It was the week before Christmas and I was home alone sipping Pinot while I waited for my wife to return from her shopping trip , when suddenly I heard a hammer-like knocking on the front door. There was a little man standing outside dressed entirely in red cap, coat, pants and stockings. I assumed that “Trygg” was his name since it was embroidered in green on his wide lapel.
“I’ve made a delivery, Sir. There’s no charge,” he said. “It’s safe and snug in your back shed.”
He seemed exhausted standing there shivering in the falling snow, so I suggested he rest and tell me what this was all about. “Would you like some hot tea or coffee?” I asked and he said he preferred grogg. “If it isn’t too much trouble, Sir. I can give you the recipe. It’ll warm your heart.”
I soon noticed a definite rise in my body temperature as I sipped my first ever mugful. “Now what’s this delivery all about, Mr. Trygg?”
“Well, Sir, a letter you sent us fell behind a cabinet with a dozen others a long time ago. We found them during a recent renovation. Santa was quite upset and assigned some of us to find the writers and fulfill their requests.
“How old are the letters, Trygg?” He tilted his mug and scratched his head. “None are dated, Sir, but from the names of the toys mentioned, they seem to have been sent about a half century ago.”
“And why is my present out in the shed?” I asked and Trygg looked shocked. “Sir, Christmas presents are always supposed to be happy surprises when opened on Christ’s birthday. Now, thank you for your hospitality, but I’ve got to be leaving now.” He tipped his red hat and ran out the door.
“You look puzzled,” my wife said when she returned. “Maybe even troubled. What have you been up to, Dear?” I gave her an abbreviated account of my encounter and said I was worried about what was out in our shed. ” I included a pony in most of my boyhood letters to Santa. I’m afraid to go out to look in the shed now.”
“Don’t worry Sweetheart,” it was only a dream, a pleasant Christmas dream.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“You said you and what’s his name, Trigg, sat before the fire talking and sipping that grogg drink.”
Well, that’s what we did.”
“In your dream, Sweetheart . We don’t have a fireplace.”
Imagine That 