Jim
RVF Supporter
- Joined
- Dec 18, 2019
- Messages
- 4,682
- Location
- North Carolina
- RV Year
- 2020
- RV Make
- Newmar
- RV Model
- Essex 4543
- RV Length
- 45
- Chassis
- Spartan
- Engine
- Cummins / I6 Diesel Pusher 605HP
- TOW/TOAD
- 2016 Jeep Rubicon
- Fulltimer
- No
ππ‘π«π’π¬ππ¦ππ¬ ππ―π, ππ§π ππ‘π ππ¨π«π§π’π§π πππππ« . . .
(or why Rudolphβs nose is red.)
Christmas morning broke over the icy horizon like a fluorescent bulb in a truck-stop bathroom, too bright, too honest, and flickering like his life had when Dancer narrowly missed a pole on landing. Nicholas sat slumped in the dispatch bay, staring at the blinking, unhelpful face of his Garmin. This horrible piece of electronic confusion had spent the entire night leading him everywhere but where he needed to go. According to its creative interpretation of cartography, the earth had acquired multiple North Poles, and the preferred route included a ferry that was either mythical or discontinued in 1910. At this point, βrecalculatingβ had become a personal insult.
It had been a long night.
He was supposed to meet Rudolph for breakfast, but Nicholas already knew the red-nosed wonder wouldnβt show. Rudolph had been drinking since dusk, and his erratic flight patterns had earned them a costly delay at a checkpoint over Greenland. The officers wouldβve grounded them on the spot if not for Nicholas promising to let Dancer lead the rest of the run.
Dancer took to leadership with all the grace and enthusiasm of a middle manager whoβs been passed over one too many times. Meanwhile, Rudolph continued to drink, snarling sarcastic remarks at the unqualified upstart.
Nicholas rubbed his face. He was too old for this, too tired, too round . . . Decades of chimney-side snacking had done him no favors, and he was now carrying enough extra weight to qualify as a seasonal warehouse. The diabetes wasnβt helping either. Nor was the fact that UPS and every two-bit delivery startup was eating into his margins. Those guys worked 365 days a year, had tracking systems that actually worked, and not a single one of them had to deal with a whiny reindeer nursing an ethanol habit.
Inflation was killing him. Naughty or nice, everyone wanted electronics, not wooden trains. Costs were up, toy margins were down, and working one day a year just wasnβt cutting it anymore. And then there were the elves, ungrateful little mythical dwarfs who spent more time drinking with Rudolph than making toys. They acted like Nicholas was holding them back from brilliant careers, when the truth was the only other place they were qualified to work was a Hobbit-hole in the Shire. Theyβd been mutterings about βcollective bargaining,β which mostly meant they wanted better snacks and longer nap breaks. Meanwhile, Nicholas was the one keeping them fed, housed, and employed, no small task when your entire workforce is three feet tall and half pickled in peppermint schnapps.
He sighed, staring at the sleigh parked outside. The thing looked as tired as he felt, paint peeling from decades of winter storms and questionable landings. Nicholas muttered, βMerry Christmas to me,β and hauled himself up, joints crackling like brittle candy canes. He shuffled toward the door, ready to face whatever came next, be it breakfast alone or dragging a drunk reindeer out of the snowbank behind the candy-cane bar.
But even as he braced himself, something warm tugged at him. Because for all the chaos, the missed meetings, the questionable flight logs, and the fact that Rudolph was currently wearing an ankle bracelet that doubled as a homing beacon⦠Christmas always found a way.
The world still awoke to wonder. The traditions still held. And somehow, every year, the magic showed up right on time, thanks to one stubborn man, a handful of slightly inebriated elves, and a team of reindeer who meant well even when they didnβt act it.
Nicholas straightened his coat, feeling a spark of the old spirit. It was a wonderful time of the season. And no matter how tough the road was, it was worth every step, every dubious landing, and every dent in the sleigh.
With a tired smile and a resolve sturdier than winter itself, he stepped out into the cold, content in knowing that, together, they had kept Christmas on track for yet another year.
Merry Christmas Everyone!
Jim & Trish Eliason
Deer Springs RV Park
(or why Rudolphβs nose is red.)
Christmas morning broke over the icy horizon like a fluorescent bulb in a truck-stop bathroom, too bright, too honest, and flickering like his life had when Dancer narrowly missed a pole on landing. Nicholas sat slumped in the dispatch bay, staring at the blinking, unhelpful face of his Garmin. This horrible piece of electronic confusion had spent the entire night leading him everywhere but where he needed to go. According to its creative interpretation of cartography, the earth had acquired multiple North Poles, and the preferred route included a ferry that was either mythical or discontinued in 1910. At this point, βrecalculatingβ had become a personal insult.
It had been a long night.
He was supposed to meet Rudolph for breakfast, but Nicholas already knew the red-nosed wonder wouldnβt show. Rudolph had been drinking since dusk, and his erratic flight patterns had earned them a costly delay at a checkpoint over Greenland. The officers wouldβve grounded them on the spot if not for Nicholas promising to let Dancer lead the rest of the run.
Dancer took to leadership with all the grace and enthusiasm of a middle manager whoβs been passed over one too many times. Meanwhile, Rudolph continued to drink, snarling sarcastic remarks at the unqualified upstart.
Nicholas rubbed his face. He was too old for this, too tired, too round . . . Decades of chimney-side snacking had done him no favors, and he was now carrying enough extra weight to qualify as a seasonal warehouse. The diabetes wasnβt helping either. Nor was the fact that UPS and every two-bit delivery startup was eating into his margins. Those guys worked 365 days a year, had tracking systems that actually worked, and not a single one of them had to deal with a whiny reindeer nursing an ethanol habit.
Inflation was killing him. Naughty or nice, everyone wanted electronics, not wooden trains. Costs were up, toy margins were down, and working one day a year just wasnβt cutting it anymore. And then there were the elves, ungrateful little mythical dwarfs who spent more time drinking with Rudolph than making toys. They acted like Nicholas was holding them back from brilliant careers, when the truth was the only other place they were qualified to work was a Hobbit-hole in the Shire. Theyβd been mutterings about βcollective bargaining,β which mostly meant they wanted better snacks and longer nap breaks. Meanwhile, Nicholas was the one keeping them fed, housed, and employed, no small task when your entire workforce is three feet tall and half pickled in peppermint schnapps.
He sighed, staring at the sleigh parked outside. The thing looked as tired as he felt, paint peeling from decades of winter storms and questionable landings. Nicholas muttered, βMerry Christmas to me,β and hauled himself up, joints crackling like brittle candy canes. He shuffled toward the door, ready to face whatever came next, be it breakfast alone or dragging a drunk reindeer out of the snowbank behind the candy-cane bar.
But even as he braced himself, something warm tugged at him. Because for all the chaos, the missed meetings, the questionable flight logs, and the fact that Rudolph was currently wearing an ankle bracelet that doubled as a homing beacon⦠Christmas always found a way.
The world still awoke to wonder. The traditions still held. And somehow, every year, the magic showed up right on time, thanks to one stubborn man, a handful of slightly inebriated elves, and a team of reindeer who meant well even when they didnβt act it.
Nicholas straightened his coat, feeling a spark of the old spirit. It was a wonderful time of the season. And no matter how tough the road was, it was worth every step, every dubious landing, and every dent in the sleigh.
With a tired smile and a resolve sturdier than winter itself, he stepped out into the cold, content in knowing that, together, they had kept Christmas on track for yet another year.
Merry Christmas Everyone!
Jim & Trish Eliason
Deer Springs RV Park
