Santa, Seniors, and a Goat

Santa, Seniors, and a Goat

by Tim Reynolds

CanonBearChristmas1 (1)“I used to be Santa Claus, and I lived in a place called The Land of a Million Christmas Trees.

No, I haven’t been to too many wine tastings. I once worked at a grand, century-old railway hotel a mile up in the Rockies, and because we were covered in snow by mid-October, seniors homes and corporations drove up from the big city to have a holiday lunch or fancy group dinner. By mid-November, the hotel was decorated to the rafters with trees, garlands, lights—the whole shebang.

Since people drove almost two hours, they expected to get a visit from Jolly St. Nick, and when I wasn’t working the hotel’s switchboard, I was one of two Santas on call.

The corporate parties were pretty much all the same—either I “Ho! Ho! Hoed!” into the room and gave out candy canes at each table, or I sat and gave out their gifts for them. But it was the senior lunches where I recharged my joy and silliness batteries for the rest of the winter. My routine was short and simple: I approached each big round table of eight and greeted each guest, leaving who I estimated to be the most elderly of the ladies until last. I knelt down next to her, slyly read her name tag, and said just loud enough for her and her tablemates to hear, “You haven’t been to see me in awhile, Alice.” to read the full article, download the free eCopy of SEARCH Magazine‘s Winter Issue.

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