MRS. SANTY CLAUS

After my son passed away in 1991, his wife wanted to have the family at their home on Christmas. We are a pretty big family so I know this was a lot of work for her, but she did it for several years. We all helped by bring food and we also had gift exchanges.

Just before the Christmas of 1998 she lost her mother. I knew Christmas would be difficult for her but she still wanted to have us at her home. I love my daughter in Law very much and it hurt me to see her so sad again.

I'm not sure where the idea came from. Maybe because I'm part Irish and maybe just because I have such an odd sense of humor, but I decided to play Mrs. Santy Claus. I had never done anything like that before but I hoped it would lighten the party and help chase the sadness away for a little while.

I had a red sweat suit in the attic so I pulled it out and added some white furry stuff and sewed some jingle-bells around the bottom of the shirt. I had some shiny, tall, black boots and a black elastic belt. I stuffed a pillow down the front of the shirt, then tightly tied another pillow in the center and stuffed it down the back of my britches. It is amazing how realistic the rear end looked.

I donned an old platinum wig thinking it would look like Mrs. Santa's white hair, and a santa hat then put rouge in my cheeks and the tip of my nose, then I hooked some old granny glasses around my ears. Hoping I could fool the little kids I rushed into the living-room with my bag of gifts, making up a tall tale about Rudolph getting the flu and having to hitch a ride with Superman, and what a wreckless flyer he was. Then I turned my back to them and shook my hiney, hoping the heavily pillowed pants wouldn't fall down.

Thank heaven they didn't.

After my entrance I passed out the gifts, asking the men if they had been good little boys, and if they brushed their teeth, washed behind their ears and changed their underwear. It brought a lot of laughs and a little embarassment too. I held my grown grandson on my knee while questioning him and giving him a gift, and then his baby daughter who squalled loudly in my face. Bless her little heart.

I know we can't remove grief with silliness, but sometimes it's a little distraction.

Saying hello to the family.

The pillow and me.

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