Tag Archives: mistletoe

The Spot Writers – “Dinner with Mrs. Claus” by Cathy MacKenzie

Welcome to The Spot Writers. This month’s prompt is to title the story “Dinner with Mrs. Claus.”

This week’s story comes from Cathy MacKenzie. Cathy’s novel, WOLVES DON’T KNOCK, a psychological drama, is available from her locally or on Amazon. MISTER WOLFE, the sequel, coming early 2020. Watch for it!

https://www.amazon.com/Wolves-Dont-Knock-C-MacKenzie/dp/1927529387/

***

Dinner with Mrs. Claus by Cathy MacKenzie

I set down my beer and picked up the remote, lowering the volume on the television. Had I imagined the thud at the front door? I listened for the doorbell. Nothing.

Another noise. As if someone kicked at the door.

I flicked on the outside light and peered out the window. A Mrs. Claus stood on the top step.

I opened the door. Nope, she wasn’t the real Mrs. Claus, for this one was too young. Her blonde hair curled around the white fur of the Santa hat as if she’d been wearing the hat for months. Snowflakes dotted the red of the hat. I eyed her svelte figure beneath the matching red coat.

“I’m making dinner tonight.” She smiled slightly but didn’t move as if waiting for an okay to enter the house.

I scanned the yard for a vehicle, barely seeing anything through the shower of snow. My car, parked in the driveway, would soon be unrecognizable as a vehicle. I shivered, wishing I had driven it into the garage. Where was her vehicle? I looked around again. No other vehicles in sight. Had she borrowed Santa’s sleigh? I listened for the grunting of reindeer—I’d heard they made those types of sounds.

“Well?” she said.

I shook my head at my silliness. And for ignoring the beautiful woman facing me. “Sorry.” I took three bags from her. “Come in.”

She kicked off her heavy boots and trudged to the kitchen as if she owned the place, setting the remaining two grocery bags on the counter. I added the ones I carried.

She removed her mid-length wool coat and handed it to me. “My hat stays. What about you? Where’s yours?”

My Santa hat was under the Christmas tree. “I’ll get it.”

On the way, I hung Mrs. Claus’ coat in the closet. I located my hat amongst the gaily wrapped gifts, positioned it on my head, and headed to the kitchen.

She had opened a bottle of sparkling wine. Rosé. “Here you go.” She held out a glass, one of the crystal glasses usually saved for special occasions. Was this one such occasion?

She eyed the cookbooks on the shelves, humming and hawing as if performing the eeny-meanie-catch-a-red-nosed-reindeer chant. “This one,” she announced, thrusting out Special Pastas for Special Times. “What do you think?”

“Fine by me. You’re the boss.”

She giggled. “I am, aren’t I?” She tilted her glass to lips as red as Rudolph’s nose. Her eyes sparkled like tree lights.

I sat on the stool and watched her bustle around the kitchen, taking this pot and that pot, selecting one spice and then another, pausing occasionally to sip the wine. The aroma of garlic soon permeated the room. With a spatula, she flipped the shrimp and scallops as if she were a well-trained chef. Water soon boiled.

“Want me to add the pasta?” I asked, feeling guilty.

“Nope, I’m good. You relax.”

I adjusted my hat. “Okay, but I need to remove my hat. This heat is getting to me.” Was the wine or the stove making me sweat? Perhaps it was the company.

Mrs. Claus examined my face. I thought she was going to reach out and touch it at one point. “I’m getting a bit hot, too, truth be known.”

“So, we’re done?”

She quickly faced the stove. “Done?” Her voice faltered. “Done…as in dinner?”

“Done as in the Christmas charade, Missus Claus.”

Her shoulders relaxed, and she glanced at me.

My burden lifted, too. I hadn’t realized I’d been so uptight.

“Okay, Mister Claus. Yes, we are done.” She pointed to the ceiling light, which hung low over the kitchen island, and beckoned with her little finger. “Come, give me a kiss.”

I looked up. Mistletoe. Where had that come from?

Mavis and I had a simple Christmas tradition in our household. We never ignored mistletoe. After dinner, I planned to propose another. No more silly tiffs. My bed—our bed—had been cold and empty the previous night.

***

The Spot Writers—Our Members:

Val Muller: http://www.valmuller.com/blog/

Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/

Phil Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com

Chiara De Giorgi: https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.ca/

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C.A. MacKenzie is the author of the novel WOLVES DON’T KNOCK, a psychological drama/thriller, available from the author or at various retailers, including Amazon at https://www.amazon.com/Wolves-Dont-Knock-C-MacKenzie/dp/1927529387/.

 

 

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The Spot Writers – “The Christmas Wreath,” by Cathy MacKenzie

Welcome to the Spot Writers. The prompt for this month is to use these words in a story or poem: star, pine bough, glass bulb, mistletoe. (There is one more word we must use, but Cathy will reveal that mystery at the end of the story.) This week’s contribution, “The Christmas Wreath,” comes from Cathy MacKenzie.

Just in time for Christmas, check out Cathy’s new publications.

(1) Children’s picture book, BAD, BAD GRANNY, available on Amazon, in print (in two sizes: 6×9 and 8×10) and e-book:

http://www.amazon.com/Bad-Granny-Christmas-Story-ebook/dp/B017O08NGQ/ref=sr_1_7?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1447367485&sr=1-7&keywords=Bad%2C+Bad+Granny

(2) Volume 4 of the “Creepy Christmas” series of books, CREEPY CHEERY CHRISTMAS, available on Amazon (print and e-book) and Smashwords (e-book):

http://www.amazon.com/Creepy-Cheery-Christmas-Christmases-Book-ebook/dp/B0181IYDQY/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1447680001&sr=8-1&keywords=Creepy+Cheery+Christmas&pebp=1447680001168&perid=1W25P13VE1A173R597BQ

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/593269

***

The Christmas Wreath

Ellie skipped along the path and came across her mother. “What are you doing, Mum?”

“I’m making a Christmas wreath. You arrived just in time.”

“Those are such pretty ornaments. I love the glass bulbs, so colourful. But green is my favourite, and you don’t have any green.”

“Green’s my favourite, too, but green bulbs aren’t as striking on pine boughs. These reds and whites will be beautiful, especially when the light hits them. I’m lucky I was able to scavenge these.” Mother examined the pile of bulbs. “Do you think they’re too big?”

Ellie scanned the bulbs and the pile of fresh boughs. “The pine branches are big, too. It’s all in the proportion, isn’t it?”

“I do believe you’re right. Can you help me lift them? If you take one end, I’ll take the other.”

Ellie and her mother grasped one of the boughs. “One, two, three—heave,” Mother said.

Mother and Ellie managed to move the boughs onto the makeshift table.

“I need to shape the wire into a circle. Hold here.”

With Ellie’s help, Mother formed the wire into a large circle. Together they wove boughs around and around the wire.

Ellie pointed at some loose greens. “What’s this?”

“That’s mistletoe.”

“Mistletoe?”

Mother smiled. “It’s a kissing plant. I’m going to drag your father under it and kiss him to death.”

Ellie gasped. “To death?”

Mother laughed. “Not literally. I wouldn’t do that.”

She examined the half-finished wreath and sighed. “This is going to be big, isn’t it? Your father will have to help hang it.”

Ellie and her mother finished the wreath, which did indeed turn out larger than Mother had planned, certainly the largest wreath Ellie had ever seen.

When Father arrived home, he said he’d round up several friends to help. “You outdid yourself,” he said.

Mother blushed and bowed.

Father left, soon returning with three friends. Carefully, they managed to transport the wreath to where Mother wanted it. “There,” she pointed. “Hang it in the centre. And make sure the bow is even and the ribbons hang straight.”

The four males grunted and groaned but hung the wreath as Mother had instructed.

After Father’s friends left, Father, Mother, and Ellie gazed at the wreath positioned perfectly on the trunk of a large oak tree. The sprig of mistletoe dangled from the centre of the crisp, red bow. The moon smiled upon the bulbs, making them glisten and glow like electric lights. A lone star twinkled in the distance.

“Is that the star of Bethlehem?” Ellie asked. No one answered. Mother had already grasped Father’s hand and was leading him closer to the tree.

Ellie averted her eyes while they kissed. Not wanting to wish her life away, she’d only ever dreamt of a fellow elf to love. Her time would come soon enough.

She glanced back at her parents, who had broken away from their embrace.

“Merry Christmas!” Ellie shouted. “And a Happy New Year!”

***

***(Have you guessed the mystery word? Scroll to the bottom.)***

***

 The Spot Writers—Our Members:

RC Bonitz: http://www.rcbonitz.com

Val Muller: http://www.valmuller.com/blog/

Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/

Tom Robson: website in progress

 

ELF!!

 

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