Books by richard lloyd cederberg
Image: garrett richard, (my son) chillin' on our way up to Cuyamaca Peak
Following a satisfying midday meal, after the Pachisi club had returned home and dishes were done, I was sipping a warm mug of Canneberge Grenade, pondering, in the sunroom, whether or not I wanted to read again ‘The Evil Eye’ by Theophile Gautier, as the melodic inventions of Edvard Griegs ‘Peer Gynt’ wafted pleasantly through my brain…
Of a sudden I was startled by a raucous knocking…
“PACKAGE…” a gruff voice proclaimed.
A moment later the swishing sound of something deposited through the mail slot hastened me from my reverie and towards the door. I could see it was quite weatherworn, as I bent to pick it up, and noticed, too, that it was smudged and torn in several places.
The return address baffled me; remembering Mrs. Smatterman’s geography class, where I’d learned that such an address had to originate up within the Arctic Circle somewhere; where exactly, though, remained a mystery to me for my mind, regrettably, was not as sharp as it once had been.
After turning it over several times, I was convinced that its journey to me had taken some time, and, when I’d cleaned my glasses and scrutinized it closer, I could see that the sender was trying to convey some degree of humor and good will to the recipient. Over a dozen little children’s faces adorned the package on colorful round stickers; happy faces, funny faces, smiling faces, gentle faces, kind faces, and if that wasn’t enough, on the oversized stamp was a curious image of a shiny new red and white Porsche with a saddle attached to the roof; atop it sat an elf in elfish regalia, smiling impishly, holding a long curved clay pipe, and with one of his thumbs up. Hahaha…
Now who would send me something like this? On the back was a wax seal, which was odd, considering that no one (in my limited realm of knowledge) had sealed a letter, or package, in such a way since the turn of the century. Shaped like a horse-shoe, both of the ends were pointing up (I assumed) so luck wouldn’t run out. Returning to the sunroom I sat down and
After gingerly opening the package, two tarnished copper pennies tumbled into my trembling hand, afterwhich a strong fragrance of peppermint and cinnamon accosted my olfactory. Lastly, I pulled out a sheet of paper, scrunched from the long journey which, after I’d smoothed it out, revealed a scrawl of handwritten words which read: Lads and lasses …
I’ve got a problem
A conundrum if you will
The reindeers have been arguing
And mama’s taken ill
I wanted something special
To give you all this year
But no one wants to help me
The world is rife with fear
All the elves are grumping now
A sad affair indeed
I just don’t have the currency
No tricks left up my sleeve
I hope that you will understand
The quandary that we’re in
And ask the Lord for wisdom
And help this year to live
If something doesn’t happen soon
I won’t know what to do
So could you find it in yourself
To help me see this through?
Give what you can
To one another, from your heart,
In pureness of spirit, and with no resentment,
Understanding that it is better to give than receive,
And knowing that in the giving seeds are being planted
In the recipient that will return as a similar harvest in due season
From Lapland, love to you … Nick
richard lloyd cederberg
Site: A Monumental Journey Novels
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"from Lapland, love to you ..."
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|Reviewed by Joy Hale
|The beautiful, poetic words of old reduced me to tears of happiness. A treasure to be placed in a special memory box to be taken out yearly to ponder the astute words of a loving and generous man. I hugged this poem close to my heart and will save it among my very favorites.
Joy L. Hale
|Reviewed by Karen Lynn Vidra, The Texas Tornado
|Great story, Richard; well done!
(((HUGS))) and much love, your friend in Texas, Karen Lynn. :D
|Reviewed by Louisa Dobbins
|Ah!!!!!! This should be a performance on You tube.|