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HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Wingham Advance-Times, 1984-12-24, Page 13leisure, eatures and entertainment Crossroads, Monday, December 24, 1984 Serving over 24,000 homes in Listowel, Wingham, Mount Forest, Milverton, Ariss, Arthur, Drayton, Harriston, Moorefield, Palmerston, Bloomingdale, Breslau, Conestogo, Elmira, Heidelberg, Linwood, Maryhill, St. Clements, St. Jacobs, Wallenstein, Wellesley and West Montrose. A Christmas Story "Now make sure you come home right after school today. You're getting out early aren't you Chipper?" Chipper was staring out the big kitchen window, watching snow- covered cars navigate the slippery streets like motorized icebergs. "The last day of school before Christmas, snow, Granpa's house and — Santa Claus!" he thought. A smile crossed the freckled face. "Chipper, are you listening?" "Huh? Sure mom, home right after school. And then we're going to Gramma and Granpa's house!" He did a hop, step and jump towards his mother, slipped on thefloor and landed on his behind with a thud. He grinned up at her with a comical smile. "I really don't know about you sometimes," she laughed, stooping over and hauling him to his feet. A horn honked loudly in the driveway; "Mrs. Jenkins must be driving today. You better hurry up and get your things." Chipper raced around the kitchen like a whirlwind, tugging on his coat and hat, mitts and boots, while his little sister gurgled happily at all the ex- citement. "Your lunch!" The miniature tornado grabbed it on the way by his mother, "what about a ..." but he was gone, "... kiss?" She watched out the window as the car eased down the driveway and disappeared into the falling snow. LONG WAIT The last day of school before Christmas is not a good one, especially for eight-year-old boys whose minds have more important, MUCH more important, things to think about. The day seemed to drag on forever. Chipper divided it equally between watching the snow falling gently outside, and watching the clock, ticking monotonously inside. Even the class party couldn't speed up the obstinate clock. Finally it was "class dismissed", and Chipper breathed a sigh of relief. Mrs. Jenkins had gone shopping and that meant walking home, a fact which suited Chipper fine. He started off without waiting for any friends. After all, he had promised to come straight home. The snow was still falling, "like powder" Chipper thought, and he scuffed his feet along the sidewalk, watching the fluffy snow swirl up in little eddies, to resettle silently in new spots. He leaned his head back as far as it would go and opened his mouth, trying to catch (and taste) the elusive snowflakes. Christmas was indeed coming. "Chipper." The voice sounded out of breath. Chipper looked back and saw his neighbour, Ricky Murphy, coming after him. "Hey, wait up Chipper." Ricky was 12 -years -old and over -weight — fat — but Chipper couldn't call him fat because his mother had said it "wasn't nice"; she had also said: "How would you liketo be called fat?" Chipper found that logic hard to understand because HE wasn't fat, so why would anyone want to call him fat? But his mother had used her "or else" voice, and that was good enough reason for him to obey. Ricky waddled up, panting, and produced a half -eaten chocolate bar, from which he took a big bite. "You don't want a bite do you? I've had a bad cold you know," and he coughed to emphasize his point. Chipper shook his head. "Isn't it great? It's just about Christmas, and no more school, lots of presents and just think of all that candy chocolates, gum drops, peppermints, pies, pudding . . ." Ricky looked positively joyous — in an offbeat kind of way — what with his toque tilted rakishly to one side and a chocolate - smeared grin from ear to ear. "It sure is," Chipper had to agree. "I'm going to my Granpa's place right now. We're gonna cut down a real tree in a ' real bush, and ' play with the animals and THEN," he paused for a breath, "there's Christmas and Santa Claus'." "Santa Claus? You don't still believe in Santa Claus do you?" Chipper stopped walking. How could you NOT believe in Santa Claus? "There's a Santa Claus," Chipper said, glaring at Ricky. "Are .you ever stupid, there's no Santa Claus, everybody knows that. It's just your mom and dad. They buy all the stuff and put it under the tree. They just pretend it's Santa Claus." "They do not! You're a liar, you're a .. ," and for a split second he forgot himself, " . . you're a„ BIG FAT, LIAR." Chipper swung his- lunch -pail'. at Ricky, hitting him in the stomach. Chipper ran off, snowflakes lightly brushing his inflamed cheeks, but he could still hear Ricky's voice, far behind him, growing fainter and fainter, "There is no Santa Claus." OFF TO GRANPA'S Chipper's mother heard the door slam. "Chip, is that you?" But no one answered. "Chip, can you help me load the car. We've got to get going to Granpa's before it gets late." Chipper trudged into the kitchen and took off his coat quietly. His little sister, amusing herself under the table with a long -forgotten button, looked up quizzically at her brother. Chipper's mother was busily packing boxes with presents, cookies, decorations and an assortment of other things without which Christmas couldn't come. "Don't take off your coat Chip, I want you to put those suitcases in the car." She motioned to the three bags, waiting expectantly by the door. Then for the first time she glanced at the little boy's sullen face, his eyes glued to the floor in front of him. "Chip? Are you feeling alright?" She put the back of her hand on his fore- head. "You don't have a fever. Are you sick at your stom&cl, ' Chipper shook his head. "I'm just tired, I think from the party." She watched as he moved slow- motion towards the suitcases. She shrugged her shoulders and tried to finish her packing. "There, that's the last box." The car was packed tightly, ready for the trip to Granpa's. "Now, since you did such a good job of helping, why don't I order us a pizza before we go?" "I'm not very hungry Mom," Chipper muttered. "Not hungry? For pizza? Come on now Chip, what's the matter?" "I'm just not hungry. We had a big party at school with lots of stuff." "Okay then, but I'll pack some sandwiches just in case you change your mind. All I've got to do is call Daddy and then we're off to Granpa's." But Chipper didn't seem to hear. It was already dark.when they finally pulled out of the driveway. Chipper peered out the window into the darkness, but even the white world outside looked dim under the heavy snowclouds that obscured the sky. Chipper's eyelids began to get heavy, looking off into the night, and he began to slip into that half -waking state that precedes sleep. "How could there not be a Santa Claus," he thought. "There must be a Santa Claus. I always get presents on Christmas morning; but I've never . seen him, not really HIM; and Mem and; pad and. Gramma, ans1 Grampa, they dori't get iresents:.' Chipper drifted into a troubled sleep, a sleep in which there was no Santa Claus. Something was tickling Chipper's nose. He opened his eyes to see his Granpa's bearded face beaming down on him, feather in hand. "I thought you were gonna sleep the whole day away — wouldn't even wake up last night to say hi." "GRANPA!" Chipper hugged the old man, almost pulling him down onto the bed. "That's more like it. Now, up and at 'em. Long johns and undershirt this morning." • Chipper was out of bed in a flash, pulling on the clothes his mother had laid out for him the night before. He could smell the rich scent of bacon, frying downstairs, mixing magically with all the other odors that he could smell here; wood and earth and cookies by Sllawq Denstedt and tobacco — all mixed up in some "Is there a Santa Claus? Now wonderful way in Granpa's house. where'd you get a question like that?" "Feeling better?" His mother ruffled "Ricky Murphy says there's no Santa his hair. Claus. He says its just your mom and "Lots."ad, and he's 12." "Here's what you need, young man." "I see, so what do you think? Do you His grandmother floated over to the table and set down a plate heaped with pancakes, bacon and toast. "No eggs, 'cause they're `yucky', right?" "Thanks Gramma," ,and everyone laughed as shipper dug into the break- fast. "Dad," Chipper's mother was talking to the old man, "I don't think Paul will be able to get here till late tonight. He's got, a lot of work to finish. Why don't you and Chip get the tree this morning." Chipper's grandfather looked up from his paper. "Suits me. What about you, ya little sheeny," and he gave Chipper's ear a tug. Chipper nodded, gulping down the last of his breakfast. "Can„ Onion come?" "Can Onion come?" the old man roared. "We couldn't leave him behind." An old orange -colored dog thumped his tail happily on the floor at the mention of his name. The old man and the boy set out for the bush right after breakfast, with the old dog loping off in a different direc- tion. The two women waved from the porch. "Be careful now," Chipper's mother called. "Don't worry 'bout us," called the old man, hoisting the axe on his shoulder, "Chip -off -the -old -block here still hasn't told me what Santa Claus is gettin' hit up for Christmas this year." Santa Claus.. Chipper had almost forgotten, with the excitement of going tree -hunting and being with Granpa. He began to feel empty again, like someone had just punched him in the stomach. Every step he took seemed heavier than the last. Chipper's grandfather noticed the sudden change "What's the matter, cat got your tongue?" Chipper shook his head. "So, you ain't gonna talk eh? somthin's buggin' you and I've around a long time so I must somethin' about it. Why not give whirl at yourproblem?" The old man put a big leather -covered hand on the boy's back. Chipper thought he could feel the warmth of the hand through his coat. He looked at his grandfather, at the white beard, the deep cut wrinkles, even the old weather-beaten teat. "Granpa must know," Chipper thought. "he's older than Ricky Murphy." Onion went flying by, nose to a set of small tracks that led straight to the bush. "Granpa, is there a Santa Claus?" It wasn't the first time the old man had heard the question, but the echo had come from a time long ago. Well been know me a think there's a Santa Claus? "I don't know," Chipper was almost crying. "Here now, none of that. Why, $you're eight years old. I was married with two kids by the time I was your age," but the old man's joke had no effect on the small boy. They had come to the bush. "Tell you what Chipper, see that clearing there?" Chipper nodded. "That's where I go to think things out when I can't seem to find an answer,, and I always seem to come up with the right answer. Must be somethin' magical about it". The two made their way throughthe edge of the bush and into the small clearing. The old man sat down on a stump and pointed at an evergreen tree. "That's our tree right there." It was a full-grown cedar, its branches sagging under the weight of the snow. "Now what was that question again. I can't seem to remember like I used to," the old man stalled. Chipper looked into his Granpa's eyes. "PLEASE Granpa, is there a Santa Claus. Tell me the truth, cross your heart." "Okay, cross my heart." The old man made the motion on his chest. "Chipper, I want you to understand somethin', okay, so listen up close." The little boy nodded his head, fighting back theitears that were filling his eyes. "Who made our tree Chipper?" Chipper shrugged his shoulder. Who made Onion then, or me, or you for that matter?' It was God. He made all ,Chipper, without ;Him we Wouldn be 'here."' Chipper looked puzzled. "I don't understand Granpa." "We never see God do we? But we know He's there by what He's done -- God God is all of us and everything around us," the old man said, motioning around the clearing. "But what about Santa Claus. I only want to know if there's a Santa Claus. You promised Granpa, you crossed your heart." Chipper was crying now. "Slow down, slow down. I m comin' to that." He folded the little boy in his big arms. "You know what I said about God? Well Santa Claus is kinda the same, only he works FOR God." "He works for God?" Chipper wiped his nose with the back of his mitten. "Yep, that's it. Santa Claus works for God, kinda like a junior vice-president like your dad in his company. Just cause you can't see Santa Claus doesn't mean he isn't there." "I bet you know what selfish means." Chipper nodded. "Well one day every year, at Christmas time, maybe because it's His Son's birthday, God puts Santa Claus in charge of making people happy and teaching us an important lesson at the same time. He teaches us how not to be selfish, how to give to make others happy. That's what Santa Claus does." "But the world is so big, Santa Claus has to work through a lot of other people to get everything done, but it's him just the same, red suit and all. He's the only reason there's presents under the tree on Christmas morning. "But how come you and Mom and Dad and Gramma don't get presents under the tree?" Chipper asked, still uncertain. "That's the great part about Santa Claus Chipper — he knows just about everything. He knows what makes everybody happy. Your mom and dad are happy when you and your little sister are happy, and Gramma and me are happy when you're all happy, that's all we need or want; Santa Claus makes us all happy and everything works slick as a button. Yep, he's a smart old coot that Santa Claus. He makes us all happy and teaches us a lesson to boot; but then he's got a.pretty smart boss too. The old man winked, and the twinkle in his eye sparkled in the morning light. Chipper smiled. There was a Santa Claus after all, a REAL Santa Claus, who existed more now, in Chipper's mind, than he ever had before. Onion raced under the cedar -tree and a miniature avalanche fell on top of him. The dog spun around in the air, snap- ping at the falling snow. Chipper laughed and it seemed as if the quiet clearing joined with him, singing its silent approval. The little boy threw his arms around the olct mn'$ neck, `!Thanks, Granpa-" %ij✓s, \\;, q/'✓iyl ro6fi/iix�%,9 �//riii�f GOOD LOCATION—"A lot of people who come to St. Jacobs come to see Mennonites and eat Mennonite foods," says Bill Melnyk. "The Village Colonnade is in a great place for crafts " (Staff photo) The Village Collonade A unique craft store by Allan Janssen Bill Melnyk, of Elmira, has a good thing going. He's part-owner of "The Village Colonnade" — a unique craft store in St. Jacobs that has attracted thousands of craft 'lovers since it opened in May 1982. The Village Colonnade is located in downtown St. Jacobs in an old building which took eight months and about $20,000 to renovate. What is so unique about it is Mr. Melnyk's arrangement with his exhibitors. Rather than have the crafts sold on consignment, he has sought to preserve the tradition of weekend craft fairs at which exhibitors pay rent for space. Not only do the people who make the crafts have complete control of the price of their goods, but they can display them the way they want to — the'way they think they will sell. "Essentially this is their store," says Mr. Melnyk. "We'll help them as best we can. but when they pay the rent, they get control of the pricing and the set-up. We're just here to help them sell their crafts." At the Village Colonnade, prices are reasonable because unlike most craft stores, no one is adding to the cost of the crafts by charging exhibitors by the amount they sell. The Colonnade is also in a very good location for, crafts. St. Jacobs is known as a quaint, touristy, Mennonite town and Mr. Melnyk takes full advantage of that. He says 80 to 90 per cent of his customers are from out of town. "That only makes sense, considering the population of St. Jacobs isn't that high," he says. "A lot of people come to St. Jacobs to eat Mennonite food and see Mennonites. It's a popular place to visit so we're in a good spot for crafts." He says, "No one can rely 100 per cent on the tourist trade but everyone sure likes to be where the tourists are." It is the combination of good location and a good set-up that attracts exhibitors to the Village Colonnade. Phyllis Daird displays her wheat weaving and pearl embroidering there and she says, "Paying rent gives me some control over what I sell. On the consignment system, the owner may not set it up in the way you know your craft will sell best. And I sure can't afford to buy a whole store." She says the best thing is that the Village Colonnade gives her a business address to which she can address or- ders for supplies. It's not quite as profitable yet as she'd like it to be but she keeps hoping things- will pick up. She goes to the store about once a week just to see how things look. Ellen Sharp, who makes soft - sculptured dolls, isn't quite sure she likes the rental system. "It's OK providing you have a product you can sell enough of. The rent has to be paid whether you sell or not. On con- signment they only take a percentage of what you sell." She says at the Village Colonnade she hasn't "hit the jackpot yet, but we're waiting for the boom." Gail Hunter makes quilts and she likes the rental system far better than consignment. "On consignment, I never felt the storekeepers really cared if my items sold or not. At the Village Colonnade, they really try hard." Because there is no shortage of exhibitors who would like to display their crafts at the Village Colonnade, quality control is fairly strict. Mr. Melnyk prefers to see handmade goods displayed but a few industry -made souvenir items can be found. The Colonnade is owned by Lazenby Investments Inc., a company founded by himself and his brother Ken Lazenby. The company specializes in restoring old and antique cars — many of them brought to Canada from the U.S. When the 100 -year-old Village Colonnade building at King and Cedar Streets in St. Jacobs was bought, three years ago, Mr. Melnyk wanted to preserve its old look. Stained glass windows, imported from Ireland were installed to add to its charm. In the summer, Mr. Melnyk says craft lessons may be available on the patio in front of the building. And in the fall of 1985, three and a half years after the opening of the St. Jacobs store, another Village Colonnade will open up. But he won't say where. "That's a secret," he says. PART-OWNER—Bill Melnyk, part-owner of the Village Colonnade in St. Jacobs says about five months of research was done before he came up with the idea for the shop. He spoke to a ldt of craft sellers and makers hoping to set up an ideal place for the sale of their items. (Staff phntn)