Sankta Lucia

It is a dangerous holiday. Saint Lucia honors light, and is therefore secularly envoked by Scandinavians during the darkest month of the year to work a break. The eldest daughter of every family enters a room with candles encircling her crown, bringing light, a bit of fire risk, and a tray of gingerbread cookies to the rest of the family. We do it in a safer way, with batteries and midget flashlights. It is also a moment of clear choir vocals and candle light in an otherwise dark and cold time of year. Last night, as I lay awake fighting jet lag, I heard them sneaking out of bed to steal the pepparkakor cookies. Ha, ha, ha, Mom will never know. Except for the lamp they broke, maybe.

Then, after the youngest visited Santa, she confided to me that it was not the real Santa. Santa would never wear a gold bracelet and have hair on his arms. A real Santa would have soft, smooth arms. A watch at most, and soft, smooth, hairless arms.

Here is to all the guys who don the Suit, hairy arms or not. Merry merry.