"Who Wrote It?" Christmas Story Fun!!

MMW members contributed an array of one page holiday stories anonymously. Other members were assigned to read each story and then guess "who wrote it?" Now that we know who did, I've listed them for all to read. Happy holidays and enjoy!

(Click on the arrow next to each story to open or close)

A White Christmas-Kay Butzin

Snow crystals glittered under the rising sun and jackrabbit tracks cut through the corn stubble. We walked down the middle of the gravel road preceded by clouds of breath. Our rubber boots squeaked; and when my sister Donna talked, her frozen chin moved like Howdy Doody's wooden jaw.

"Gerry said the kids have been awake for an hour," Mom told Dad.

He chuckled, predicting, "They'll be wound up."

Mom stuck her head through the back door and called, "Merry Christmas!"

"They're here!" Randy hollered.

"Hooray!" yelled Tim and Joni.

Perked coffee and fresh pine replaced the odor of cold in my nose. Aunt Gerry knelt next to the pile of gifts stacked around a tree whose star aspired to touch the ceiling. Mom and Dad joined Grandma on the davenport, Dad draping his arm around Mom's shoulder. Donna and I settled cross-legged on the floor, while Tim clowned and Randy rummaged through the gifts looking for one with his name on the tag. Grandpa presided from the Lazy Boy.

In fifteen minutes, what had required weeks of shopping, hours of wrapping, and hundreds of dollars to put together littered the floor.

"Don't throw away any presents," Mom warned Donna and me as we rolled up the wrapping paper carpet and stuffed it into trash bags. "And keep the bows. We can use them again next year."

Grandma pulled a pinafore apron over her head. "I'll put on the bacon while you baste the turkey,” she said to Aunt Gerry.

Dad, Grandpa and Uncle Ed sauntered out to the garage where Grandpa had deposited a bottle of Seagrams for the annual Christmas toast. Uncle Ed stuck his head into the kitchen and motioned for the women to participate in the ritual, but Mom said she’d wait till after she ate.

"You might not get another chance," he teased.

“Tell everyone breakfast is ready," Grandma said.

Uncle Ed hollered, "Soup's on!" We converged, squeezing elbow to elbow around the table.

"Who will say grace?" Grandma asked.

"Grace," Grandpa answered.

We laughed even though we'd heard the joke every Christmas, Thanksgiving, and Easter in memory. Then we bowed our heads and prayed together,

God is great, God is good. God, we thank You …

Cap'n Jac-Ken Stephenson

Jaclyn Craig was an adventuress. She kept her blond hair cut short and covered by a Greek fisherman’s cap. She wore a denim shirt and trousers, and she claimed to have been all around the world seeking fame and fortune. Most folk simply called her Cap’n Jac.

Now Cap’n Jack was something of a local legend, and it wasn’t unusual for someone to ask her for a story about her travels. One evening, as she enjoyed a glass of scotch whiskey, a young fellow asked her, “Cap’n Jac, is there hope for mankind?”

She thought for a moment, took a draw on her long stem Churchwarden pipe and blew out a stream of smoke. Her blue eyes grew distant as her mind drifted back to a time gone by. The crew knew a story was coming and gathered round her table.

“I had shipped on board a merchant cruising north on the Indian Ocean along the east coast of Africa, taking freight from Mozambique to Yemen. It was December 25th. We had eaten an excellent Christmas dinner and I was smoking a bowl before turning in. We were coming close to Somalia, making good time until the engine cut out. The engineer was called. The crew was trying to get the engine restarted when the watchman sang out.

‘Small craft, off the port bow. Approaching fast.’

“We knew right away it was pirates, as we were in their waters. They boarded us with guns pointed at the engineer. He explained our situation to their leader. One raider went down to the engine room and returned after a few minutes, holding a leaking fuel pump. The leader said something to another of his men. After some excited talk and what looked to be a disagreement, the man jumped down to their boat and returned with a fuel pump, took it below, and repaired our engine.

“The pirates gathered and exited our ship. Their leader was the last to go. As he climbed over the side I asked him why he had helped us? He pointed to the northwest sky then looked back at me and said, ‘Catch you next time.’

“I watched them leave and looked in the direction he had indicated. There I saw the largest, brightest star I had ever seen, before or since, it shone like a diamond in the night sky. I realized it must be the Christmas star. It was then I remembered seeing a small silver crucifix hanging from a chain around the Somali leader’s neck. I had thought it was a piece of booty as no christian would be a pirate. But there it was. Their leader was a true believer.”

Cap’n Jac threw back the last of her whiskey.

“Ever since then,” she said, “I have believed there is hope for humankind.”

Christmas Is Near-Chris Lucka

It was the day before Christmas….

Jack was sitting at the kitchen table drawing. He loved to draw. His art teacher said that for a twelve-year-old he was very good.

“I think I’ll make Mom a really pretty card and some cookies,” Marcie said.

Jack had no idea what he’d give his mom for Christmas. He pondered this while babysitting his sister. Probably just make her breakfast in bed. Their mom worked her retail job today. She also helped out at the local breakfast café whenever she could. Money was tight since the pandemic. Her retail hours had been cut with so few customers shopping in the stores.

Jack drew several elves. He spared no details. They wore fancy suspendered pants, shirts, caps decorated with holly leaves and berries, and elf shoes with bells at the tip of the toe. He drew another picture with elves around a Christmas tree; a tree fully decorated with snowflake ornaments, bulbs of several designs and of course, an angel at the top.

“I’ve brought a pizza” Angela said, as she came through the door. They could smell the pepperoni and garlicky crust.

After pizza, pop, “The Charlie Brown Christmas” and “The Miracle on 34th Street” bedtime arrived. Jack, then Marcie lamented that there were no presents under the tree.

“Well, I’m really sorry kids, but it can’t be helped. Maybe when I get ahead on the bills a little we can splurge and get a few things. Most importantly we’re together, we’re healthy and we love each other.”

They all went to bed with heavy hearts. But in the night the elves, the elves Jack drew came off the page with wrapped presents in their tiny arms. They laid them under the tree. In the morning the three were astounded by the gifts.

“Where did these come from?” Angela asked.

The kids were equally dumbfounded. “We don’t know!” they said in unison. Each eagerly unwrapped a gift: a colored pencil set and paper for Jack, a Lego set for Marcie and a new blouse for Angela.

Later in the day Jack noticed that his drawing of the elves and tree now pictured the wrapped presents they had opened.

This is what they mean by Christmas magic, Jack thought with a smile.

Dear Elmer-Lara Bender

Last week, my husband hung your sleigh bells on our front door. It was a delightful surprise to hear them jingling again. You have been gone for 27 years, yet you still bring us joy.

I remember when we met. I had just moved in next door, and you offered to introduce me to my new hometown. I didn’t want to turn down your invitation, but I was anxious about it. You were fifty years my senior. It was silly to imagine you wanted to be my friend. But the next day, there you were, beeping the horn in the driveway.

I must admit, you surprised me when our first stop was the cemetery. “Let’s start with some history,” you’d said. You know, Elmer, the stories you told me that day taught me well about my new community. But nothing made me feel as welcome as when you took me to your wife Evelyn’s grave and said, “You know, she’d like you.” It was the best compliment I could imagine.

Just before we left the cemetery, you’d stopped the car. “One day you’ll help bring me here,” you’d said. “And when you do that, I don’t want you to feel bad. I’ve lived a good life and outlived most of my closest companions. When you bring me here, remember you are really bringing me home.”

So, I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised when four years later, emergency vehicles arrived outside your house. “Elmer is dead in his recliner,” the neighbors said.

“I just saw him a few hours ago at church. How can he be dead?” But you were. After the service, you’d gone back to your house, settled into your favorite chair and gone home to be with Evelyn and all those people you loved. When we brought you to the cemetery a few days later, though, I didn’t feel bad. Of course, I missed my sweet, kind neighbor, who I knew I’d never forget. But I didn’t feel bad, because you’d gone home to that place we both know is wonderful.

Now, since it is Christmas again, Elmer, I must report to you on how my assignment is going. You remember the one about the bells? It was a snowy day when you gave them to me. Our group of carolers had stopped by your house to sing, and like every year before, you’d come out to jingle your bells. They were real sleigh bells, you’d told us. They’d come off a sleigh you’d ridden in as a child. They were one of your treasures and when you’d accompany our singing each year, the sound of those bells would bring a smile to everyone’s face. So I was surprised when, on what turned out to be your last Christmas, you asked me to wait as the group headed down the street. Placing the bells in my hand, you gave me the assignment: “Make sure you find a way for them to bring someone joy each Christmas,” you’d said.

Well, Elmer, here is this year’s report: Tonight, my husband played Santa Claus for children in foster care who will not be going home for Christmas. Most seemed sad and quiet when we got there, but when they heard your sleigh bells, their faces brightened with expectation, for Santa was arriving as scheduled, just as it seems you did in heaven.

So, thank you, Elmer, not only for being a wonderful neighbor, but for your perpetual Christmas gift, which warms my heart every year, that of helping us bring joy to others, just as you did. Oh, and my husband, who you’ve never met - he’d like you, too!

Doc Who? -Lenore Troia

“I can’t be sick on Christmas!” Stella declared between sneezes. “I’m calling the clinic.”

The blender buzzed away. Prepping dinner, Jake didn’t hear a word she said.

“Hel…, this… Doc Nic…. How…help…”

“Hold on, you’re breaking up.” Stella moved to a different room. “Doc who?”

“Doc Nicholas. Can you hear me now?”

“Yes Doc.”

“You sound terrible. Not feeling well?”

“No, think it’s the flu.”

Well, the staffs gone home for Christmas, but I’m doing rounds tonight. I’ll bring something to make you feel better.”

“Thanks much Doc!” she rasped, ending the call.

“Poor guy,” Stella thought. “Has to work on Christmas eve. Must live north of here. Glad Jake

didn’t need to go into town.” She put on flannels and headed for bed.

“Chicken soup babe?” Jake realized dinner plans had changed.

“No hon, need to sleep. Best if you stay in the guest room tonight. And keep an eye out for Doc Nicholas.”

“Doc who?” Stella barely heard him ask before passing out.

Disappointed, Jake packed up the food hoping to resume the feast on Christmas day.

After some wine, he drifted off on the living room recliner. As the tree lights flashed on and off, he snoozed deeply not hearing the thumping noise above. In the middle of a weird dream about a chimney sweep cleaning the flue, his slumber was interrupted by bells jingling outside.

“Must be carolers,” he thought, getting up to investigate. “What the heck!” Jake noticed a bottle in front of the fireplace alongside several sooty footprints.

Northern Brewery Tonic, read the label. “Active ingredients: sugar, honey, lemon, ginger, molasses, peppermint, licorice, elderberry, nettle, yarrow, mint, horseradish, lemongrass, rosemary, and thyme. Alcohol 50%.” Directions: “Stella, drink this down and feel better in the morning. Doc Nicholas.”

Jake checked the front door, then the side. Both were locked. He thought about the windows.

Stirring in the bedroom, “Everything alright? Did Doc Nicholas come by?”

“Apparently so!” Jake quipped bringing her the concoction. “Geez! Smells like whiskey!”

She drank it down and gently floated back onto her pillow. Finishing his wine, Jake did the same, in the guest room. Blissfully asleep, visions of sugar plums danced in their heads.

At dawn, all was calm, and all was bright. Jake was up early grilling pancakes.

“Merry Christmas darling! Glad you’re cooking because I’m famished!”

“I see you’re feeling better! “

“Feeling great! Slept like a baby!”

“Guess that magic potion Doc Nicholas dropped off worked like a charm!”

She wrapped her arms around Jake and gave him a kiss. Then she asked, “Doc who?”

Dust Mop Tree-Pam Binder

Christmas trees loaded with ornaments from many Christmases past are traditional in my home, as in homes all around the world. The anticipation of the work involved to decorate the tree for family members doesn’t stop the excitement as the ornament box, with its yards of string lights, the Christmas skirt along with the tree stand are all pulled out of storage. And then there is the first deep breath once the Christmas lights, swirling all around the trees branches are turned on, to experience the annual satisfying smell of pine inside the house. A smell capable of conjuring memories, pleasing the olfactory nerves and establishing the presence of Christmas.

This year our mom decides to buy a unique Christmas tree. We are shocked with disappointment. It is flocked in grey piles of who-knows-what. Its uglier than Charlie Brown’s branchless, needless, tiny tree. The three of us don’t spare our reaction to such an ugly sight. Assessing immediately what is wrong

with this catastrophe, Mom is left defenseless. None the less all the accoutrements are pulled out of the garage and the decorating work begins. One thing for sure a flocked tree does not leave much room to hang ornaments on the branches so our job is short circuited. And no one bothers to take that heavenly first deep breath.

When friends visit our house the embarrassing, tiresome question always arrives as three or four steps are taken through the front door. “Are you using the tree to dust under your furniture?” And yes there is a layer of dust on top of the flocking. Why wouldn’t there be? It’s Easter and the tree still adorns the living room as my family sits down to this holiday’s dinner.

Home For Christmas-Debbie Walker

Wherever my parents live is where I call home, and since they recently

retired to Florida, I decided to drive down with my ten-year old son for

Christmas. We packed for the beach except for one set of warm clothes.

When we left Traverse City, it was cold and sunny. By the time we stopped

for gas in Kentucky, it was spitting out rain. I got out to pump the gas but I

couldn’t get the nozzle to work so Josh got out of the car to help.

“Gee Mom, just press the trigger down.”

“I am. See, it’s not doing nothing.”

We both heard a click and a burst of gas flowed out like a water hose soaking

us both. We ended up a mile down the road at a truck stop to use the showers.

Our gas-soaked clothes were thrown in a garbage bag and shoved in the trunk.

Now dressed in shorts and light jackets, we were cold, hungry and not very

merry.

“Mom,” said Josh checking his phone. “There’s a Sonny’s BBQ

twenty miles up the road. “Let’s stop,” he grinned.

It was good to see my boy smile but when we got to the restaurant

it was dark. A sign on the door read, “Closed until tomorrow due to bad

weather.”

I thought that was weird, it was only raining. I should have looked

for a motel right then and there but no, I got back on the freeway, and the

next thing I knew we were in an ice storm. Police closed down the interstate

and we were stuck along with hundreds of other vehicles with no place

to go. To make matters worse, it started to snow.

The next morning, I woke up to my son scraping the snow and

ice off the car. I had to pee so bad, I couldn’t stand it. I made Josh hold

up a blanket while I relieved myself, squatting next to my car door but

nothing on this trip was going right. Josh slipped, down went my camouflage,

horns beeped and I was mortified. Josh laughed so hard he pee’d his pants

and we both ended up taking turns in the back seat to change our clothes

for the second time on this unforgiving journey.

Finally, we were back on the road again and I drove without incident

until I hit Alabama where I got off on an exit to go to McDonald’s. Right

smack in a busy intersection, a huge pile of icy snow slid off the roof and

covered the entire windshield. Horns blared as I stepped out in traffic to

clear off the glass. I wanted to cry.

For the rest of the trip, I wondered if this was such a good idea until

I pulled into my parents' driveway and out of the house they came, open

arms and eager, love-filled faces and it was in that moment I knew why I

had told them, “I’ll be home for Christmas. You can count on me.”

Merry, Merry Christmas Tree-Ginny Haller

It’s that joyous time of year that takes me back to memories of my childhood. The Merry Christmas tree. Long skinny slivers of shiny tinsel sparkled on our tree. My mom decorated the house for the holidays every year. She hummed quietly as she hung each strand of tinsel with delicate and absolute precision. My sis and I weren’t allowed to hang any, much less touch it. We could only see and love the beauty and colorful effervescence of the silver strands.

As much as I basked in the bright light of the tinsel, I could not take my eyes off the special bubbling up and down liquid of the red and yellow candle-shaped Christmas bulbs. The special burbling bulbs jumped and made the tree alive and merry.

As the bright lights flickered and bounced along the floor on Christmas Eve, I crawled on my belly past mom and dad’s bedroom to the living room to see the tree shine and bubble. I stretched out on the couch to soak in the smells and sights and joys of the Christmas tree.

Now, as the memories occur to me, I wonder if this is where the merry in Merry Christmas came from?

My Gift to Give-Nancy Renko

“Jay and I tried to sneak to new seats, but the bus driver scolded us and told us to sit where we belonged. As a second grader, I didn’t argue, just obeyed. I hated sitting in front of two fifth grade bullies who teased me till tears came.” “‘Hey Wobin, are you going to cry because you can’t say your own name, Robin? You’re supposed to say an “r” not a “w,” Weepy Wobin, that’s you,’ Kyle taunted.” “When we got off the bus, we ran all the way to Music class. We knew we would be safe with our teacher, Mrs. Lee.” “‘Class, today we will learn a carol to sing at the Christmas program. Listen, so you can tell the class what it’s about.’” “‘I have no gift to bring, pa rum pum, pum, pum…’” “‘I played my drum for him, pa rum, pum, pum, pum.’” “Jay raised his hand, ‘It’s about a poor boy who doesn’t have a gift for the Baby Jesus, so he plays his drum for him.’” “‘That’s right Jay. Now I want you to think about your own gift. Each of you possesses your own unique talent, something you can give to others. When you find your special ability, it is your responsibility to share it.‘” “All that day and during the week, I thought about my gift, but I couldn’t imagine what it could be. I had no talent. I couldn’t even speak correctly. My teacher made me go to speech class. I had only one friend, Jay, and we spent most of our time trying to avoid the meanies, Brad and Kyle.” “Then on the last day before vacation, I accidentally discovered my gift. In art class, our teacher gave us a piece of felt. We traced and cut out a star, then decorated it with glitter.” “‘Look Robin, do you like my blue and gold star? I’m going to give it to my mom for Christmas,’” Jay exclaimed as he waved it high in the air for me to see. ‘Mom can hang it on the tree.’” “‘It’s so pretty; she will love it.’“ “Miss Ruby, rushed us through clean-up and out the door, saying, ‘Merry Christmas! Hurry, don’t be late for the bus.’” “We carried our art projects so they wouldn’t get crushed and headed toward the parking lot. Brad and Kyle waited for us outside. We tried to maneuver around them, but Brad reached over Jay’s head and snatched his star.” “‘You can’t have that. It’s for my mom,’ Jay cried out.” “‘What’s the matter Carrot Top, you want your star back?’ sneered Brad as he held it out of reach. ‘This looks like it belongs in the garbage,’ he teased, and motioned toward the trash can.” “’Stop it you two, that’s not yours,’ I yelled. ’You should be ashamed of yourselves. You are just mean bullies. Go pick on someone your own size and leave us alone. Now scram.’” “’Aw you’re no fun,’ Kyle pouted. I couldn’t believe it. Brad dropped the star like it had burned his hand, and they both just walked away.” “Jay grabbed his star, clutching it to his chest, and looked at me in amazement. As for me, I learned a valuable lesson, that day.” “You see class, standing up to those bullies taught me to advocate for myself and others. It changed my life and showed me I could be strong. It’s why I am a police officer, a fantastic job, which makes my family proud. Look, this is my badge with the silver star. It is my duty and honor to live the words inscribed on this badge, To Serve and Protect. I have found my gift and I’m grateful for it.” “I would like to thank your teacher for inviting me to your class today, and to thank you students for listening to my story. It is my hope that each of you will discover your gift and use it to help others."

My Grandmother Told Me-May Lou Bugh

My grandmother told me she rode a lifeboat off the Titanic and sang hymns until they were rescued and claimed the sinking of the Titanic an act of sabotage. When she interviewed FDR, he suspected the stock market crash an act of terrorism against the United States capitalistic free enterprise system. She uncovered the plot to kidnap Lindbergh’s baby to discredit an American hero. I listened to her stories without question. One did not question Calysta Kenyan at the end of her days as an investigative reporter when most women had jobs as secretaries if they worked at all.

Several FBI agents attended her funeral and later ransacked her apartment. Mother warned me to keep quiet about grandmother’s stories if they came around asking questions but unfortunately, I ignored Mother’s advice and that’s why I’m in this prison cell now.

This Christmas Eve in Michigan-Nancy Low

The crisp breezy evening brings snow,

dampening down the smells of the city

with big soft flakes of clean.

Just inside, a mound of cookies, fresh baked,

ham in the oven, the glaze, the pineapple , the cloves,

loading more sweet to the warm air.

Green boughs decorate the mantle,

The fresh cut Scotch pine

adds to the sharpness in the air.

Pumpkin and Apple Pie scented candles

alight on the big dining table,

all set, and waiting for us to sit at the feast.

This year I will use my memory

of what that all would smell like,

Covid-19 took that sense last month.

I hope it comes back.