by Greg Kincaid
Mary Ann shrugged. “I might have overreacted…just a little.”
George suspected she had, but he wasn’t sure how he felt about it either. He gripped the back of the chair hard. “I’m going to sit down again, but I’ll tell you that it feels like the floor is spinning. I didn’t see this one coming. I thought with Todd and Laura there would be a normal progression of things.”
Mary Ann felt the same way—she also had that “Why is the floor spinning?” feeling. While trying to calm herself, something George had said suddenly registered. She chuckled while rolling her eyes at the heavens. “George you just put the words ‘Todd’ and ‘normal’ in the same sentence.”
“You’re right. What was I thinking? But maybe this is normal. Seems like that’s what young men and women do these days—shack up.”
Mary Ann sat down at the opposite end of the kitchen table and asked George, “Are you a bit jealous of ‘the new normal’?”
“Not sure,” George answered.
“Me either.”
George sighed. “I’m going to admit something. I guess I have been thinking about this, at least at some level, for a long time now.”
“What?”
“I’ll tell you my first reaction to Todd and Laura moving in together. Not sure if it’s right or wrong, but it’s what jumped up at me first.”
“Go ahead,” Mary Ann prompted.
George reached across the table and took her hand and clasped it in his own. “I’m happy for Todd. I think about what it means for me to have you in my life—” He choked up but wasn’t sure why. Sometimes when things come from the heart, tears tag along uninvited. He cleared his throat. He looked away. “I want that for him. He seems happy. That’s all I want.”
Mary Ann nodded slowly up and down. He nailed it. She was proud of him. “That’s the right answer.” She sighed and said, “George, the trouble is, I’ve been trying to get there all day and I just can’t do it. I’m a bit embarrassed by that. I know how I should feel, but I’m not there.”
“Is it Laura? Not convinced she’s good for him?” George asked.
“Not at all.” Having to verbalize her thoughts brought her emotions to the surface. “It’s me. I’m having a hard time imagining a world where Todd gets along just fine without us. Without me.”
George was sure she, too, had it figured out on her own. She usually did. Their job as parents was helping Todd to become independent, but none of that mattered when it came to how she felt—cut off from the most important task in her life. Being untethered is both liberating and terrifying. “You’re a great mother, Mary Ann. But remember, this is what we’ve always dreamed of for Todd. A semblance of normal. We did it. Let’s bask in the achievement. Just for a minute.”
“Thank you.” Mary Ann felt like she might have started crying, too, if she didn’t put her attention elsewhere. At least for a few moments. She stood up and returned to the sink. “Let me finish dinner. We can talk more later. Maybe it just needs time to sink in.”
—
Much later that same evening, George came up the stairs and peeked into the sewing room several times to find Mary Ann hard at work on Anna Claus’s attire. On the third trip up, now past 10:00 p.m., he came all the way into the room to see how the work was progressing. “I had no idea that being Mrs. Claus would be such a commitment.”
“Neither did I.” She looked at the note from Annabel that sat on her worktable. She had meant to keep it out of his sight. Reading it would be hard on George. His own experiences in Vietnam had been horrible. Besides, he’d had enough emotion for one evening. She stood up, ready to usher him out of the room, but it was too late.
George looked down at the timeworn piece of paper and asked, “What’s this?”
“A note I found in Hank’s Santa suit.”
There was no stopping him. George picked up the piece of paper and read the note from Annabel. Mary Ann stepped closer to him. When he set the note down, she held him.
He muttered, “Some things just aren’t fair.”
—
As they lay in bed that night, George’s hand rested softly on Mary Ann’s shoulder. Soon she could tell he was asleep. Her mind, however, was still moving, sorting, wondering. It was not a recipe for refreshing sleep. Both the conversation with Todd and the entire Anna Claus quandary were making her unusually anxious. She understood why Todd’s revelation was upsetting, but she couldn’t figure out why her new holiday role was troubling her so. She considered the possibilities. Was she afraid of being humiliated? No, she doubted that this was her problem. To her, Anna Claus was just important. She wanted to do it up right. As is so often the case, she decided, her perfectionism was at the root of her anxiety.
She looked at the clock. It was eleven-fifteen. She thought again about the interaction with her mare—the value of the hug was just as much in the giving of it as it was in the receiving of it.
She could see this issue clearly in the lives of her own children and grandchildren. Some of the children seemed to easily get into Christmas—as a time for giving. They had a great time picking out presents, carefully wrapping them, and shouting with glee when the gifts were opened. They were swept up by the Christmas spirit. She hated to say it, but that wasn’t the case with the entirety of her brood. Some seemed to struggle with Christmas—as a time for giving, not just getting. They never bought into it. As the holiday approached, they tended to become slightly sullen. Almost as if they felt excluded or left out. Too often preoccupied with what they wanted, despondent, and pessimistically certain that the perfect gift just wasn’t coming their way.
It seemed that Christmas could bring out the best or the worst in all of us. From year to year, she could see the same reaction in herself. Why was that? Anna Claus needed to find the answer.
Around 4:00 p.m. on the following afternoon, Mary Ann stood in front of the large mirror in the women’s restroom in the Crossing Trails library. Waiting to make her grand debut as Mrs. Claus, she was nervous yet engaged—beginning to feel that she could make this work. Anna Claus’s suit had turned out well. She certainly looked to be a genuine Claus family member, even if updated and with a more feminine flare.
Her pant legs were a little long, so she tucked them into her black leather riding boots. For the jacket she decided to reverse the colors. Anna Claus wore a white jacket with red trim. Mary Ann felt as though that properly reflected what she wanted Anna Claus to represent—an emphasis on the importance of giving and not being a rugged outdoorsman. She also wanted to bring green, the third Christmas color, into the outfit. According to her research, green was the color of harmony and balance. That made sense. That was what was missing from the holiday and precisely what she wanted to emphasize. She found large green buttons and used them on the jacket.
Without the beard to mask her identity, she applied more rouge than normal and fashioned a cap that would hide large portions of her face. With the earflaps and the thick woolen chinstrap, she thought she looked more like Snoopy getting ready to pilot his trusty Sopwith Camel than Anna Claus taking out the reindeer for a late-night jaunt over Crossing Trails. Still, it would do. She pushed her bangs up under her cap, took a deep breath, and held it for a long time. When she saw her face in the mirror, she wondered if she was too young to play the part. She then heard her own words from the library-board meeting come right back to her: appearances don’t matter. Was she playing a part?
Mary Ann knew that great actresses, Meryl Streep caliber, tried to live and think the parts they were asked to play. It added to their authenticity. Mary Ann had no difficulty here. For after all, more than anyone else, she alone was trying to sculpt, give life and meaning, to Anna Claus.
On the drive to the library that afternoon, she’d continued to get clearer on what the holiday was missing and what she needed to do about it.
Maybe it had happened all at once, or maybe slowly over time, but either way it had happened. The balance between giving and receiving had been distort
ed. The challenge for Anna Claus was to restore that balance. Put the green back into Christmas.
Anna Claus had to be more than a noble gesture to gender, a tilt at a far-distant windmill. On the other side of that bathroom door were fifty children eager to see Santa Claus. Some with the right attitudes, others without. She needed to be a catalyst, a door to a healthier outlook for these children. Otherwise it wouldn’t matter what she said or did.
She was a teacher. A counselor. And a master of the fine art of persuasion, a debate coach. These were the only skills she knew, so these would have to be the skills she used. If Anna Claus were to be a teacher of sorts, the problem—her lesson plan—needed to be clear.
What children want and what they may need are not always the same thing. It was Anna Claus’s task to steer children away from getting and toward giving. A tall order indeed. An impossible order? Maybe.
She started to walk away from the mirror but then stopped. She turned back, talking again to her reflection. “You’ve been a teacher for over thirty years. If anyone can do this, Mary Ann McCray, it’s you.” She smiled and corrected herself. “I mean Anna Marie Claus.” She gave herself even more direction. “You don’t have to change the world. Just give these kids a chance to bring out the best in themselves. That’s all.” She put her left hand in her jacket pocket, clutched the note, and rested her right hand on the bathroom doorknob. She whispered, “This is for you, Annabel Larson, and all the kids just like you.”
Mary Ann walked into the lobby of the library and toward the small raised stage that had been set up for the occasion. A lady in a Claus suit demands your attention. She had it. The room fell quiet. Children slipped out of their chairs and moved away from their mothers and fathers—simultaneously fascinated and cautious—to get a better view. A pair of gloves from a little girl in the front row was resting in a puddle of melted snow. The teacher in Mary Ann wanted to reach down and pick them up, tell the little girl, Your gloves go in your cubby, but she reminded herself, That’s not my role. Not now.
The library had spent considerable time and effort launching Anna Claus’s first official North American visit. A large banner hung from the ceiling, just above an antique sled that sat atop the stage, that read, CROSSING TRAILS WELCOMES MRS. CLAUS TO TOWN. In years past well over a hundred children had attended this annual event, welcoming Santa to town. One of the board members had cautioned her that the audience was smaller this year. “Not to worry,” Mary Ann reassured her. “People don’t quite know yet what to expect from Anna Claus. After today they’ll know.”
The press releases went out to all the local media outlets, many of which were looking for something newsworthy to report about, something different and fun for the holidays. There were several local television crews who’d made the journey west, over a hundred miles from the urban centers of the state. Maybe that would help spread the word—at least for future events.
Mary Ann joined the ensemble of adults gathered near the bright, beautiful sled, draped with evergreen roping, where Hank Fisher had once sat and held court. The little stage was covered with fake snow, and a red carpet graced the steps that led to the sled.
The mayor of Crossing Trails stepped up to the microphone that was perched like a barn owl on the top of a shiny chrome limb. “Good afternoon to all of you—and particularly to the young ones out there. All across America, Santa Claus is visiting many thousands of communities today. In years past Mrs. Claus would have been too busy to visit, but this year we extended an invitation to her and were so pleased that she agreed to visit us. Finally we get to meet Santa’s ‘better half.’ I would like to introduce you to Anna Claus. Mrs. Claus, could you step up and say a few words to our children?”
Anna Claus made her way to the microphone, straightened nonexistent wrinkles from her jacket, and spoke softly. “First let me say thank you for allowing me to visit Crossing Trails.” As she spoke, her confidence grew. “My husband and I have enjoyed being part of your Christmas tradition for so many years now. Santa told me that when he flies over Crossing Trails”—she paused and peered down as if she were flying high in a sled—“he thinks this is the most beautiful town in America, with some of the very best children in the world. I can see now that he is right.”
She tried to assess whether or not she was engaging the children. They seemed attentive. Knowing that little pauses capture a child’s attention, she waited a moment before continuing. “Santa wanted me to tell you that he enjoys bringing gifts for each and every one of you and how much he appreciates the help you give him with your ideas and suggestions. He knows that some years he might get it wrong. He’s sorry about that, too. He asked me to remind you that there is only so much room on that sled, so please, no elephants.”
There was a little murmur of laughter. She waited for it to subside. Now came the most important part. The part that mattered the most to her and the part where all the risk rested. The part she had spent two weeks trying to work out in her own mind. This was where Anna Claus and Santa Claus would break ranks. This was going to be the essence of Anna Claus.
Mary Ann decided that what mattered was not getting hugs but giving them. She would use the exact same excited voice that Santa used when he asked, “What do you want for Christmas?”
But, Anna Claus would turn that question inside out. With that same excited voice, this afternoon, she would ask these children, “What do you want to give for Christmas?”
She pushed her hair back under the cap and tried to calm her nerves. As a teacher she relied on a few tactics when things got rough in the classroom. One was to be honest.
She dug deeper and confessed, “I’m frightened to be here. You know Santa Claus has appeared in front of audiences so many times over so many years.” She pointed to herself. “But this is Anna Claus’s very first time. Some of you might be disappointed that Santa isn’t here. I guess I would be. Maybe. But I’m here for really important reasons.” She knew she needed to make giving just as much fun as getting. Even magical. She knew that Anna Claus had to have some power to inspire, but how to get the little ones to see it, to feel it, too? She took a breath and hoped it would work. She tried to deliver her lines, just as she’d practiced them. She let it flow from her heart, so it wouldn’t sound stilted or overly rehearsed.
“This year I came all the way to Crossing Trails from the North Pole. I had to leave my cozy kitchen, where I’ve worked hard feeding Santa’s helpers for so many years, because, children of Crossing Trails, Anna Claus needs your help.” She gasped. “I’m stuck!” She pulled another line from her teacher’s bag of tricks. A great way to get children engaged. “Please raise your hand and tell me if you would like to help Mrs. Claus with her giant problem?” Many hands were raised. The excitement was growing.
“Well, here it is, kids.” She put her own hands on her hips in mock exasperation. “I just don’t know what to give Santa Claus for Christmas this year! I talked to the elves. I talked to the reindeer. None of us can figure out what Santa would like. Don’t you think Santa deserves a present, too? Every year it’s the same old thing: cookies and nice wool socks. Good presents, but it’s time for something new. Don’t you think?”
There was a collective yell of “Yes!” from the children. They were getting into it. There were some acknowledging smiles from the adults that Anna Claus appreciated for a moment before continuing. “I wonder if each of you could think really hard and then come sit with me and tell me your ideas for Santa’s gift. I could sure use some help.” She wiped imaginary sweat from her brow and said, “Whew! Talk about the man who has everything!”
There were chuckles from the audience. “Now I’m going to go over there to Santa’s sled. He loaned it to me so I could come visit you. You know it wasn’t that easy to park. Backing up the reindeer is harder than you think. As soon as I sit down, I would like for you to get in line to come sit with me, and we’ll talk together about Christmas. If you can give me some ideas for Santa, I might be able to give you
some ideas for what to get your family and friends, too.”
Mary Ann walked carefully over to the sled and took a seat, and a line quickly formed, with children clamoring to be at the head. A small girl and her twin brother were both crying. Mary Ann wondered if they were frightened. She remembered her own children, often unsure of the man in the red suit. She tried to sift through all the chatter in the room in an effort to make out the conversation between the mother and her little ones. The boy made it easy for Anna Claus to hear. He stamped his feet defiantly and pleaded, “You told me we could see Santa Claus! Where is Santa?”
The mother pleaded, “It’s just like Santa.”
The little girl chimed in, “No, it’s not like Santa.”
Mary Ann wondered if this would be harder than she thought. It didn’t matter. Santa was everywhere. This was Anna’s day. He had his message. She had hers. Both matter.
Mary Ann settled into the sled and motioned to the mayor to unsnap the red velvet rope that they’d borrowed from the Crossing Trails Cinema. At the front of the line, she saw a boy who looked to be about seven years old, dressed in clothes too small for him, leaving the hems two inches above his ankles and wrists. His mother held his hand and that of another child, a little girl. Mary Ann suddenly recognized the boy and remembered his name, Christopher—he and his sister had been her Sunday-school students this past fall. She gathered her courage. “Christopher, my name is Anna Claus, please come up and see me.”
The boy ran more than walked, climbed up, and snuggled into Mary Ann’s lap. He looked at her with soft brown eyes before whispering into her ear, “I think Santa needs a new sled. This one’s kind of wiggly.” He moved back and forth and giggled at the creaking noise. “I sat in it before. I thought it might break.”
Mary Ann squeezed him tightly. “Thank you, Christopher, that’s a wonderful idea for Santa. Now, how about your mother and father? What do you think they would like?”
