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A story of the old man who lives in the Northern Hemisphere, taking presents to children all over the world every Christmas.
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Details
A story of the old man who lives in the Northern Hemisphere, taking presents to children all over the world every Christmas.
Comment
A story of the old man who lives in the Northern Hemisphere, taking presents to children all over the world every Christmas.
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The book "The Old Man of the North" is dedicated to the author's parents, children, and wife. The story describes a magical place with glass spires and towers, where Santa Claus lives. He receives letters from people all over the world, asking for various gifts. Santa spends months observing and making lists, ensuring that he brings holiday cheer to those in need. The story also introduces the elves who help Santa make toys in his workshop. It explains that Santa appears not only as a man in a red suit but also as people in need, inspiring kindness and compassion. On Christmas Eve, Santa delivers presents to children around the world, leaving them in stockings and under trees. It is said that Santa only gives coal to bad children, but this is false. Santa knows that all children have their struggles and need love and kindness. After his journey, Santa rests briefly before the requests for the next year start pouring in. The story emphasizes that Santa is never alone, as he has a vast The Old Man of the North by John Jeffrey Turnbow Dedication This book is dedicated to my parents who made every Christmas of my childhood special, my children who made every Christmas of my adulthood special, and to my wife who makes special every day in between. If you follow the North Star to the land of ice and snow, there between the frozen mountains and the snowy plains, you will find a place unlike anything you have ever imagined. A place where glass spires and towers reach up to the heavens and snowflakes swirl endlessly. A purple, green, and blue glow fills the sky. The great northern lights, but in truth, really the curling smoke of the workshops and the chimneys of the castle where dreams are created. There lives a man, a man who will live forever. His beard is as full and as white as the snow of the land that surrounds his home, his wrinkles as numerous as the years of his existence. He has had many names spanning the many lands and many generations of the world, Father Christmas, Papa Noel, Kris Kringle, St. Nicholas, and Santa Claus. All year long, the letters pour into his mail room, letters from all corners of the earth asking for all manner of things, simple toys or extravagant gifts, things people want for themselves, things they want for others, things they have lost and things they want back, requests so impossible that no one, not even Santa Claus, could give it to them. It is the hardest part of his work, the weight of the world's desires resting upon his shoulders and the burden of balancing what we think we want with what we really need. High in his observatory, surrounded by magical potions and powders, he watches the world below. He spends months making notes and writing lists, all the while keeping a close eye on the children of the world. And when it is needed, he sends holiday cheer and goodwill to those who may lack it so they may be reminded of the magic that the Christmas season brings. But of all the rooms in the castle, his favorite is a grand hall containing all the greatest toys going back through the ages. The walls are filled with tops and jacks, trains and cars and dolls and bears, knights and princesses. The hall goes on and on, and the playthings there on its shelves must number in the billions. But who is it who makes all the endless seas of toys? The northern forests were once the home of hundreds of small creatures called elves. The elves were once a sad and miserable people. They lived off of what little seeds and berries they could scavenge and took shelter from the harsh environment in snow dens and hollows of the old trees. That was until Santa found them and made them an offer. They could live in his castle and share his food and warmth as long as they would help him craft gifts for the children of the world. They agreed, and so he taught them how to build toys. Now they are silly and energetic creatures, forever playful and mischievous, filled always with giddy laughter as well as good spirits and cheer. A song is always on their lips, and they are forever thankful for the old man who shares his home. The workshop is their kingdom. The walls are filled with tools and supplies, some of them their own peculiar inventions. They have whatever it is they need to help them create anything imaginable. They rarely sleep, but instead spend all their hours building gifts that perfectly suit each and every child. But who is Santa? You see him in storefronts and decorations, on floats and parades, or in front of long lines at shopping malls. His image is everywhere. But maybe once in a very long while do you cross paths with the real thing. Perhaps it was a Santa who knew your name, or one who gave you a wink and a smile that said more than words. But sometimes Santa doesn't come in a red suit. Sometimes he appears in places you would never expect to see him. He appears as people in need, people who ask for a helping hand. Sometimes he walks in the ordinary world to inspire kindness, charity, and compassion in the hearts of man. For he knows we are at our very best when we give to each other. The days grow shorter and the anticipation grows overwhelming as that enchanting hour of Christmas Eve is at hand. The reindeer are harnessed in beautiful silver bells and are fed a feast of magical grain, affording them the speed and power of flight needed for their midnight journey. The sleigh is loaded, the deer are ready, and in a blink they are off. He tears through the sky so swiftly and with such speed it's hardly as if he can be seen at all. If you were to spy him in the black sky he would appear like a shooting star, with only the beautiful ringing of sleigh bells to leave any trace that he was there at all. He climbs the chimneys outlined against the moon and like some strange winter wizard, he pours a sprinkling of magic powder into the chimney, allowing him the ability to move into the slumbering home below. His bag is filled with all of the presents and wishes of all the children of the world. He leaves their colorful boxes in stockings and under Christmas trees to be found in the morning by excited children who rush in, smiles on their happy faces, overjoyed to see what Santa brought them. Some say that he leaves nothing but coal for bad boys and bad girls. That is simply a lie. Santa knows there is no such thing as bad children, only children who are sad or angry, misunderstood and hurting. Sometimes those are the children who need a present, a simple act of kindness more than any others. And as silently as he arrived he slips back out into the night to span the globe, bringing joy to sleeping children one house at a time. After the long journey is completed he finally can settle for a rest, but it is not long before the requests begin to pour in again, and it all begins once more because for Santa there is always work to be done. You may think this life sounds lonely, to be in solitude and snow away from the world, but you would be wrong. He has never been alone a day in his long life for he has family so innumerable and vast that they spread across every continent on earth. They number every year of man's existence. For every child who has ever lived he has loved them as his own sons and daughters. If only we could remember that we were all children once, children who listened for his sleigh or sat upon his knees, children who have grown old and have had children of their own. And someday our children, children's children, will still wait in eager anticipation with an eye to the sky on Christmas Eve. They may spot him then or they may not, but it doesn't really matter. He is there and will be forever. Like wishes and magic and hope, as long as there are children who dream and people who share and show one another generosity, he will be there at the top of the world, in his castle of crystals and ice, under stars and swirling lights, there forever, the Old Man of the North. The End
