Carol of the Elves

Don't believe the hype that sweet olde Santa sends all his Christmas gifts on the mysterious eve all by his lonesome! Surely you don't believe he has a magical FEDEX - pathways / portals / time machines - stashed up there in the North Pole. What the wily fellow has are indentured elves aplenty.

And I have proof of that.

With carols playing in the background and me caterwauling away, I almost missed the once-in-a-lifetime magical sight. Just as I was driving out of a junction, I saw a white truck literally bedecked with gifts with a tiny little elf hunched at the wheel. Trying his best to remain inconspicuous though failing quite miserably. How could anyone not see his tiny elfin face with the sharp pointed ears surreptitiously hidden beneath a jaunty lil red cap?


Elf : Look! I am a fully grown adult male! Check me out if you don't believe me!
Paul : Don't mind if I do.
And the fact that his truck also had a christmas tree squashed into the back made it all the more obvious. Just short of a red-nosed reindeer to announce his arrival.

Paul : OMG. Is that an elf?
Patty : Sure looks like it. Then again it could have been a kid.
Paul : A kid driving that big truck?
Patty : Happens all the time here. They learn how to drive way before they are eligible for it.
Paul : That would certainly explains the lousy driving.

Well, maybe it wasn't an elf. Fine, it could have been an adolescent child at the wheel as well.

Which would have been much worse than an unlicensed elf from the North Pole. At least presumably the elf would have had centuries of experience with driving on the roads. And let's not forget about the inherent magic.

What amazes me most are lackadaisical parents who allow their unschooled children free rein with their automobiles. A nervous, inexperienced pre-teen holding the wheels of 1500kg worth of mass destruction. Talk about endangering society at large! Certainly reminds me of the other juvenile rebel joyriding on the streets only to be gunned down.

Such unworthy parents should be caught and whipped soundly.


Or perhaps have the bells fall on them to awaken them to the painful responsibilities of parenthood.

The Little Match Boy

'Tis the season of giving.

Charity abounds this time of year as miserly folks are reminded - constantly - that there are others out there in need of a little help. Certainly no need for a fearful trio of ghosts to scare the change out of Ebenezer these days.

Hard to forget with a philanthropic Kool Kat busy canvassing for donations for an orphanage. Wanting to do our own little bit for society as well, we hiked over to the usual spots in town to find the tree. The tree. Always one somewhere in town with the names of those less fortunate festooned on the tree wishing for a special someone to reach out to grant them a wish.

What we found was one full of little match boys and girls from a local orphanage. Or so I thought. Flipping through the tagcards, I found to my dismay that as usual, cutesy toddlers get snapped up real fast. Leaving the older December boys on the shelf.

Paul : I'll look for an older kid then.
Felix : The ages tend to go up as you go higher on the branches.
Paul : OMG. There's a 21 year old boy here.
Felix : Wanting donations?
Paul : He wants a tracksuit.
Felix : Ooh.
Paul : Sounds like quite an athletic fellow. Wonder if he's hot. Can I get him a skimpy Speedo instead?

Maybe the Little Match Boy would prefer a cosy bed this Christmas? Preferably mine?


All I Want for Christmas...
Yes, I get salacious when it comes to virile 20 year olds.

But then as we went up the tree, we noted even more kids above the age of consent. Checked it twice to be certain. Started thinking that it could be a correction home for troubled children ( worrying that! ) but the mewly infants at the bottom belied that fact. Surely the innocent babies couldn't be guilty of committing crime and felony before they could even walk!

Took a while before I realized they had to be special children - which would explain including the older kids on the wishlist as well.

So Little Match Boy, no naughty, wildly inappropriate propositions from this particular Santa. Looks like you just might get the tracksuit you wanted this year.

Baby It's Cold Outside

The lights are up.

The presents are under the tree.

The invitations have been sent out.

Sipping wine in my cosy chair by the window while it storms outside, nothing gets me quite as sentimental as a chilly December. The whiff of hot cocoa. The flicker of the cinnamon scented candles. The age-stained pages of my book of sonnets.

Times like these it's nice to know that somewhere out in the wide, wide world there might be someone who is thinking of me. Even with crowds of people milling about him. That thought certainly keeps me warm.

But that's me. Doubt assails him when he's so very far away that he starts worrying that our love can't possibly sustain such breadth of time and distance.


Long, long distance love affair!
No doubt Charming Calvin feels just a bit cold and lonely at times like these.

Calvin : So why do you love me?
Paul : So there has to be a reason?
Calvin : I would just like to know.
Paul : You want me to put that into writing? Sonnets perhaps? Or even a limerick?
Calvin : A sonnet would be preferable I think.

So why do you love someone? I think lovesick poets throughout the centuries have been trying to figure that out. So I might as well leave with something sweet that I read many summers ago when I was young in love. A little sonnet Elizabeth Barrett Browning wrote about her own true love so very long ago.

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, --- I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! --- and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

Is there even a measure of love? Is there even proof that you can see? Baby, I know it's cold outside but you should know that my love remains constant and unchanging.


Baby, it's bad out there. So why not hold on to thoughts of me and feel warm inside?

A Really Pink Christmas

I'll admit Christmas came here just a little early.

Couldn't help it really. Over here in the wild frontier where God-fearing Christians abound, it's natural that baubles and tinsel appear in the stores from October onwards. Barely glanced at the vivid orange of All Hallow's Eve before the red and green garlands of Christmas came along. Hard not to be swept along with the holiday craze especially with evergreen carols on constant replay in the background.

And then my first Christmas package appeared at the door two weeks back. Brown paper packages tied up with strings. Books? DVDs? Who knows? The delicious anticipation before the day itself is the best, don't you think?

So how could I resist?

Faced with the harsh carmine wood panellings of Netherfield however, I really didn't have much of a choice but to tone it down a notch with a splash of pink. Wasn't easy looking for material though. Despite the obvious Christmas cheer about, the local folks here are still pretty traditional when it comes to their tinsel and they only come in the primary colours.

Certainly couldn't stand having more garish red in the house so I had to DIY a few ornaments. Think pink ribbons, dusky rose posies and folded origami cranes on the tree. Baubles from the softest pastel pink to the deepest cherry. Even a couple of shocking pink disco balls that I just adore!

Kat : It's so pink! I don't think I'd be able to show my face in town again!
Paul : Two gay boys and a girl in one house. Of course there'd be pink!
Felix : That's pink? I thought it's gray!


Christmas decorating can be so exhausting!
Severe colour-blindness on Fabulous Felix's part aside... I'm far from your bon-bon loving Marie Antoinette so I actually balanced it out with a bit of green. But even that concession wasn't enough to stop Kool Kat from worrying that she'd lose her street cred with all the girly-girl pink on blatant display. Doesn't mean I didn't forbid her from buying presents wrapped in any other colours but cream and brown to match.

Naturally all my gifts are wrapped in pink.

Now I wonder what I should do back home for Christmas.

The Borgian Knot

Carrying on a long-distance relationship has taken its toll on the both of us.

With one of the more obvious solutions to a relationship meltdown being Charming Calvin's transfer back here, he has been busy for the past few weeks searching for job openings. And since I already vetoed the idea of him being the sole househusband, he has laboured through the weekends perusing the classifieds. His initial plans to have a change of career has actually helped in this regard since it has significantly widened his options.

Unfortunately still no jobs available in this market.

Of course, such zealous, single-minded persistence on his part has garnered the attention of his ever-observant mother, Madame Borgia. With Calvin making plans to return and flying back on a regular basis.... it has placed Madame Borgia on instant high alert. Didn't the boy once claim that he would never return to the countryside? There had to be mischief afoot.


Q & A time at the Borgias!
Didn't take long for her to make a move.

Madame Borgia : I am surprised you are so eager to return here. Weren't you quite desperate to leave for the city?
Calvin : Things have changed.
Madame Borgia : After all my endless entreaties before? I confess I am curious, exactly what has changed?
Calvin : Things have.
Madame : Why, is it because Paul is here now?
Calvin : Umm. Uh.

Imagined Calvin looking like a deer in headlights with his mother interrogating.

I have to admit I am surprised Madame Borgia actually took so long to ask that question. Like a knot in her belly, no doubt that nagging mystery has percolated in her wily mind for weeks. Seems she has even taken to questioning the rest of her children to ascertain Calvin's true intentions.

Guess I underestimated Madame Borgia. Obviously she requires a disembarkation questionaire from Calvin before he comes home.

Though I'm sure Calvin tried his best to evade her incessant probings after, I have no doubt Madame Borgia caught his initial stumble. Superspy he certainly isn't. Wonder if she's going to come knocking on my door to find out more.