Back in the day, if you were really mischievous, you might have whispered your gift wishes into Santa’s ear. Otherwise, if you were not screamin’ bloody murder during the whole ordeal, you might have plunked down on Santa’s lap and politely informed him what you’d like for Christmas. That tête-à-tête with Santa was a follow-up to the sincere letter you wrote the Jolly Old Elf in your own hand and then deposited it in the special “Letters to Santa” mailbox. Well, I guess that worked in the “olden days”, but would be considered old-fashioned now.

I had an interesting walk this morning. I left later and thus interacted with a few more people – close encounters of the nice kind.

Enroute to the Park I came upon a pair of tykes who burst out the front door of the house dressed in their Christmas finery. The girl’s knee-length coat was wide open and I could see she was wearing a red velvet dress with a satin sash. The boy complemented her attire in dark pants, a red-plaid vest and a little red bow tie. They were about to climb into a car which was warming up in the driveway as I approached them. “We’re going to see Santa” the girl said and the boy chimed in “and we’re going to get our picture taken for our Christmas card too” … I almost asked “which mall?” before I stopped myself – best not to divulge to a child that Santa Claus is at every mall, and at Fantasyland, too. Well, I caught myself in time and instead asked the kids if they sent their letter to Santa already. The boy said “yup, me and Emily e-mailed him last week” … (hmmmm, I didn’t know Santa had access to e-mail at the North Pole; next thing they would probably tell me they “friended” him on Facebook). I asked the pair if Santa wrote them back and Emily told me very sagely that Santa was too busy right now to write back, but she understood. “Well, I hope you get all the stuff you asked for” I said as I bade them goodbye.

I kept walking until I reached Council Point Park and there was not a single vehicle in the parking lot. It was just crazy cold and the frigid air was stinging my face. I had packed up a large bag of bread for “my mallards” and of course some peanuts for the squirrels if they dared come down from their snug nests high in the trees to put their paws on the frozen tundra.

While walking along the path that runs parallel to the Creek, I could see a thick icy glaze on top of the water. All of a sudden a snow squall started up and it was snowing sideways and the wind was shifting the snowflakes into little drifts on either side of the path. Before I reached the storm drain where I usually see and feed the ducks, I heard much more quacking than usual. I walked over to the edge and looked through the bushes. What an amazing sight! There must have been 80 to 100 mallards all clustered together, swimming and climbing aboard the many mini ice floes that were scattered in the muddy Creek water. It is a very small alcove, and it was just jam packed with male and female mallards. I next headed to the concrete precipice that juts over the sewer drain and they swam over to me right away anticipating the bread tidbits. But the ducks and I were not alone this morning. There was a trio of teenage boys just hangin’ out nearby, also watching the ducks. We kibitzed about the cold and I told them I was there to give the gang breakfast. They too bemoaned the cold weather and laughed about how quickly the ducks came over to get some food. I opened the bag and threw some of the bread morsels onto the ice and a passel of ducks waddled over to get some, their wide, webbed feet giving them traction as they walked atop the ice. Still others were snacking on the already soggy bread that had landed in the dirty, frigid water. There was a cacophony of quacks and loud noises and much splashing during this feeding frenzy as they bumped bodies or nearly tripped over one another to get a tidbit. The three boys were laughing at the mallards’ antics and were busy with their cell phones videotaping the hoopla.

There were no squirrels out except for my usual little buddy, who gleaned extra peanuts, for being present and accounted for, unlike his furry brethren. The wind was biting so I passed on a second lap on the perimeter path, but decided to walk to the post office to see if the big “Letters to Santa” mailbox was stationed outside the building. It formerly had reposed in front of the old main post office for decades at Christmastime. There was no such box outside, so I peered inside through every large plate-glass window – nothing. I even walked past the old post office where the larger-than-usual mailbox always stood and it wasn’t there either … sadly, more Christmas magic relegated to mere memories.

Tonight when I logged onto my computer to write this post, I Googled “e-mail Santa Claus” and sure enough, there are several websites where you may e-mail Santa. I also discovered that ol’ Santa is a fellow blogger. Sometime when you are noodling around on the Internet, be sure to see: http://emailsanta.com/santa-claus-xmas-blog/.

Well, of course, that prompted me to check Facebook to see if Santa Claus was one of the Facebook faithful and sure enough he has a profile. This is no Santa wannabe, however. His profile info is a little bizarre: D/O/B is December 6, 1800. He is a monk and asks that you do not send requests for presents. He looks like Santa Claus with white hair and a full beard and he is wearing bright-red duds. He has 156 thousand plus “Likes”, but no photos of the Missus or the reindeer. If you’re so inclined, he also has a Twitter handle.

P.S. – Santa, the myth and the magic, and even life, was oh so simple when this picture with the big guy was taken. It was my first Christmas and I was just eight months old.