Once upon a Christmas

"I feel as creative as a blob of clay and tomorrow I turn the big three-oh." Harley looked up at her, adoration in his sad, basset eyes, his tail beating the finish off the office chair legs. "Yeah, I know. You want to go for a walk. But Harley, Christmas is coming and I'm not anywhere near to ready. Not even begun, if truth be told. Now I know I'm never really ready for Christmas but--this time I'm beyond hope." Blythe Stensrude glanced at the harbinger of despair again. Calendars should be banned from polite society. "Think I'll skip Christmas this year, right along with my birthday." Leaning down from her office chair, she cupped his furry face in her hands and looked deeply into his dark brown eyes. "Another Christmas single. I thought for sure I'd be married by now." I once dreamed of children but not anymore. She slammed the door on that near-tragic memory without peeking through. A sigh stopped further confidences for a moment, while pictures of former suitors, or at least daters, flipped Rolodex-fashion through her mind. Thomas, college years, earring, musician. Boris, internship, Austrian, intriguing, bad breath. Henderson, first job, ladder climber, married her best friend. Sanchez, second job, wanted big family, huh-uh, not in this lifetime. Jones, real possibility, married, the jerk. And her rather unusual, but necessary requirement, no desire for fatherhood. Harley kissed the tip of her nose with a lightning tongue. Blythe sighed again. None. Nada. "From now on, no more blind dates, no more 'come for dinner' and there's an extra man there, just for me. I'll just tell those nosey noses, yes, I have a man in my life. His name is Harley." Hearing his name, Harley planted both front paws on her knees and, tail wagging, whined again, then swiped her chin with a black-spotted pink tongue. She hugged him close and got her ear cleaned, for her trouble. Harley whimpered again and dropped to the floor. He headed toward the door, giving her an imploring glance over his shoulder. "Oh, all right." Blythe snapped the blue nylon leash to the dog's collar. "And the final thing, I'm going to learn to be content with you as the man in my life. God seems to have forgotten that dream of mine, in spite of a multitude of reminders." With the leash in place, Harley headed for the door. One either followed or spent hours teaching the dog manners, an exercise which Blythe had been promising herself to do. "You have to let me get my coat, you silly thing." She dropped the leash and stood on her end while retrieving her purple, fleece-lined jacket. The wind in Martinez, California, could carry a real bite down at the marina park where she loved to walk and Harley loved to nose for the smells, always anticipating the rabbit he might catch one day. Key in her teeth to lock the dead bolt, she opened the front door. Harley made a dive for the outside, just as the phone rang. Answer it. No, let the machine pick it up. The sigh came from her toes. "Get back in here, you big lug." She hauled back on the leash, dragging the nail-scrabbling dog back in the house. The door slammed closed and she dove for the phone, getting it just as the answering machine clicked in. "Blythe's Graphics. Let me put pictures to your words. I'm either..." "I'm here, don't hang up, the message will be over in a moment." Why haven't I learned how to turn off the message? Why do I let some of this stuff...' "Hello, yes this is Blythe, how may I help you?" "Good morning, Blythe, Brad Cummings here, wondering how the artwork for my project is coming? Are we on schedule?" Blythe groaned inside but kept a smile on her face, having learned how important a smile is to the tone of voice on the phone, or anywhere for that matter. "Barring any natural disasters, I should be finished tomorrow night, just as we agreed." Now why did I say that? But sheSnelling, Lauraine is the author of 'Once upon a Christmas ', published 2006 under ISBN 9780373785490 and ISBN 0373785496.