Merry Christmas to All...

    The little truck in front of me idled as we waited for the light to change. It was so covered in dust and grime that the license plate was almost illegible. It was a humble little truck and totally unremarkable in every regard. Light tan in color and complete with one of those flatbed covers that allows the owner to transport all kinds of things without having to worry about them flying out of the back of the truck, I guessed that the vehicle had weathered at least 15-20 winters for its owner. Despite the fact that I could hear the grumble of the muffler above the sound of my Christmas music, the truck appeared to be an altogether serviceable and road worthy form of transportation. When the light finally changed, I grew impatient as the driver seemed to be taking his own sweet time. We were on an interstate entrance ramp with a short merging lane, and if you were not very careful, it was easy to run out of room. I tapped my steering wheel and thought about blowing my horn but my Southern upbringing almost kept my frustration in check. Despite the fact that I had places to go, people to see, and things to do, I would not be that rude. Yet the guy in front of me was obviously in no particular hurry. Despite my best intentions I rode his bumper hard for a hundred yards or so and then put the pedal to the metal to cross over into the other lane as quickly as possible. I was still too self-righteous to give him a withering look, but as soon as I could, I craned my head to see just who was driving a mere 40 miles per hour on a somewhat dangerous entrance ramp. I should have known better. As we drew side-by-side, the other driver raised his hand in greeting and gave me a winsome smile that creased his cheeks and stretched to his eyes. And suddenly I understood. He was in no hurry...yet...there were still 12 days left until he would be almost an impatient as I. For smiling at me across the lane was a red-coated gentleman with wire-rimmed glasses, a bonafide snowy white beard, and a determined twinkle in his eye. I kid you not. My own eyes nearly popped out of my head. The older man driving the almost ancient truck was none other than Santa Claus. His pace was measured and careful, and he seemed to be in no particular hurry. Of course he wasn't. As our eyes met, I could not help but smile. I even shivered a bit with excitement and chuckled out loud as I returned his generous wave. Suddenly my spirits were lifted and my attitude transformed. And as I passed him I wondered to myself what delights could be hidden in the back of that little Datsun truck....Later that evening, I mused to myself that the dust that coated the truck from head to toe was none other than pixie dust or sawdust from his famous workshop. The sled was still in the shed.......