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"You know Dasher and Dancer and Prancer and Vixen…”
"He sees you when you're sleeping... "
“Donde esta Santa Claus?”
So I'm sure you know all the songs written about my family, and there are dozens, in every language you can think of. But they don't tell the whole story, not by a longshot. I mean, our current reindeer team is named after 80's pop stars) and Santa DEFINITELY doesn't watch while you're sleeping (that's so creepy....why does no one talk about how creepy that is?) Mostly the fact that Santa doesn't do it all himself. And I don't mean the elves, though they're important. I mean Mrs. Claus.
I get it. None of the stories explain it. You never see pictures of her in the sleigh with Santa or delivering gifts. There aren't any songs about her. But they're a team and they have to work together. Sometimes, she's the one with the magic with the Christmas spirit and she shares it with her husband, and sometimes it’s the way everyone expects.
Yeah, no one tells that story. I don't know why - it's an awesome story. My grandma Annie was the last female heir and she was magnificent, one of the best of all time. Christmas spirit was at an astronomical level when she was in charge. I hope I can be just like her.
I'm Nadia Claus, oldest child of Zelig and Haimi Claus, one of six kids, but I’m heir to the job, unless l pass it on. I love that I get to take over- I've been training for this for years. My problem is that Holiday spirit, who we just call Holly, hasn't found my soulmate yet. Usually, the heir finds their soulmate in their early twenties, to give the pair plenty of time to be together and learn together before they officially take over.
I’m thirty this year and still nothing. I’d hoped to find him when I was in college in Wisconsin (Go Badgers!) but no luck. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve dated, and there was one guy, several years back now, that I really liked a lot, but the magical mistletoe never appeared.
Yeah, okay. It’s a dumbass name for it, but when we find our soulmate, a sprig of magical mistletoe appears. I don’t make the rules.
My parents met in a diner in New York City when my dad was visiting my cousins and the way he tells it, all dreamy eyed (my dad is the romantic in the relationship), is that he saw my mom at the counter, reading a beat-up copy of A Christmas Carol, and the mistletoe appeared over her head. My mom says she saw a 6’5” Viking man staring at her and she wondered if she should throw her milkshake at him. But they started talking, and basically never stopped. She knew she loved him within a month and they got married a few months later. That was thirty-four years, one daughter and five sons ago.
All that to say, I’m currently standing in a Starbucks in Charleston, caramel apple cider in hand, hoping that this is the place I’ll find him. Not this Starbucks particularly. But Charleston. Mom said to close my eyes and wait for Holly to tell me where to go. This is where she told me. A city of over a hundred thousand, plus a slew of tourists. That’s all I got.
Well, here goes nothing.