Just in case you have not been hit with the Christmas Spirit yet.....

*Adventure With Grandma*
A Christmas story that came to me today!

I remember my first Christmas adventure with Grandma. I was just a kid. I
remember tearing across town on my bike to visit her on the day my big
sister dropped the bomb: "There is no Santa Claus," she jeered. "Even
dummies know that!"

My Grandma was not the gushy kind, never had been. I fled to her that day
because I knew she would be straight with me. I knew Grandma always told
the truth, and I knew that the truth always went down a whole lot easier
when swallowed with one of her world-famous cinnamon buns.

I knew they were world-famous, because Grandma said so. It had to be true.

Grandma was home, and the buns were still warm. Between bites, I told her
everything. She was ready for me. "No Santa Claus!" she snorted. "Ridiculous!
Don't believe it. That rumor has been going around for years, and it makes
me mad, plain mad. Now, put on your coat, and let's go."

"Go? Go where, Grandma?" I asked. I hadn't even finished my second
world-famous, cinnamon bun. "Where" turned out to be Kerby's General
Store, the one store in town that had a little bit of just about everything.

As we walked through its doors, Grandma handed me ten dollars.

That was a bundle in those days.

"Take this money," she said, "and buy something for someone who needs it.

I'll wait for you in the car." Then she turned and walked out of Kerby's.
I was only eight years old. I'd often gone shopping with my mother, but
never had I shopped for anything all by myself. The store seemed big and
crowded, full of people scrambling to finish their Christmas shopping. For
a few moments I just stood there, confused, clutching that ten-dollar bill,
wondering what to buy, and who on earth to buy it for.

I thought of everybody I knew: my family, my friends, my neighbors, the
kids at school, the people who went to my church. I was just about thought out,
when I suddenly thought of Bobby Decker. He was a kid with bad breath
and messy hair, and he sat right behind me in Mrs.Pollock's grade-two class.

Bobby Decker didn't have a coat.

I knew that because he never went out for recess during the winter.

His mother always wrote a note, telling the teacher that he had a cough,

but all we kids knew that Bobby Decker didn't have a cough, and

he didn't have a coat. I fingered the ten-dollar bill with growing excitement.
I would buy Bobby Decker a coat!

I settled on a red corduroy one that had a hood to it. It looked real warm,
and he would like that. "Is this a Christmas present for someone?" the lady
behind the counter asked kindly, as I laid my ten dollars down. "Yes," I
replied shyly. "It's .... for Bobby." The nice lady smiled at me. I didn't get
any change, but she put the coat in a bag and wished me a Merry Christmas.

That evening, Grandma helped me wrap the coat in Christmas paper and
ribbons (a little tag fell out of the coat, and Grandma tucked it in her Bible)
and wrote on the package, "To Bobby, From Santa Claus" --

Grandma said that Santa always insisted on secrecy.

Then she drove me over to Bobby Decker's house,

explaining as we went that I was now and forever officially one of Santa's
helpers.

Grandma parked down the street from Bobby's house, and she and I crept
noiselessly and hid in the bushes by his front walk Then Grandma gave me
a nudge. "All right, Santa Claus," she whispered, "get going."

I took a deep breath, dashed for his front door, threw the present down on
his step, pounded his doorbell and flew back to the safety of the bushes and
Grandma. Together we waited breathlessly in the darkness for the front door
to open. Finally it did, and there stood Bobby.

Fifty years haven't dimmed the thrill of those moments spent shivering,
beside my Grandma, in Bobby Decker's bushes. That night, I realized that

those awful rumors about Santa Claus were just what Grandma said they
were: ridiculous. Santa was alive and well, and we were on his team.

I still have the Bible, with the tag tucked inside: $19.95.

When she was 8 years old in 1897, Virginia O'Hanlon wrote to theNew York Sun. The editorial in response, "Yes, Virginia, There Is a Santa Claus," is one of the most famous ever written, and I'll let the author, Francis P. Church, have the last words: "Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus! ... There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence."
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He who has no Christmas in his heart will never find Christmas under
a tree.