Wednesday night I dreamt that when I pushed the handle down on the Keurig coffee machine to poke holes in the pod, a podcast would start.
This was either a Divine message to stop drinking so much coffee or to start listening to more podcasts.
* * * * *
In 1988 I was a bank teller. One of my customers was Santa. Really. When he walked up to my window, he gave me his business card and was proud to be Santa at Thalhimer’s Department Store in Richmond, VA.
Santa ate breakfast at Perkins this morning. Really. I should have taken a pic. of his red Jeep in the parking lot, but I was too busy telling my husband to “be good,” because Santa would be watching.
From our booth, I observed that everyone who walked by Santa (he was wearing Levis and a blue shirt, by the way) said “good morning” and shook his hand. “See,” I earnestly said to Ron, “everyone wants to stay on the Nice List.”
I believe in Santa.
I believe in magic cards, too. Even though both my husband and the guy selling them firmly told me “no, it’s not real magic,” I still believe.
I believe in puppies and love and happily ever after (but not in unicorns).
I believe in rainbows and dreams (maybe not the Keurig/podcast one) and in that electricity when you hold hands.
I believe in tenderness and hope and “when you wish upon a star.”
I believe in the patient, tolerant smile my husband gives me when I tell him I believe in all this stuff. Puppies and love and rainbows and tenderness and dreams and electricity and the Keurig– Ron is the reason I believe in all those things.
So, he better be good. Santa is watching.