COMMENTS & CURIOSITIES -- peter buffa

For your consideration, an alternative holiday tale.

Once upon a time, in the land of Newport-Mesa, there lived a young woman

named Doris. She was plain and shy, very shy. Doris lived a lonely life,

in a very small universe.

She worked for a small manufacturing company on Red Hill that made the

little metal band that holds the eraser on the end of a pencil. Not the

eraser. Not the pencil. Just the little metal band. There were five

people in the company, including Doris, who was the bookkeeper. As I

said, hers was a small universe.

At the end of the day, she went directly to her studio apartment and

locked herself in. There she sat quietly as the hours passed, then slept

-- without ever dreaming -- until the next morning, when she would face

the world, and people, once again.

About the only time Doris allowed herself to become emotional was in

December. She had strong feelings about the Christmas season. She hated

it. The closer it got, the more she wished either she, or it, would just

disappear. It was unbearable.

People you didn’t even know, which meant virtually everyone in Doris’

case, would actually speak to you -- “Have a merry this ... Have a happy

that.”

As if that wasn’t bad enough, they’d send you Christmas cards. About four

cards in Doris’ case, but cards nonetheless -- festive little reminders

of how empty her own life was. That’s why it was so terribly ironic that

Doris, of all people, was chosen.

She was just drifting off to sleep on a brisk December night when out on

the lawn there rose such a clatter, she sprang from her bed to see what

was the matter. As she threw open the drapes, she couldn’t believe her

eyes. There he was, standing just outside her window -- a young man,

dressed all in black.

“Get away,” said Doris, “or I’ll call 911.”

“No need for that, Doris,” he said. Before she could even ask the

question, he answered it. “Yes. I know your name. And I know else

everything about you.”

“Really. And just why is that?” she asked.

“Because I’m an angel.”

“I’m calling 911,” she said. “And I have a gun,” she lied.

Without warning, a bright light began to glow just above the man’s head.

It became so bright, she had to shield her eyes.

When she peeked through her fingers, you could have knocked her over with

a feather. The young man in black was transformed. He was now a towering,

radiant vision in white. He was, well, an angel. He was about 6 feet

tall, but his shimmering white wings rose at least two feet above his

shoulders.

With another blinding flash, the young man in black reappeared.

“OK, you’re an angel,” she said. “But what do you want with me?”

The angel said he was sent here to put people at ease, to fill their

hearts with the joy and warmth of the holidays, rather than worries about

Y2K and doomsday predictions -- in short, to rekindle the true meaning of

Christmas for people everywhere.

“And you, Doris, are going to help me.”

“Me?” she whispered. “You must be joking. The only two things I like

about the holidays are Dec. 26 and Jan. 2. There must be some mistake.”

“No, Doris, no mistake. Here,” he said, reaching out to her, “touch my

hand.”

She hesitated, more uncertain than scared. But there was a warmth in his

voice and his eyes that drew her toward him.

As their fingers touched, there was another burst of intense light and

she felt a strong wind against her face. Doris opened her eyes and

gasped. They were flying through the night sky, free as birds.

“Don’t worry,” the angel said. “Nothing can harm you.”

They soared above the Fairgrounds, then headed south, past the Niketown

dome, the Arches, above the peninsula and out to sea. Looking back toward

land, the lights were breathtaking -- a shimmering necklace of white and

gold that stretched as far as the eye could see. They could even see the

Parade of Lights, a tidy oval of white and red and green, spinning slowly

around the harbor.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” said Doris. “Ever. But why are you

showing me this?”

“Just to get your attention, Doris,” he said. The real lesson starts

right ... now.”

They turned quickly toward land. Startled, Doris tried to catch her

breath. Everything after that was a blur -- a rapid-fire collage of

sights and sounds and settings. For what seemed like hours, but might

have been just minutes, the angel let her peer into the lives of people

across the vast expanse of Newport-Mesa, the privileged and the

not-so-privileged. She saw them at their best and at their worst. But in

almost every case, there was a space in their hearts, however small, for

the meaning and the power of Christmas.

Finally, as quickly as it began, Doris was back in the darkness of her

bedroom. She could see her angel just outside the window. He wasn’t

walking off -- just fading away.

“Wait,” said Doris, trying to hide the desperation in her voice. “You

can’t just leave! What does this all mean?”

“Seven days from this moment, I’ll visit you again,” the angel said, “and

it will all become clear. But as for now, I gotta go.”

* PETER BUFFA is a former Costa Mesa mayor. His column runs Fridays.

E-mail him at o7 PtrB4@AOL.comf7 .