Everyone has wishes and dreams of what they would like to find under the Christmas tree. Children’s hopes are quite easy to deal with because they don’t hold back on their desires. Adults, however, are often difficult to buy for because they keep their fantasies close to their chests. In fact, many of us carry our fantasies around for years and never divulge what we’d really like.
So I thought I’d pretend I was sitting on Santa’s knee (groan!) and asking him to convert my wishes into reality. Following the old song, I’d say, “Jolly old St. Nicholas/Lean your head this way.” Then I’d unload all the fantasies that have swirled through my mind these many years.
Dear Santa, I’d like to find tickets for a glorious trip to China in my stocking. I can see myself climbing the Great Wall to the north of Beijing, always mindful of the Mongolian warriors who might be storming the walls trying to oust the latest emperor. I visualize myself floating down the Yangtze River, passing through the incredible gorges often seen in photos and documentaries. I can spot myself amid the crowds shopping on the streets of Hong Kong.
Santa, old friend, I’d love to be a spectator at some of the greatest golf tournaments in the world. I’d like a seat among the magnolias at Amen Corner at the Master’s Tournament in Augusta, Georgia. It would be astonishing to be in the front row as Tiger Woods, my favourite player, strolled by. It would be even better if he came over and talked to me. But I’d be happy if any PGA player brushed close to me—even Phil Mickelson.
Ah, Sinter Claus, my head dances with sugar plums. You see, I have a sweet tooth that now can’t be satisfied. It would be wonderful if you’d drive the type 2 diabetes from my system and fill my stocking with every sweet you could imagine.
I’d like pounds of dark chocolate and several boxes of mouth-watering turtles. Some of these sweets I’ve not had a nibble of in years, so don’t hold back, Santa. Bring me layer upon layer of my favourites—date cakes and cheese cakes and fruit cakes. Don’t hesitate to load me up with chocolate-covered doughnuts, succulent butter tarts, ginger-snap cookies, and several rum-flavoured puddings with caramel sauce.
Dear St. Nick, while you’re at it, I’d like a completely stocked wine cellar with the finest wines the world has to offer. I do have a wine cellar, but it’s limited to a hundred bottles, many of which get drunk all too soon. So cater to my fantasy, oh jolly elf of Christmas, and let me walk down to a cellar of 800 bottles.
I want featured the best of the Bordeauxs and a selection from Chateauneuf du Pape in France. I want the top-notch Shirazes from the Barossa Valley in Australia and the most drinkable Sauvignon Blancs from New Zealand.
And while you’re in the gift-giving mood, dear Santa, why don’t you do away with winter here in the North. Then you could lay out a lovely flower garden for me year round, one I’d not have to work so hard at. You could set things up so I didn’t have to roto-till the soil, I didn’t have to pull weeds, and I didn’t have to dig up the tubers and bulbs for winter storage. You could supply me with an instant array of delicate roses and lilies and unlimited sunshine.
Then, good St. Nicholas, you could stop this aging process and grant me my youth again. Maybe I’d keep these fantasies in mind and satisfy them earlier on this stretched road of life.