watching the snooker, or studying the form guide,
moaning about his back, the state of the economy,
the awful weather, anything, and then - like it's
happened all of a sudden - he jumps up and shouts:
'It's December! And there's so much to do!'
as if he's not had the time to grow his own glacier
in the eleven months which have just trudged by.
I like to watch him jump up and down for a while,
pull at his beard in agitation, cry into his hat:
it's a good learning opportunity for him, not
that he ever takes it, but it does make me feel better.
Merry, even. After a few days of this, when he's
properly plummeted down the chimney of despair,
convinced himself that all is lost, I'll give him
a hankie and then show him what I've been up to.
Some of us appreciate the benefits of planning ahead.
We see beauty in a schedule, feel the frisson
of an approaching deadline, the joy of breaking up
a big task into its constituent parts, like taking apart
a toy to figure out how it works and fits together.
I take him to the workshop first, show him around
the assembly line - teddies, dolls, splat guns, gadgets
all whizzing along the conveyor belt, from elf to elf -
and then onto the warehouses to look at the presents
all parcelled and labelled, stacked up, shelf by shelf.
From there, I lead him around the offices and watch
the rosiness come back into his cheeks as he sees
the itineraries and maps, weather forecasts, travel documents,
and we head to the stables, where the reindeer
have just come back from thir daily workout.
I can't do it all myself, of course. It's a team effort
(with the exception of him) and the assistance of Logan,
the Head Elf, has been ... well, let's just say his input
has been very warmly received. We're planning
a little celebration, in fact, now the year is nearly over.
Logan's got me pencilled in for the 24th. I checked the calendar
and sadly, it looks like Old Sleigh Face is rather busy
that night. I suspect I might be, too. Happy Christmas.
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