hug me. I squint. My sense of context returns and I recognize the long-lost-and-much-liked person in front of me.
We talk for about 20 minutes as her plane boards. We talk about our mutual friends and how we would love to get them together again. We gossip about the jerk we both dislike who left our really great friend for yet another younger woman (he's done this twice already). Too soon, it's last call and time for her to go. I hand her one of my cards and blurt out "send me your e-mail so I can find you again." She promises she will. And then nothing.
Nothing!
And so officially she is lost to me again. This makes me sad.
It also makes me think. How can we have such a warm rapport in the airport - and every other time we meet - and then lose touch so completely? We like each other but we just can't seem to keep it together long enough. Not even email. Years go by without a word. And yet we continue to stumble into each other and it makes me feel like we are supposed to stay friends.
I blame her, of course. She has my contact info and I have nothing. The burden of responsibility is on her. However, I think we all know that if I had the card and she didn't we might still be in this same boat. I've done it to others.
Why? I have no idea. I see you. I love you. I want to get together. Let's have lunch. Dinner. A girls' trip to the spa. And then I can't. My life happens. The world happens. Lost momentum fizzles out and we stop trying.
Which is the lamest thing I ever heard. I have these 10 minutes right now that I'm using to knock out this Vox post. Aren't these 10 minutes better spent to find and connect to the (no offense) real people in my life? Yes, of course, you're real too, but you understand what I mean, don't you? It's a pitiful explanation for lost friends.
What's a girl to do?
Forgive, that's what.
I forgive her for not being able to keep up her end of the bargain. And I forgive myself for being so lame. She, like all of us, is hugely busy. A working mother of two, with all that entails. Owns her own business (she's such a smartie pants). And I know the next time we see each other it will be just like old times and I will not dwell on the missing time.
Just like my friends have, still do, and will continue to, forgive me.
These last weeks before Christmas must be hell for you. I saw your hours posted at the mall, and even though you're scheduled for a couple of snack breaks, you seem on duty for about a trillion hours of back-to-back photo-ops.
You know, I've met a lot of Mall Santas in my life. Often they are the worst of fakes. Fake beards. Fake bellies. Fake rosy cheeks. Worst of all is the fake cheer. Now don't get me wrong, if I was in your shoes snapping photo after photo with sneezing, crying, kicking children on my lap it would be a scene right out of the Grinch, so I feel for you. But fake is fake and a bad fake Santa can really push my Bah Humbug button.
Juju is the one who found you. Even though you were hidden by the fake trees and wrapping paper, she knew you were there. She insisted we wait to see you even though the line was so long and she hates to wait. We took our place behind a dozen parents with infants. Infants rarely do well with Santa but the lure for parents of Baby's First (Sobbing) Photo with Santa is irresistible I suppose.
We waited in line for 30 minutes and when it was finally our turn I got my first good look at you. You looked like the real thing, Mall Santa. Like you just stepped right out of Miracle on 34th Street. All rosy-cheeked and with real whiskers. You were just fat enough and you had an genuine twinkle in your eye which must have been drug induced, because my goodness, you had had to hold a lot of crying babies today. I would be a raving lunatic if I had to do that for more than 20 minutes and yet here we were at 4:00 on a Saturday and your eyes were positively twinkling. Can I have some of whatever you're having?
Juju hopped right up onto your lap and Cassandre sat next to you. She says she is too old to sit on Santa's lap and she would be the one to know.
After the photo - three snaps with one good result (gotta love digital), I expected you to rush them on their way so you could continue through the line. Strangely, you didn't do that. You talked to them. You discovered that they have almost no idea about what they want for Christmas (they want everything) and you told them which snacks to leave for you and the team on Christmas Eve. I had heard about the chocolate chip cookies and milk plus carrots for the reindeer, but I had no idea that Rudolph liked tomatoes so much. Cassandre laughed about that all the way home.
When you were finally done talking with them you caught my eye and my soundless "thank you." You seemed to understand, Mr. Claus, how much was riding on your performance (the entire myth of Santa Claus) and if it was up to me, you'd win a Tony. Cassandre is old enough now to do the math and she realizes that all of you Mall Santas can't possibly be the real one. So who are these guys and how does this all work anyway? Are they helpers? Friends of Santa? Nice people stepping in to help because Santa is so busy? She stops herself before she gets too far down the road of reason. She still wants to believe in him for at least another year, and your genuine graciousness, Mall Santa, made that possible.
Thanks Mr. Claus. You rock.
