Interview with Santa Claus

Ladies and Gentlemen, I am honored to present a very special interview that I had with the world's most famous toymaker and deliverer.  You know him as Santa Claus, but just about every country in the world has its own name for him.  I asked Santa your questions, and he graciously answered them.  Without further ado, the jolly old elf from the North Pole.

ME: Good morning, Santa.  How are you today?

SANTA: Ho ho ho!  I'm fine, young man.  And how are you?

ME: Fine thanks.  Let's get right to the readers' questions, Santa.

SANTA: Very good!  As you know, I'm used to answering questions.  I get them from kids and adults all the time. 

ME: Great.  Let's start with the basics.  Where and when were you born? 

SANTA: I was born in the Turkish city of Patara in the year 270.  It was a beautiful port city on the Mediterranean coast.  I have wonderful memories of that place.

ME: Wow.  So that means you're over 1,700 years old?  How is that possible? 

SANTA: Ho ho ho!  Yes, indeed, I am on the old side.  Many have wondered how I've lived so long.  The secret is milk and cookies. 

ME: With all due respect, Santa, that sounds a bit hard to believe.  I mean, milk and cookies aren't exactly the healthiest foods.  It's hard to see how they alone would allow a man to live as long as you have. 

SANTA: Well, you're quite right, Jimmy.  The real answer to your question is the same as the answer to the question about how I'm able to deliver presents to over two billion children.  I honestly don't know why I'm still alive or why I can do what I do, but I believe that I'm here for a purpose and that until I've fulfilled my purpose, I'll continue to make children everywhere as happy as I can.

ME: Fair enough.  Now, Santa, how did you get into the toy delivery business and how has your job changed over the last, er, 1,700 years? 

SANTA: Ho ho ho!  My parents were well-to-do members of the community, but they died when I was young, so my uncle, who was the bishop of Patara, raised me.  He got me involved with the Catholic church, and I enjoyed my time there.  I eventually became a priest and did all that I could to fulfill my desire to help those less fortunate than me, especially children.  Over the years, as people learned about my work, demand increased across the world, so I needed to come up with a global system for delivering gifts to children.  That's when I trekked far north so I could build essentially my own town where brave, industrious elves helped me fulfill demand.  It's turned out to be quite an enterprise.

ME: I'll say.  How do you deliver toys to an ever-increasing number of children while the number of hours each Christmas Eve remain the same? 

SANTA: I'd tell you, Jimmy, but then Jack Frost would have to chill you.  Ho ho ho!

ME: [laughs]  Nice North Pole joke there, Santa.  I'm guessing you don't have an answer as to how you deliver toys to an increasing number of kids all over the world?

SANTA: I'm afraid not.  If I did, I'd tell you.  All I can say is that once I leave the North Pole with the reindeer, I stop at billions of homes, settlements, teepees, trailers, tenements, and other dwellings all throughout the night.  I'm tired when I come home, but for me, I don't feel any worse than someone would after a regular eight-hour day at work.

ME: That's just extraordinary, Santa.  Just thinking about visiting 100 homes a night sounds daunting to me, never mind over a billion.  What keeps your job interesting to you?

SANTA: Well, it certainly isn't the pay.  Ho ho ho!  A little more North Pole humor for you.  Honestly, it's how happy the presents make the children.  That's what motivates me.  I get millions of letters, e-mails, texts, phone calls, faxes, and other forms of communication every year, and they never cease to delight me.  Making children happy is what I was born to do.  It's in my DNA.

ME: Before you go, Santa, what are some of the most memorable years that you've delivered presents during? 

SANTA: Oh gosh.  The most memorable times, I think, were some of the most harrowing.  Going back to my earliest days, I remember the declining Roman influence throughout Europe in the 300s and 400s and the subsequent invasions of the Germanic tribes for several hundred years afterwards.  Then there were the Crusades that brought a lot of socioeconomic turmoil to Europe.  Even though I was a priest of the church for a long time, I wholly opposed war, even if its purpose was supposedly holy.  Later came the Black Plague, which wiped out at least 1/3 of Europe's population, in the mid-1300s.  What an awful time that was.  I remember the Hundred Years' War that raged on into the fifteenth century.  Things improved a bit for a while in the 1400s and 1500s, but I remember the 1600s being another unsettling time.  The exploration of America, wars all over Europe and the Middle East, and the slow decline of Christianity helped make the world a more insecure place.  There have been plenty of wars over the last 400 years, but none were worse than the World Wars of the twentieth century.  By that time, I was delivering toys worldwide.  Travel was so dangerous during those years that I had to avoid certain areas for fear of being shot down by airplanes or tanks.  It was an incredibly frightening time.

ME: Unbelievable.  You're a living time machine, Santa, and you've seen more than the rest of the world combined.  Do you have a Christmas message for all the readers out there?

SANTA: Ho ho ho!  Certainly.  All I ask is that people treat each other with respect and courtesy every day of the year, not just on Christmas.  Remember that life is short and we are all weak, so be the best person you can to your fellow beings, even if they don't always reciprocate your kindness.  Some people feel disillusioned around Christmastime because they don't associate with its religious nature or commercial orientation.  I can't deny the religious and commercial thrust of Christmas, but I think those people should try to think of it more as a period of reflection on the rest of the year and their future.  It is a time to think about where we've been and where we would like to go.  It is a time to reflect on humanity and all of the great gifts that have been bestowed upon us, even those who greatly suffer.  There is always something to be thankful for, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant.  Christmas is the season of light, a bright spot in an otherwise dreary month.  Why go out of your way to shun a holiday because it is popular?  Christmas is a time for us to open our shut-up hearts, as Charles Dickens said in his lovely Christmas Carol.  We are all fellow passengers to the grave.  Instead of fighting and plotting against each other, why not work together for the common good?  Only then can we make the kind of progress on so many fronts that we hope to achieve.  Every year that is my Christmas wish.  Things are improving, but not fast enough.  1,700 years has given man great technology and more knowledge, but he still struggles with how to treat his fellow man.

Me: Well, thank you for the words of wisdom, Santa.  It's been a genuine pleasure talking to you.

Santa: My pleasure, Jimmy.  Now if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to the workshop.  I only have about a month to wrap things up before the big day next month!  Ho ho ho!

Me: Of course.  Merry Christmas, Santa!

Santa: Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

Thanksgiving

Since Thanksgiving is less than three weeks away, I wanted to write something about what the holiday means to me.

Just as Linus aptly summarizes the meaning of Christmas in A Charlie Brown Christmas, so Marcie concisely states the meaning of Thanksgiving in A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving. 

Marcie: But Thanksgiving is more than eating, Chuck. You heard what Linus was saying out there. Those early Pilgrims were thankful for what had happened to them, and we should be thankful, too. We should just be thankful for being together. I think that's what they mean by 'Thanksgiving,' Charlie Brown. 

I added my own italics to the last two sentences because they are exactly what Thanksgiving means: gratitude for being with the people we love.  The holiday can't be any simpler than that.  Of course, there's all the good food, TV, and whatever else people do on Thanksgiving, but at its heart, Thanksgiving is about people being together. 

I remember spending my own Thanksgivings as a kid at my grandmother's house.  Nana made holidays extra special for her family.  Our last Thanksgiving with her was a sad one, but it reinforced the meaning of the holiday.  As Nana lay sick in her bed resting while the rest of us ate dinner, a curious thing happened.  One by one, my cousins, brother, sister, and I snuck off to Nana's darkened room to sit around her bed.  Although Nana couldn't see us, she must have known we were there.  Even some of the adults came in to partake in our unspoken vigil of the woman who showed us what the holidays and family were all about.

Nana died less than a month after that final Thanksgiving, but to this day my family remembers the lessons she taught us about gratitude, simplicity, and joy.  Life in many respects is much easier for Americans in the 21st century than it was for the Pilgrims almost 400 years ago.  Our comfort is possible thanks to those pioneers in the wilderness who sought to create a city upon a hill that would serve as a light to the rest of the world.

I am thankful for all of the people in my life whom I love, and that I live in a country that still cherishes the struggles of its ancestors.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Coming Soon: Interview with Santa...

The Woods After Midnight

"My dad said no one should go into the woods after midnight," Andy said with a devilish grin on his face. 

"Why not?" Mike asked. 

"He said the last kid to go into the woods after midnight never came back," Andy replied.

"What happened to him?" Ned wondered aloud.

"No one knows," said Andy.  "The whole neighborhood searched the woods for two weeks and found nothing.  They even searched the old broken-down house at the center of the woods and found nothing."

"What broken down house?" Mike inquired. 

"The one that we've seen from your backyard?" asked Ned. 

"Yep.  The cabin," Andy responded. 

Andy, age 12, lived in the rustic town of West Greenacre.  His two cousins, Mike and Ned, ages 13 and 12, respectively, were brothers from the nearby city of Portsmouth.  Andy's cousins were spending Halloween Eve at his house, which they often did on weekends.  But this night wasn't going to be like any other.

"Do you guys want to sneak out at midnight and check out the old cabin?" Andy asked his cousins with a fearless smirk. 

"Uh, we better not," the cautious Mike replied.  "Who knows what could happen in the woods after dark?"

"Let's do it!" Ned enthusiastically rejoindered.  "There are three of us.  We'll fight anything that tries to get us."

Andy nodded.  It was decided.  The boys snuck out of Andy's house just after midnight while his parents were asleep and approached the outskirt of the murky woods that penetrated West Greenacre's innermost depths. 

"Speak now or forever hold your peace," Andy somberly murmured to his cousins. 

Mike swallowed a thick knot in his throat and remained silent.  He didn't want to look like a chicken. 

"Okay, guys," Andy said.  "There's no going back now."

The boys started walking through the leaf-riddled, tree-strewn grounds of the infinite woods before them.  Halloween had officially started at the stroke of midnight.  There was no knowing what fate would befall the intrepid young explorers. 

"Does anyone live in that old house anymore?" Ned asked as the boys approached the shack. 

"No.  My dad said it's been empty for at least fifty years.  Rumor has it that an elderly couple last lived there and died mysteriously.  People have reportedly seen ghosts of the couple standing behind the windows of the house," Andy replied.

Mike felt increasingly creeped out as the young men approached the dilapidated old structure located in the heart of the woods.  He imagined the ghosts waiting inside for the boys, ready to do all sorts of horrible things to them.

"Okay, guys," Mike interjected.  "We've gone far enough.  Let's go back.  I'm tired and..." 

"No!" Ned interrupted.  "Let's go inside.  I wanna see what's in there."

"Me too," Andy joined.  "We can't turn back now.  Come on.  There's probably nothing in there."

The boys tip-toed up the front steps of the dark house.  No lights were on inside.  All the boys had to guide them through the pitch black night were the flashlights that each one held.  Andy reached for the front doorknob and turned it.  The door opened and the boys entered.  Just as Andy guessed, the small one-room cabin was empty. 

"See?  There's nothing here," Ned taunted Mike. 

"Let's check out the basement," Andy blurted as he approached the cellar door at the rear of the house. 

The door opened easily, so the boys cautiously sauntered down the stairs into the concrete hole of a basement.  Once again, nothing. 

"Great.  Nothing to see.  Let's go!" Mike insisted. 

"Wait a second," Andy wondered aloud.  "What's that?"

Andy turned his flashlight to what appeared to be the house's old coal furnace.  It was a man-sized black box that had a small glass window on the front door.  Suddenly, a withered whispering voice arose from within the dark furnace. 

"If you want to know what happened to the others, open this door!"

Andy, Mike, and Ned screamed and then bolted up the basement stairs.  They tore down the cabin's short hallway to the front door and reached for the knob.  It wouldn't open. 

"Break the windows!" Andy shouted.  The boys smashed the glass windows with their feet and jumped out onto the dark ground below.  Ned lost his flashlight in the process. 

"Run!" Mike commanded. 

The boys ran as fast as they could away from the old house through the foreboding, majestic woods.  Fortunately, the path to his house from the house in the woods was linear, but the old cabin stood only about a mile north of Andy's home. 

As the boys ran, Andy looked back for a moment to see if anyone was chasing them.  He saw no one.  However, as Andy glanced at the old house that was now far behind them, he thought he could see a faded glowing figure behind the left front window, glaring out at him from the deep darkness that separated them. 

Coming Soon!

A short story called Interview with Santa Claus! 

In other news, the election campaigns are trudging along.  I don't think any one candidate will radically improve the economy or America's foreign policy.  It takes a village, not just a lone farmer. 

But yes, Santa will be coming soon.  I hope to write that interview this weekend.  Just a little something fun as we prepare to launch into holiday mode.  Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and then a new year. 

Stay tuned!

10-Minute Writing II - Bleb Land

8:29 p.m.  Once upon a time, there was a fuzzy little town called Bleb Land.  The creatures that lived there were called blebs.  Everything was fine and dandy.

The blebs were jovial amorphous beings that went to work, raised families, and had a good time, just like you and me.  However, deep in the back of each bleb's mind was a fear of oorgles.

Oorgles, as you may know, were giant dragoniferous monsters with fire-breathing snouts and dark, crusty scales.  Every once in a while, the oorgles invaded Bleb Land to assert their dominance and find food.  The blebs typically ran for the hills when the oorgles swarmed their towns, and more than a few blebs ended up as oorgle dinner. 

However, things were going to be different this time. 

A brave young bleb named Brambora told the Bleb Land Council that the next time the oorgles struck, she would rally the town to fight against the dragoniferous barbarians.  Many laughed at Brambora or poo-pooed her well-intentioned bravery, but one blebman took her aside after the meeting.

"I will help you build an army, young Brambora.  I am too old to fight now, but I fought with the bleb forces in the Hundred Oorgles War.  I know plenty about oorgle strategy," Ooblblobe huffed in his raspy old voice.

Good to his word, Ooblblobe helped Brambora set up defense posts around the outskirts of Bleb Land.  They recruited able and willing blebs of all ages, colors, and sexes to defend their happy little town. 

When the oorgles came, they were unpleasantly surprised.  8:39 p.m.

10-Minute Writing I - Ernest Eternal

7:45 p.m.

Ernest looked up at the sky one evening and imagined that he could fly.  Of course, being wheelchair-bound and elderly, he knew he couldn't really fly, but no one could stop him from thinking it. 

As he flew in his mind, he broke the sound barrier and whizzed through the stratosphere, ultimately spinning through outer space, all alone. 

"This is nice," Ernest said as he floated at great speeds, burning through the Solar System. 

Ernest was never a very sociable man.  He was quiet, polite, and thoughtful - one who could never be confused for a follower of Bacchus.  It was his way, the road to introspection and solitude.

As Ernest sped through the Milky Way, his pace accelerated until he found himself blasting through galaxy after galaxy at dizzying velocities. 

"I wonder where I'm going," the old man thought aloud.  "Oh well.  I'll just enjoy the ride."

Eventually, Ernest could see a thick haze in the distance that increasingly enveloped his entire field of vision.  He had reached the edge of the Universe.  No one knew what lay beyond its precipice. 

When Ernest reached the thick plasma that enshrouded the boundaries of the elliptical Universe, he hardly had a moment to contemplate his situation as he flew right through the substance into the great beyond. 

As soon as Ernest reached the other side, he stopped and found himself sitting in an open field.  A meadow of some sort by a small pond. 

"Ebony Orchard," Ernest mused.  "This is where I grew up.  I'm home!"

As the sun set over his lifeless body, the sun rose over his lively spirit.

7:56 p.m. 

The Legend of James Cate

Portsmouth, New Hampshire.  August 1732. 

            Edward Cate lay dying in his bed.  He was seventy-seven years of age.  Elizabeth, his wife, sat in a nearby rocking chair knitting a quilt.  Bursts of warm summer air periodically entered the open windows and enlivened the otherwise drafty old wooden room.   

            “James and Sam will be over soon,” Elizabeth told her husband, unsure if he could hear her or not. 

James was Edward and Elizabeth’s oldest son, named after his paternal grandfather whom he never met.  James was in his early forties.  Sam was James’s third son and fourth child.  He was eight years old.  Edward had remained in bed for nearly a week and had barely spoken a word to anyone, including Elizabeth.  As soon as Elizabeth mentioned James and Sam, Edward opened his eyes and slowly turned to her.

“My son and grandson are coming over?” the old man asked.  “What about the other grandchildren?”

“The older boys are tending to the land, and Margaret is at home with the youngest three children.  She is pregnant again, you know, so the doctor wants her to rest.  Seven children make a woman awfully tired.  I should know!”

“Oh,” Edward lamented.  “Well, at least I’ll be able to see one of them.  I want to talk to James, too.  We have some last-minute business to discuss regarding my affairs.”

Elizabeth sighed and nodded.  All she could think about recently was the demise of her husband’s health.  He had been her partner for forty-five years. Edward worked like a bull all his life.  He was a good worker, a good father, and a good husband.  There would never be a convenient or good time to say goodbye to him. 

Someone outside knocked on the door.  Elizabeth stood up and greeted the visitors.  James and Sam had finally arrived from the next town over, Greenland.  There, his family dwelled near the majestic Great Bay.  Elizabeth welcomed the boys into her home. 

“How’s Father doing?” James asked his mother. 

“He’s awake now.  Go see him,” she stoically replied. 

Sam smiled at his grandmother and followed his father into Edward’s room to visit the old man.

“Hello, son!” Edward beamed.  “And where’s my favorite grandson?”

“Hello, Father,” James nodded.  “Sorry the others couldn’t make it.”

“Hi, Grandpa,” Sam shyly piped up. 

Edward chuckled after hearing his grandson’s soft voice.  What a delightful boy, Edward thought.  So much like me when I was his age. 

“Your letter said you had some business for me to execute,” James reminded his father. 

“Ah, yes!” the old man remembered.  “I need you to look at some land deeds and make sure they’re accurate.  Mother can show you where they are.”

James nodded and followed Elizabeth out of the room.  Sam remained behind with Edward. 

“How are you doing, Sam, my boy?” Edward inquired with a grin. 

“Fine,” the boy laconically responded. 

“Tell me how things are going,” the old man persisted.  “How is school?”

“Pretty well.  Right now in history we’re learning about how New Hampshire was founded.  Teacher wants us to write about our own family’s history.  How we got here and stuff like that.”

Edward’s ears pricked up.  He rarely had an opportunity to talk to his grandchildren about his family’s origins.

“Would you like me to tell you what I know about our family’s history?” Edward eagerly asked. 

“Okay,” Sam half-heartedly agreed. 

“Have a seat, son,” Edward instructed his grandson, who sat in Elizabeth’s vacant rocking chair. 

“The Cates have been in New Hampshire for a long time.  My father, James, who is your great-grandfather, was among this state’s pioneers,” Edward explained. 

“Grandpa, was your father born here?”  Sam asked.  He was intrigued about his family having some link to New Hampshire’s colonial beginnings.

Edward sighed.  He would have to admit the limits of his genealogical knowledge.

“I’m ashamed to admit that I don’t know where Father was born,” the old man reluctantly confessed.  “You see, Father wasn’t a talkative man.  He was very intense, but also very plain and not eager to discuss himself.  I was my parent’s oldest child, so I spent the most time with Father, but he never talked about his life before he met Mother.  Some say he came to this land from Europe.  Others have said he was born here.  Most men of his generation traveled here from western Europe, so that’s what I believe Father did.”

“When did your mother meet your father, Grandpa?” the boy asked. 

Edward smiled.  Although he did not know when or where his parents first met, Edward knew about his parents’ infamous fornication charge from 1656 that resulted in them publicly acknowledging the sin and paying court costs from its adjudication.  What a scene that must have caused at a time when Puritan Massachusetts effectively controlled New Hampshire’s government.  Edward thought of a less explicit answer to give Sam.

“My parents never really discussed that subject with me, so I don’t know when they met each other.  I do know that they took to each other, er, rather quickly and remained together until father’s death in 1677.”

It was true.  James and Alice Cate remained married for more than two decades until James died on May 15, 1677.  Edward was only twenty-one when his father died.  He never forgot that day. 

“Grandpa, how many brothers and sisters did you have?” little Sam eagerly inquired.  He was starting to enjoy his grandfather’s storytelling. 

“Oh my,” Edward thought.  “Let’s see.  There was John, Rebecca, and Sarah...  Um...  Who else?  Oh right!  Mary, Elizabeth, and Isabel...  And I’m forgetting someone else.  Who is it?  Ah!  William.  My poor brother William!”

“Did something happen to William?” Sam asked with concern.

Edward sighed and looked towards the window beside him, as if his thoughts were reaching outside beyond it to a faraway time and place.   

“William endured a tragedy that none of my other siblings had the misfortune of facing.  In June 1696, I never forgot, a group of Indians raided Portsmouth Plains, where William and his family lived at the time.  The Indians killed some fourteen villagers, including William’s oldest son, William Jr., and injured five others, including William’s three younger children.  One of the injured who survived was a woman in her mid-seventies.  The Indians cut off her scalp and left her for dead, but somehow she survived.  After recovering the injured victims of the raid, a group of men chased the Indians from the Plains to Breakfast Hill.  The Indians then rowed out to the Isle of Shoals and disappeared after that.”

Sam was simultaneously awed and reviled. 

“Wow.  That’s awful!  So what happened to William and his family?” the boy wondered aloud. 

“They moved far away.  I don’t remember where they ended up going, but it was as far from the Plains as possible.  William was never the same after his oldest boy died. It was a tremendous loss for him, poor fellow.”

“Grandpa, were you and William close as brothers?” Sam asked.

“We got along well enough.  When he grew up, he didn’t move quite as far away from home as our brother John did, but William still wanted a life of his own, as all men do when they reach a certain age.  One time I will never forget is when William defended me from an attack by some crazed neighbors of ours back in 1681 or so.  I was around twenty-five at the time.  A local ruffian named Christopher Kenniston tore down John Johnson Sr.’s fence for some reason, so John Jr., William, and I went to put the fence back up for John Sr.  Out of nowhere, Thomas Every, his wife, and son Tom Jr. approached us and started attacking William and me with stakes from the old fence.  One of the Everys beat William over the head with a stake.  What an awful event that was.  It took all of our effort for John and I to fight the Everys off and take William away.  Why they attacked us I still don’t understand,” Edward lamented. 

“What bullies,” Sam remarked.  “Sometimes I see kids at school do that.  It’s not right.”

“No, Sam, it’s not.  Fortunately, we brought the Everys to court and won a judgment against them.  They had pay for William’s injuries and court costs.  Served them right.” 

“What did your parents think about the fight?” Sam inquired. 

“Well, Father died in 1677, so he wasn’t around at the time, but I recall Mother being quite upset about it.  But she was tough.  She had her fair share of fights in the past.”

Sam cocked his head in disbelief.  He could not imagine a woman fighting because he thought only boys did that. 

“What kind of fights did she have, Grandpa?”

Edward chuckled.  He immediately remembered a fight involving his mother that occurred two decades before his own fight with the Everys.  In August 1661, Alice Cate accused Sarah Abbott of causing Alice to lose a child she was carrying.  Edward could not remember the specifics of the accusation, but it incensed Alice enough to bite Abbott’s thumb and scratch up her face.  Nearby witnesses had to separate the two women before they killed each other.  Abbott eventually won a court judgment against Alice, who was to be whipped ten times, but James spared Alice that fate by paying a fine and court fees.  Edward summed this all up in a way that Sam could digest. 

“Mother and another woman got into a fight, and Mother ended up being punished for it.  The moral of the story is to avoid fights at all costs, unless you truly can’t.  Never fight unless it’s for self-defense, Sam.”

The boy nodded.  Since they were on the subject of fighting, he wondered about his great-grandfather’s exploits. 

“Grandpa, did your father ever get into fights?” 

Edward took a moment to process his thoughts.  His father would be harder to explain than his mother. 

“Father was a complicated man.  As a carpenter, he was never rich or well off.  We lived a very meager lifestyle.  A few years after Mother’s fight with Sarah Abbott, Father incurred a debt to a prominent wine merchant and innkeeper, Walter Abbott.  Unfortunately, Walter Abbott was the husband of Sarah Abbott, whom Mother had her fight with, so that made the situation even more taxing.  Another man named John Paine loaned a lot of money to us as well.  Both Abbott and Paine sued Father in 1663, I think, and forced him to pay up on the debt, which only made life even harder for our family.”

“It’s never good to be a debtor, is it, Grandpa?” Sam asked with sympathy for his beleaguered great-grandfather.

  “No, lad, but sometimes work was hard for Father to come by, so turning to borrowing was all he thought he could do until he received new commissions.  At those jobless times, Father would become melancholy and take to drinking alcohol.”

Edward failed to tell Sam that at around the same time his father was sued for not repaying the Abbott-Paine debts in early 1663, Father was also charged with drunkenness and property destruction.  James acknowledged in court that he had too much alcohol to drink one night and that he subsequently destroyed the sign and door of the local tavern owned by the colorful Rachel Webster.  Rachel inherited the tavern from her late husband, John, and later appeared in court several times as a defendant.  She ultimately had to close her pub in 1671 for illegally selling rum and wine, and for keeping an unclean establishment. 

“There were other times when Father went to court for issues he had no part in,” Edward continued.  “When I was around twelve, he served on a jury of inquest to determine whether a man had died by drowning or not.  Father was also a witness to a fight between Sarah Abbott and her second husband, Henry Sherburne.”

Edward smiled as he recalled this situation. 

“I can only imagine what Father was thinking at the time, because Sarah was the woman my mother beat up some nine years earlier.  Maybe Father thought that Sarah’s fight with Sherburne proved that my mother didn’t truly start the fight with Sarah in 1661.  Sarah Abbott went back to court several times for fighting with other people; Mother didn’t.”

Sam nodded and then let out of quiet yawn.  Edward smiled at his grandson and realized that the sun was starting to set on the horizon.  He wanted to get a few last stories in before Sam had to go home.

“One time, when I was around seventeen, Father and I were with a bunch of men who were drinking flip in the streets, which is something you should never do because it’s stupid.  Anyway, the group became too rowdy for us, so Father and me returned home.  Unfortunately, the other men kept drinking.  While Lodowick Fowler was walking ahead of the group, his gun went off and killed a man named John Ellis.  Fowler was convicted for Ellis’s death.  I remember Father being so glad that we had gone home when we did.  Like I said earlier, always avoid trouble if you can.  If things don’t look good, get as far away from them as possible.  It will serve you well in the long run.”

“Yes, Grandpa,” Sam agreed, even though he did not entirely understand the story. 

“We all do things that we’re not proud of, Sam,” Edward sighed.  “Even though Father and I were smart on the night of John Ellis’s death, we weren’t so smart the following year.  We got into some trouble for starting a fight with the servant of another well-known Portsmouth man, John Cutts.  As you may know, Cutts became the first president of New Hampshire two years after Father died and was one of the state’s largest landowners.  In any event, I always taught my children to avoid fights, because I remembered how much trouble my own parents got into by refusing to back down.  As much as I admired them for their boldness, I also reviled them for being so foolish sometimes.  Unfortunately, Father died when I was only twenty-one, so I didn’t have a chance to ask him any of the questions that occurred to me as time moved forward.”

“Couldn’t your mother answer some of those questions?” Sam wondered.

“Yes, some, but there were many things Mother never knew about Father either.  Plus, relations between Mother and I became more strained after Father’s death.  Father died without a will in 1677, so Mother went to court to account for Father’s possessions.  I kept many of his tools to work with in my own carpentry trade.  However, Father’s estate went unsettled for another twenty-five years until Mother and I came up with a settlement agreement in court.  Mother didn’t worry about creating Father’s estate because she remarried to a man named John Westbrook within two years of Father’s death.  She lived with Westbrook until he died in 1697.  He was fairly well off, so he took good care of Mother.  I just felt like Father’s affairs had been neglected during that time and needed some resolution, for the family’s sake.” 

“That stuff sounds complicated.  I don’t really get it,” Sam complained as he yawned again. 

Edward chuckled.  He enjoyed talking to Sam about his family’s past.  Even though much of the material was a bit too dense for an eight-year-old boy, hopefully the lad would retain some of it.  James then walked into the room with Elizabeth. 

“Ready to go home, Sam?” James asked his sleepy son.

“Yes, Father,” the boy replied. 

Edward left Sam with one last nugget before his father took him home. 

“Sam, one more thing.  I lost my father when I was a young man.  There were always many questions that I wanted to ask him but never had a chance to.  Will you be a good boy for me and cherish your parents?  I know that they love you very much.”

James smiled at his father and then looked to his son.

“Yes, Grandpa.  I’m very lucky to have my parents,” Sam said seriously. 

“Good boy,” Edward wearily replied.  “Now come give me a hug.”

Sam hugged his ailing grandfather and then returned home with his father.  Elizabeth sat down beside Edward and stroked his right hand. 

“What did you boys talk about while James and I were reviewing the deeds?” she asked. 

“Sam told me that his class was talking about family history, so I told Sam about my parents.  They were the first in my line to live in this colony.”

Elizabeth smiled and nodded.

“I never had a chance to meet your father.  We married some ten years after his death.”

Edward looked back at his wife blankly and pondered her words.  It was true.  Elizabeth never had a chance to meet James Cate.  Perhaps because of his father’s loss, Edward cleaved all the more willingly to his father-in-law, Philip Tucker.  Edward was honored to administer Philip’s estate when he died in 1695.  Too bad Edward’s father couldn’t have lived that long.  James Cate went before his time. 

“I’m tired, dear,” Edward muttered to his wife in a sleepy daze.

“Of course,” Elizabeth replied.  She kissed her husband’s head and left the room.  He dreamed that night of his father and grandson meeting, which they never did in reality.   

Edward died a few days later.  Like his father, he never created a will. 

Edward’s grandson, Samuel Cate, lived to be ninety-two.  He had the opportunity to meet all of his great-grandchildren. 

Author’s Postlude

            Although the scenario of this story is fictional, I grounded it in facts about my family’s history.  All of the characters were real people.  Much is unknown about my earliest American ancestors, especially the first James Cate, but the purpose of this story was to give them new life and put their stories in a narrative, emotional context that would make them more human than how court records and other documents present them.  I dedicate this story to my own family and all living beings who appreciate the value of family.  

The Old Wayfarer - Chapter 6

Dusk.

Grandmama and Orion returned home.  The air outside was cooler than usual; some dogs in the streets were barking; the world was eerily calm.

"Orion, are okay?" Grandmama asked in her caring way.

Her grandson was lost in thought, thinking about his parents, Grandpa, the meteor sites, and how they all related to each other.

"I'm okay," the boy finally replied.  "I'm just confused, I guess.  A lot has happened over the last few days."

Grandmama nodded and thought for a moment.  She then spoke.  

"When your grandfather left after the first meteors hit fifty years ago, no one understood what they were about.  Scientists knew that ancient people saw them, but they had even less of an understanding than we did.  Everything changed when Grandpa went in and investigated them.  He found out what they meant."

Orion looked up from his plate at Grandmama.

"What did Grandpa learn at the sites?  What did he see?  How did you know?" he rapidly asked.  There was so much that Orion wanted to learn.

"Grandpa sent regular reports to Chief Molu's predecessor, and then to Chief Molu when he took over island security.  Chief Molu was a friend of Grandpa's from grade school, so the chief kept me informed of Grandpa's whereabouts and goings on - all of which were classified for the sake of island safety," Grandmama continued.

Orion was all ears.  His eyes pleaded for his grandmother to continue.

"After those first two people disappeared, Grandpa went in after them to find them, but he had no luck in his search.  Instead, he found himself in some kind of transdimensional waiting station that served as a gateway between our universe and another one.  As you may have learned from your recent visit to the local site, the other universe is where the dead spend eternity.  Grandpa has spent most of his life trying to understand why and how the meteors connect us to the other side."

Orion's thoughts whirred a million miles a second as he struggled to comprehend the immensity of this information.  It all seemed so unreal and dreamlike to him that he questioned his own reality in the process.

"Did Grandpa figure out why the meteors keep coming here?" he asked.

"The best Grandpa has learned is that the meteors are remnants of the other universe that broke off and then entered into our universe, much like a piece of mountain that breaks away and falls to the ground below where it provides a lasting connection to the mountain whence it came.  No one yet knows exactly how the physics of the interdimensional transfer occurs.  All we know is that our universes may connect with each other, and that allows us to learn from the other side.  Death is a part of life that has long haunted humanity, mainly because of its uncertainty and apparent finality.  Having learned about this alternate universe, perhaps we can rest assured that the people we love and cherish in this world will not be gone forever once they die.  Instead, we are only temporarily separated and will soon reunite once we all cross over to the other universe."

Orion smiled and remembered what his parents told him about living his life to the best of his ability.  He felt better knowing that he would again see his parents someday and that they were not truly gone.

As Orion lay in bed that night, he looked up to his window and gazed at the stars that twinkled over the silent black ocean.  How marvelous and mysterious an existence this is, he thought.  He dreamt about Mother, Father, Grandpa, and Grandmama that night.  They were laughing and conversing at a family event, perhaps a birthday party or holiday.  In that moment, Orion knew his family has he had never before known them.

He knew that in the end, his family would always be with him

The Old Wayfarer - Chapter 5

After Orion's eyes adjusted to the previous brightness around him, he looked around and noticed he was standing on top of the ocean in the middle of the night.  There were no clouds in the sky, all the stars shone brightly, and a dancing aurora glittered over the water like a playful child in the moonlight.

"Grandpa, how are we floating above the water?" Orion asked with great bewilderment.

"Look ahead, boy.  What do you see?" Grandpa replied, seemingly oblivious of his grandson's earnest inquiry.

Orion turned back to view the shoreline and saw a small wooden schooner slowly approaching him.  It appeared to contain two people.

"Who are they?" the young man wondered aloud.

Grandpa smiled and ushered Orion forward.

"Take a look.  But go slowly.  Don't scare them."

Orion nodded and tiptoed toward the humble vessel when he heard the two people - a man and a woman - singing.    Somehow the man's voice sounded familiar.

"Father used to sing that song when I was little.  He said it always reminded him of..."

When the boat was less than ten feet from him, Orion suddenly realized that he was looking at his parents.  He had never met his mother, but he recognized his father, who looked a little older than Orion remembered, but no worse for the wear.

"F...Father?" the boy muttered.

The crooners stopped singing and for the first time realized they were sailing toward their son standing on top of the water.

"It's lovely to see you again, my son," Mother said with a smile.  She looked no older than twenty-five. Father looked to be at least ten years older than her.

"Mother?  H...h...hi." Orion was stunned by the flood of emotions that inundated his central nervous system.

"Let's go somewhere a little nicer to talk," Mother insisted.

In less than a femtosecond, Mother, Father, and Orion were sitting in a cozy summer bungalow in Mar del Sur.  The place looked like one of the many bungalows strewn about his home island.

Orion had so many questions for his parents, but he was so confused and overjoyed that he could barely organize his thoughts.  Instead, he hugged both of his parents at the same time and wouldn't let go.

"It's okay, Ori," Father whispered.  "Let's talk."

Orion took a seat across from his parents and admired them.  Two people who had a greater impact on him than anyone else in the world, but he felt like he hardly knew them.

"Grandpa said this is Heaven.  Is it true?" Orion asked.

"Yes," Mother responded.  "This is where you go after you die.  It's a wonderful place."

Orion then felt his heart skip a beat.  He knew that his mother died in childbirth, but what happened to his father during the last ten years?  Did he...

"Father, where did you disappear to when I was little?" Orion inquired.  He felt his heart grow heavy with fear over the answer.

"Well, son, Grandpa came to me one day out of nowhere and showed me a sealed off meteorite site.  He said he found your mother and that she wanted to see tell me something.  Once I saw her, I never wanted to leave, but I couldn't stay because Heaven isn't like Earth.  It's not part of the same Universe.  The only way I could stay was if, well..."

Orion didn't need to hear Father finish the sentence.  He always knew that Father wanted to be back with Mother ever since she died.  It looked like he found a way.

"But didn't you worry about me and Grandma?" Orion asked.  "I mean, we waited so long for you."

"Son, Grandma knew about me.  That's why I asked her to give you that letter when you became a man.  When you were old enough to understand, I wanted you to find out about me on your own.  Besides, if Grandma told you about all of this, would you have believed her?" Father replied.

Orion looked down at the floor.

"No.  I guess not."

"Ori, we hoped to see you here because we want you to know something.  We want you to know that we love you very much, and no matter what happens to you in life, we will always be with you." Mother said with her ineffable smile.

Orion felt tears pool in his eyes.  He waited his whole life to see his parents again, but he couldn't stay with them.

"I want to stay with you and Dad.  I don't want to go home.  There's nothing for me there anyway."

"Don't say that, son," Father said.  "You mean a great deal to Grandma, to your friends, and to the island.  No one delivers groceries faster than you.  When you finish school, you can go to the academy and become anything.  You will achieve great things in life!"

"How can I care about great things when I don't have my parents like all the other kids do?  I don't even have a grandpa," Orion sulked.

Mother pulled Orion over to her and wiped away his tears.

"Ori, you will always have us, even though we can't be with you in person.  You are stronger than all the other kids because you can rely on yourself, not on others.  That is what will keep you strong and happy in life."

Orion looked up at Mother and then Father before realizing that Grandpa was nowhere to be found.

"It's time to go home, son," Father gently commanded.

"When will I see you both again?" the boy asked.

Grandpa then appeared behind Orion and put his hand on his shoulder.  The boy jumped out of fear, but calm quickly returned.

"Let's take you home, son," the old man said.

With that, Orion found himself back in the blue room that he first appeared in after falling into the excavation site.  A guard's voice shouted down into the room from above and Orion responded.  The guard lowered a rope down into the room which Orion grabbed and felt himself glide out of the hole back out into the island sun.  Grandma was standing in front of a small crowd of people.

"Come on, Ori.  Let's go home."

The Old Wayfarer - Chapter 4

The figure in the open doorway was none other than a man wearing a fedora and a gray wool suit. As the man walked into the dimly lit chamber in which Orion sat petrified, he knew he recognized the man from family drawings. Was it...

"Grandpa?" Orion uttered.

"Yes, my boy. It's nice to meet you, at long last," the old man beamed.

Half-fearful and half-overwhelmed with joy, the youth tepidly approached the Old Wayfarer - a local legend, a renowned scientist, an unknown paterfamilias. Orion had so many questions to ask his grandfather, but he instantly found himself dumbfounded and shy. Orion had heard about his grandpa his whole life and felt like he knew the old man, but Orion never actually knew him.

"Is... is it okay if I call you Grandpa?" the boy asked.

 "Of course, Oriole!" Grandpa smile. "Call me whatever you'd like."

"I'm Orion, Grandpa." "Oh, sorry about that," the septuagenarian smirked. Then the smirk faded.

"So much has happened these past thirty years."

There were a few seconds of silence as the two men let the moment sink in. Family reunited after decades of silence.  Their only connection was Orion's father, another missing link in Orion's family.

"Grandpa, what is this place?" Orion inquired.

Grandpa smiled and began to say something before he stopped himself and thought some more.

"Follow me," was all that Grandpa could muster.

"Okay," the boy followed.

Grandpa and Orion left the blue room and found themselves in a blackness surrounded by stars, galaxies, and planets. Orion immediately felt panic. The door behind them closed and the room disappeared into the stellar background.

 "Grandpa, are we in Heaven?" Orion asked in a daze.

"That's one way of looking it at," Grandpa said. "Think of this as a portal to Heaven."

"Like a gateway?" Orion wondered, still confused.

"Let me show you," Grandpa stated.

Orion and Grandpa walked along a straight starlit path through the universe. They seemed to be no closer to any star or planet than they were a few minutes earlier. Then, out of nowhere, a shooting star came rocketing up toward them, apparently on a collision course with the two stargazing amblers. Grandpa put his hand on his grandson's chest and stopped him.

"Here it comes!" Grandpa mystically asserted. "This is what Heaven looks like."

Orion tightly closed his eyes and covered them with his hands as a growing white light engulfed his visual field until all he saw was whiteness brighter than the sun. Then, the light dimmed and Orion once again opened his eyes. He truly was in Heaven.