Winter Blogfest: Tegon Maus

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Christmas the Way I Remember It

I remember every Christmas was the same… dozens of people at my parents house standing around talking… just talking.

The table was always festive and beyond gorgous, set with a prestine stack of plates and a mound of siverware. My mom always had it covered with a mountain of food… glazed ham, roast beef, turkey… all the cookies, pies, cakes you could ever hope to eat and no one touched a thing… not a single potato chip. No music, no alcohol, no one even sat down… they just stood around and just talked.

By 2:00 in the afternoon, my grandfather closed the store and made his way to my parent’s house.

When he came in… no one spoke, no one moved. Grandpa always sat in the same chair… no other when he came to the house. At the moment he sat down my mother would hand him a beer.

Every year was the same… he took it… took a sip and said ‘Merry Christmas’ raising the bottle.  At that moment the room exploded into music, dancing, laughter and cheerful voices, food and drink… all at the same instant… a gala that would last well into night.

Now it was Christmas… Grandpa said so.

After 27 years as a newspaper man, Peter Anderson’s career is slipping away, at least it was, until he stumbled upon the story of a lifetime. Sent to do a fluff piece about lights in the night sky over Arizona, he discovers far more than he ever expected when he comes upon a mysterious young woman held prisoner in a basement. After helping her to escape, she disappears before he can learn the truth about who she is or where she came from. His search for her leads him back to the lights in the sky and leaves him with more questions than answers. The only thing he knows for certain . . . the only thing he can count on are the two words offered repeatedly by his friend and guide . . . “IS BELT.”

About the Author:

I was raised pretty much the same as everyone else… devoted mother, strict father and all the imaginary friends I could conjure. Not that I wasn’t friendly, I just wasn’t “people orientated”. Maybe I lived in my head way more than I should have, maybe not. I liked machines more than people at least I did until I met my wife.

The first thing I can remember writing was for her. For the life of me I can’t remember what it was about… something about dust bunnies under the bed and monsters in my closet. It must have been pretty good because she married me shortly after that. I spent a good number of years after inventing games and prototypes for a variety of ideas before I got back to writing.

It wasn’t a deliberate conscious thought it was more of a stepping-stone. My wife and I had joined a dream interpret group and we were encouraged to write down our dreams as they occurred. “Be as detailed as you can,” we were told.

I was thrilled. If there is one thing I enjoy it’s making people believe me and I like to exaggerate. Not a big exaggeration or an out-right lie mine you, just a little step out of sync, just enough so you couldn’t be sure if it were true or not. If I can make people think “it could happen,” even for a moment, then I have them and nothing makes me happier. When I write, I always write with the effort of “it could happen” very much in mind and nothing, I guarantee you, nothing, makes me happier.

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