I see likenesses and people dressed up like the illustrious one ...

The past few weeks have gotten me closer to finding this mysterious man called Santa. My friends have tried to help with sightings and I'm seeing many "effigies" in windows and homes... below was a scene in Washington DC yesterday and below that are two different scenes in Coronado last week. I'm still looking! My "magic hat" is helping to dial in the frequency of where this guy might be...

Santa Tantrum Awards

I don't think I've seen anything funnier recently than the "Santa Tantrum Award" running on The Poop in the San Francisco Chronicle. This is right up my alley for images and narration for content on this blog. I think all of my friends with children should submit some photos in the contest!

The Man in the Red Suit (has guns)

Joann M. Ringelstetter
It was December, 1960 and I was five years old. I don’t know if my mother let us come into the store that day because it was cold out or because she knew something we didn’t, but into the store we tromped in our hand-me-down winter coats and boots. Mom started shopping and as we came around the end of the aisle, there was Santa Claus! Wow, Santa Claus himself, right there in our grocery store!

He bent down and put his arms around me and asked, “What do you want for Christmas this year, little girl?” Times were lean then, and we usually received one and only one gift from Santa on Christmas Day. So I needed to ask for the one thing I wanted most. “I want guns,” I said, “you know, two pistols in holsters, like Little Joe wears.” Santa looked dismayed. “You’re a little girl,” he said, “you want a doll, don’t you?” “No,” I insisted. “I want guns.” Then he repeated, laughing as he said it, “No, you want a doll.” Clearly, he didn’t understand, and I walked away very disappointed in the man in the red suit who didn’t seem to know that he was supposed to bring me what I asked for, not what he thought I should want.

When Christmas morning dawned, I rushed to the Christmas tree to survey what was lying beneath it. There were five gifts and Santa apparently couldn’t afford wrapping paper because each gift simply had a name taped to the box. And sure enough, there it was -- the stupid doll that Santa thought I should have. As I scanned the other gifts, I couldn’t believe my eyes. There was a box with a cellophane top, and in the box were two shiny silver pistols with “ivory” grips in a double leather holster.

Now, there was cruelty at its finest. Not only did Santa stick me with a useless doll, but he had the nerve to bring my brother David the very thing I had asked him for. Just as I was sinking into the depths of despair, I realized that MY name was on the box of pistols and the doll was for my little sister. That’s all it took to restore my faith in the man in the red suit.

Don't make me call Santa!

Paula Grech
My Santa story is not from my childhood. Rather, its a tale from my adventures in parenting. My kids are pretty out of control. They like to swear, punch and kick each other, dress the dog up in doll clothes and pile couch cushions on his tiny body so he can barely breathe. Time outs, toys in the garbage, the occasional spanking... none of these methods work on them. The only thing that gets results is to pretend to call Santa on the phone, give our address and their names and instructions to please not deliver toys this christmas. They cry and promise to be good, and most times they actually will calm down. Then I have to call back and tell Santa we're going to try again, and to please put us back on the delivery list.

When their bad behavior flares up, or I don't want to get up, I tell them that Santa can actually hear me without using the phone, and I look up towards the ceiling and raise my hands into the air... "Oh Santa!" I say, "the kids are bad again. Santa please don't bring them presents...." and they start wailing.

They actually believe I am talking to Santa. How do I know? Because my littlest one, 5-year old Owen, got mad at his sister for taking his toy and he ran into the back yard, raised his hands to the sky and said "Oh Santa, please, please, please don't give Ruby any toys this year!"

Santa on Ice

Last night was an ice skating party at the seasonal ice rink set up at Justin Hermann plaza. Here's a little something with Jenelle and Santa. I can't figure out what Santa is "doing" here exactly. {video by Andrew Slusser}

The scarier side of Christmas

Gudrun Scott
When speaking with Gurdrun last night I heard all about the devlish Krampus (pronounced "gran-poos") that originated in Germany and Austria. Gudrun remembers seeing Krampus when she was young in Germany. Apparently after a little "googling" I found out all kinds of unusual information on this. Here's some of what I found:

On the night of Dec. 5 (in some places, the evening of Dec. 6), in small communities in Austria and the Catholic regions of Germany, a man dressed as der Heilige Nikolaus (St. Nicholas, who resembles a bishop and carries a staff) goes from house to house to bring small gifts to the children. Accompanying him are several ragged looking, devil-like Krampusse, who mildly scare the children. Although Krampus carries eine Rute (a switch), he only teases the children with it, while St. Nicholas hands out small gifts to the children. In some regions, there are other names for both Nikolaus and Krampus (Knecht Ruprecht in Germany). Sometimes Krampus/Knecht Ruprecht is the good guy bringing gifts, equal to or replacing St. Nicholas. As early as 1555, St. Nicholas brought gifts on Dec. 6, the only “Christmas” gift-giving time during the Middle Ages, and Knecht Ruprecht or Krampus was a more ominous figure.

"Ingrid" on another blog has this to say about Krampus -- I was in Salzburg years ago as a college student. I’d been warned about Krampus, but still found the whole thing rather overwhelming. I recall seeing one man with his small boy flung over his shoulder, rushing down the sidewalk, trying to stay one step ahead of the many folks out roving the streets, dressed in frightening costumes - some with eyes glowing red. And every one seemed to carry around a large bundle of sticks with which they would not just threaten, but actually beat the legs of anyone foolish enough to get within reach.

Kentucky in the 50's -- trap St. Nic!

Denver Compton
When I went to 6th grade (1955-56), Ike was president and the world seemed a very predictable place - the little bit of civil defense stuff and news of the bomb that made it to Eastern Kentucky seemed more like fun to us, than something to worry about. One of the friends I made that year in school was Robert B.. I first began to hear bits and pieces of what sounded more and more like either an attempt to rob Santa Claus or take him prisoner from Robert's younger brother, William. (That was William's spin on it.)

Bringing up the subject to Robert got a frosty reaction, then an angry reaction. Finally, he said that on the Christmas when William was 6 (which made Robert 8), he had decided to prove to William that there was no Santa Claus. So he devised a plan.

The plan began as a simple idea: On Christmas Eve, wait in the living room where stockings were hung on hand-made antique nails (truly!) driven into the fireplace (no fire!) mantel, with his trusty Kodak flash camera. Then when Santa (believed by Robert to be Mr. B.) arrived to fill the stockings, Robert would snap his photo, obtaining proof to shatter William's belief in Santa.

But a simple plan is never good enough. Robert decided to slightly rearrange the furniture so he could hide in a corner behind a couch. He also decided to sprinkle flour on the hearth in front of the mantel and on the polished stone floor so that if he missed Santa (he didn't know how long he would have to stay awake), he could track him!

Still so far, so good. But Robert admitted that he made one error. For whatever reason, he decided to have his Daisy pump-action BB gun with him. You can guess the rest. Robert dozed off. When Mr. B. arrived to fill the stockings, a startled Robert shot him in the stomach with the BB gun. Mr. B. was so surprised that he slipped in the flour and fell on the stone floor, cutting a gash in his head that necessitated a trip to the local hospital emergency room and stitches.

All well and good, except that I knew that Robert invented the "truth" on a regular basis. A couple of years later at the high school, waiting for the afternoon bell to ring (after lunch), I got up the nerve to ask Mrs. B. about the events of that Christmas Eve. The flour was true, the camera was there, Mr. B. did get shot by a BB gun, he did fall and cut his head, but --

She said that Robert was the last of his friends to believe in Santa and was trying to prove his existence. "But why the BB gun?" I asked. "You won't understand," she said, "but in his heart Robert is a combination of Zorro, Blackbeard, and Jesse James. " The bell rang and she seemed happy to get away from me.

I couldn't figure out how to raise the issue with Robert without giving away my source, so I never mentioned it again to him again.