I was very glad to share this new short story recently at a live event hosted at the Chelmsford Center for the Arts. The event featured works by authors, poets and playwrights from the Writer’s Group I’ve been a part of for the past year–a fantastic group of folks who encourage and support each other, and coax excellent writing from one another.

Best Wishes, Dorothy is fiction, though, if you know my family, or happen to be one of them, some of Dorothy’s own memories may sound a little familiar….

Wishing you all a Happy Holidays and a very Merry Christmas ♥

Best Wishes, Dorothy

Dear Santa, 

Hello again, it’s Dorothy Josephine Hughes. I’m sure you remember, since this is my 91st annual letter to you. Every year since I was five! I’ve never missed one. How’s that for something?

The family is doing just fine, from what they tell me anyway. They only give me the headlines, and try to spare me from the rest. I tell them I can handle it, but what can you do? They already think my elevator stops a few floors short of the penthouse these days, if you take my meaning.

They are all busy busy, always somewhere to be, something important to do. I was the same way when I was younger, of course. Things are much quieter for me now at my age. Now letter writing and sugar-free Jell-O are the highlights of my days!

As you know Santa, I stopped sending you wish lists years ago. I certainly don’t need anything. What would I do with another scented candle, or throw blanket, or another mug that says “Best Nana Ever.” Not that I don’t cherish every gift from my family. But I do still enjoy sending you this yearly letter.

You know, I can’t remember exactly what I wished for in that first letter to you when I was five years old. That would have been, what? 1933? So I likely didn’t ask for much. Those were hard years for everyone. But what I do remember is singing Christmas carols in the living room with my little sister and brother. And stringing popcorn to hang on the tree. And the smell of Christmas cookies baking in the oven. And my mother, her red apron tied with a big bow around her waist, telling us to leave some out for you on Christmas Eve. 

It was only a few years later we had our first Christmas without my mother and I wrote to you promising I’d never ask for a thing again if we could only get her back. I knew life didn’t work that way, but a tiny part of me wanted to believe that if anyone had that kind of magic, it was you. I miss her still. 

But no need for tears, Santa. When I married Robert and, later, when we had our boys, we started doing all those things we used to do at Christmas time with my mother. It made me feel like she was with us again. So, thank you. You do always have a way of coming through. 

Christmases when the boys were young were such wonderful times. Of course, those were the years I would wish for ridiculous things like a new electric blender or wall-to-wall carpeting like the neighbors just had installed. Anything to move faster or keep up. Such nonsense in the end. I should have taken more time to slow down and just enjoy life, like Robert was always telling me. 

What a spirit, my Robert! And a prankster! Remember the year he put a pair of diamond earrings in the toe of my stocking? Once I got past all the hand cream, and chapstick, and packages of Wint-o-Green Lifesavers (my favorite), there was that funny little box right at the bottom. Well you could have knocked me right over! He tried to say they were from you, but I could see how proud he was.

Those were the good years. We had plenty of them! Of course, we had tougher years too — years before the kids were born when we didn’t know how we would pay all the bills, and Christmas dinner was a can of chicken noodle soup. And we would tear paper napkins in half and share them so we wouldn’t run out so quickly. 

My boys went through the same thing when they were young men. I remember one year, soon after they were both newly married and still working to get on their feet, financially speaking, when they all came home for Christmas. Jonathan, my oldest, and his wife Beth, had just had their first little boy, our first grandson, Justin. Well, between all of them, they barely had two dimes to rub together. They all arrived a few days before Christmas and darn it if they didn’t stay until New Years, and ate every scrap of food in my house, down to the last Saltine cracker. Once it was gone they finally all packed up and left. I’m sure I had asked you for more time with my grown boys that year and boy did I ever get it! 

The boys came home with their families every year after that – what a joy! And new grandkids started arriving one after the other. Jonathan and Beth had their daughter, Amanda, and then another son, Jacob. And Randall, my youngest, and his wife (…well, you know we don’t speak her name any more, Santa. We both remember what I wished for, in those years when it all went sour, but that’s between you and me, isn’t it?). Anyway, they had their girls, Jennifer and Shannon.

And suddenly our house was full of little feet running down the stairs on Christmas morning again. It feels like yesterday, that house full of grandchildren. Now they are all grown up too, and having their own babies. Justin even has a new step-son – he was just re-married this year. I owe you some thanks for that, Santa. I wrote to you about his divorce a few years ago and wished for him to find some happiness. When I told him it was your doing, he disagreed and said it was something called OKCupid, but I don’t think he knows just what you’re capable of. 

That does remind me, something I wanted to mention on behalf of my granddaughter Jennifer and her husband Carlos. They thought their son Hunter was finally going to be a big brother. But….no. I’m sure you remember, there was more than one year I was planning gifts under the tree for a new baby who never arrived, so, I know what they are going through. Please, send as much peace and love as you can manage to find for them. 

One other thing, if you don’t mind. My 9-year-old great-granddaughter, Luna, mentioned she was going to email her letter to you and well, I just wasn’t sure if you take electronic requests or not. So I just wanted to send her list your way. I had her explain a few of the items I hadn’t heard of before. So here we go:

• One Chromebook: that’s a computer, not an actual book
• A Kindle: that is a book but with no pages and not used for setting fires
• A Rocketbook: that’s a notebook but with no paper
• An iPhone: that’s one of those phones they hardly ever use for phone calls
• A VR headset: you use that to be pretend places
• A Minecraft game: you use that to build pretend places
• A Squishmellow: that’s not something you eat
•  A Lu-lu-lemon: also not something to eat
• An Owala: which, turns out, is not some kind of marsupial
• Something called Uggs: which is something you wear, not, in fact, just a sound of annoyance 
• A Switch: I was surprised to learn was not used for any kind of punishment
• And a Barbie doll. 

Isn’t that nice? I used to get Barbie dolls for Jennifer and my other granddaughters. Let’s see here, the one she put on her list is called “Yes You Can, Barbie.” This is the description: She’s an inclusive community member. A busy and fulfilled working mom who comes with a minivan, grocery bags, her list of volunteer commitments, workout equipment, swimsuit, twin newborn babies PLUS a bonus adopted toddler, and a full working veterinary clinic. And she never lets her wheelchair slow her down. No Ken doll included. My my….

Well, I’m sure you’ve got that all in hand. 

I suppose it’s worth asking, while I have you, for good health for the whole family. 

Yes, a Christmas with no illness would be wonderful. Remember that year everyone woke up on Christmas morning with the flu? Goodness, what a lot we were, everyone coughing and sneezing. I myself had come down with a fever overnight. And my Robert commented on how sick I was by loudly announcing to the whole family “boy, Dottie, you sure were hot last night!” 

It’s hard to believe it’s been almost 8 years without him. Eight Christmases without him reading ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas to the children, without his famous Christmas morning coffee cake, or him sticking bows to the top of his shiny bald head as he unwraps his gifts, just to make everyone laugh. 

You know I never wrote to you with that same childish ask to get him back. I’m too old for that now. And I wouldn’t wish a 96-year-old body on anyone. I know I’ve probably wished for too much over all these years. And look how much I’ve been given. All these beautiful faces around me. And every wonderful memory. I have my Robert to thank for all of them. And my mother. My sister and brother. My boys. All of their children, and their children. I hope they know what a gift they have all been. 

If you don’t happen to hear from me next year, don’t fret. I couldn’t possibly ask for anything else. The next time my family stops by to visit, I’ll remind them all to write. And if they don’t, it’s because they are very busy. But, just in case it works, I’ll make sure everyone has your email address.

Thank you for reading, Santa. 

Best wishes and a very Merry Christmas,
Mrs. Dorothy Josephine Hughes