2007 Xmas Card

© 2007 by John Varley; all rights reserved

Every year for a while now I have been sending out an email Christmas card to friends and family and everybody on our website mailing list. These are written for your possible amusement, nothing to take seriously. You shouldn’t expect excess piety, tinsel and mistletoe, caroling, wassailing, or any other expressions of holiday good cheer in these messages. By the time I write them the Christmas juggernaut is usually in full swing, and I’m feeling that if I hear “The Twelve Days of Christmas” one more time I’m going postal. (For that matter, our mailman is showing distinct symptoms of a possible holiday massacre, as his daily load becomes every more onerous. I’m keeping an eye on him.) I wouldn’t say these messages have been entirely Scroogian in concept, though you sure couldn’t call them Currier & Ives. Mostly I’ve gone for a satirical slant, with the hope of wringing a laugh or two from you as you trudge desperately through the malls with that last-minute gift list in hand, wondering what happened to the joy you used to take in Christmas. (Or maybe that joy is still present in you in abundance. If so, I congratulate you. For myself, I still enjoy Christmas … on Christmas day. It’s the run-up to the day that is so overwhelming and overblown.)

This year I’d been having some trouble coming up with a concept for the card. Write a parody It’s a Wonderful Life? No, did that already. One more send-up of “A Visit From Saint Nicholas” (more commonly known as “’Twas the Night Before Christmas”)? Nope, been there, done that. Well, how about an updated “The Twelve Day of …” No, I can’t bear to go on, and besides, I did it already, I’m sorry to admit.

Then this morning an email arrived, and I began to wonder if there’s really any point. I guess it could be a hoax, or a cruel joke, so I was wondering if any of the rest of you had received a copy. (If you didn’t, you might try turning off your spam filters for a moment and checking again. Since this was a mass mailing, it may have been blocked.) I thought it was pretty disturbing. I’m copying and pasting it here in its entirety:

TO: Everybody in the world (except Muslims, Jews, Hindus, and other non-Christians).

FROM: makingalist@checkingittwice/northpole.com

SUBJECT: Revised delivery policy for 2008

All right, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, I’ll just come right out and say it. I’ve put up with a lot over the last six years. “The show must go on,” and all that happy reindeer-poop, you know. I’ve been doing this for hundreds of years with never a complaint about soot stains on the red suit, scorched beard from all that hypersonic travel in the sleigh, labor actions by elves in the last century … I could go on and on.

Then Christmas 2001 rolls around and I’m passing over the United States border around Niagara Falls, and what to my wondering eyes should appear, but eight F-15 Strike Eagle fighter jets, in my rear-view mirror. The wing leader signaled to me, all lively and quick, that I should land at Andrews Air Force base, so I pushed on the stick!

Once on the ground I was surrounded by armed military police and ordered to get out of the sleigh and assume the position. When I asked what this “position” was I was roughly wrestled to the ground. The bowl of my pipe was broken, then confiscated. No smoking on the tarmac, was the explanation.

After a lot of confusion I was informed that I had violated restricted airspace. In addition, I hadn’t filed a flight plan, and had neglected to bring my passport. You can imagine my indignation. I told them to check with NORAD, the North American Aerospace Defense Command. They have been reporting on my flights to all the news organizations on the continent since the days of the cold war. As to a passport, I had a perfectly valid one, issued by the United Nations; I must have left it in my other pants. I’d never needed it before. And what was the deal with the restricted airspace? It didn’t show up on my FAA maps, which I admit were a few decades old. Just what was restricted these days? Basically, everything, they told me. When I asked why, they told me of the events of that recent September.

I don’t follow the news, it’s too depressing (and you can see why), and that certainly explained the lack of Christmas cheer I’d been feeling, but how is this my problem? I wanted to know. You people sort it out, all I want to do is distribute my toys to the children of the world, eat a few cookies and drink the egg-nog left out for me, and get home, kick off my boots, and smoke a pipe. After a good deal more wasted time I was eventually allowed to take off again, but it sure put a damper on the night’s activities, being followed around by all those jets. Put the reindeer right off their feed.

Now fast forward to the next year. With my passport securely in my pocket and having scrupulously filed my itinerary with NORAD, I was anticipating no trouble. When the jets rose up to meet me I waved and wished them a Merry Christmas … and two minutes later an air-to-air missile streaked in front of us, close enough to blow out the light in Rudolph’s nose! I landed right smartly, believe you me!

We were surrounded by aggressive German Shepherds this time, barking and pawing at the packages. Sniffing for explosives, I was told. In no time at all almost a million cap pistols and their ammo were laid out across the airfield, and I was told in no uncertain terms that I’d have to leave these behind, and I was lucky they weren’t taking me down to some vacation facility they had in Cuba. They were letting me off with a warning, but don’t do it again, they said.

Well, I’m sure you realize that reindeer and dogs don’t mix well. Upset? That doesn’t even begin to describe it. All the rest of the night when I’d spring in my sleigh and to my team give a whistle, their departure was anything but thistle-like. It was a roller coaster ride. They were prancing and pawing the air in fear and fury. No egg-nog and cookies that night, the mere sight of them made me want to barf. And worst of all, when we got back home Rudolph told me that was it, he was done. No more missiles, no more dogs. He was going back to Norway, and if I wanted someone to guide my sleigh next Christmas night I’d better get myself a GPS. Prancer and Comet and Vixen were making noises like they might want out, too. I figured things couldn’t get much worse.

Wrong! Every year after that it’s been worse. Much worse! Metal detectors at every city I entered. You know how long it takes to unhitch those sleigh-bell bedecked harnesses so the reindeer can prance through? And how long to harness them up again? I’ve had to switch to plastic sleigh-bells, and they just don’t sound the same. Next thing they’re telling me to take off my boots, and they say I can’t even carry a Bic to light my pipe.

There was this new Homeland Security deal, and agencies like it in countries outside the US, where all packages had to be opened and inspected. Can you imagine how long it takes, unwrapping and then re-wrapping the gifts to all the children around the entire world? I had to call in extra shifts of elves to do the work, which meant overtime pay … which I simply could not afford. I mean, the real estate boom never got much north of the Arctic Circle, and I’ve been strapped for funds. Then suddenly the banks were not too eager to loan me money, with all the bankruptcies and mortgage defaults they were facing. Next thing you know I was looking at having to outsource the toymaking work to heathens in Bangladesh and India. I’d already pieced some of it out to China … and you know what’s happened there. This year, about a third of my stuff is never even going to make it onto the sleigh, it’s just sitting out there on the ice, contaminated with lead. When Russia, Canada, and Norway hash out who owns the North Pole, I expect a big environment clean-up bill.

They tell me this “War on Terror” will go on … well, forever. You can’t win it, you can only stay on red alert indefinitely. Well, I’m writing this to tell you I’ve had it. You can “red alert” yourselves straight to H-E-double-hockey-sticks for all I care, this red-and-white-and-bearded alert is packing it in. After all these hundreds of years, I’m through. Christmas of 2007 is going to be the last traditional one. Beginning in 2008, no more deliveries to any of the seven continents. I will continue to home deliver to the following locations, just to keep my hand in: Micronesia, Melanesia, Fiji, Marshall Islands, Marquesas, Kiribati, Solomon Islands, Vanuatu, Christmas Island, Easter Island (with a little help from the Easter Bunny, who spends his summers there), Tuamotu, Tonga, Iwo Jima, and Okinawa. This is assuming no aircraft carriers are in the vicinity on Christmas Eve.

As for the rest of you, I’m going strictly online. Keep a copy of this email for future reference. I will begin accepting orders in mid-June (keep checking back on this site for further info). Here’s how to order:

1) Click on this link: www.northpole/workshop/orderdepartment

2) Fill out the simple form, with name, address, zip or postal code (this is very important) and a phone number where you can be reached.

3) Fill out your wish list (formerly knows as “letter to Santa”). Remember, two items or less assures speedier delivery.

4) Select National Postal Service, UPS, FedEx, camel caravan, or the delivery service of your choice. Click on “calculate delivery charge.” (I’m sorry, folks, I can no longer deliver for free except to the nations mentioned above.)

5) Pick a time between December 1 and December 24 when someone will be waiting at the bottom of the chimney with a stout net. (Not responsible for breakage if no one is home.)

I’m really sorry about this, but there’s just no way around it. Traveling is no fun anymore, the paranoia level is too high for me. I’m going to keep what’s left of my dignity, and just stay at home until you guys either win or lose this war. And you’re hearing this from a guy who braved anti-aircraft fire over Germany and England from 1939 to 1945.

Wishing you a sorrowful Christmas,

Hi, it’s me again, John Varley. Do you find this as alarming as I do? Or will you just take it in stride, as we’ve all taken so much over the years? Is there any way out of this situation? Can anything be done? I guess we could all learn to leave out brownies and divinity and maybe a small shot of Jack Daniels for the UPS man, but somehow it just doesn’t feel the same.

December 21, 2007