Category: Blog

The grocery store is unexpectedly packed. A random Monday afternoon, lines backed up to the freezer aisle.

The woman behind me makes small talk. “It’s not even a holiday weekend,” I tell her.

“I know! I don’t know why it’s so busy.”

The man behind us rests his basket on the edge of the display bin and sighs. His eyes are bright in the wrinkles that line his face; he has a familiar air around him, but I’m sure I’ve never seen him before.

“You’re very quick,” the woman in front of me tells the cashier. The cashier is young, wide eyes behind round-framed glasses, a cheery smile reaching all the way through her eyes to her heart.

“I try,” the cashier says, scanning items and bagging them with a careful efficiency.

It’s my turn then, and she scans my cheese and my pasta and asks if I want a bag.

“Yes please,” I say, and she adds my things to a brown paper bag and hands me the receipt.

I step away from the register and pause for another woman pushing a cart. “Oh I’m so sorry,” she says, “I didn’t mean to barrel down on you.”

“It’s all right,” I say. “I saw you coming.”

She smiles and I see that her smile, in a sweet tired face, reaches up to her eyes too.

I was at a school earlier in the day. A little boy watched me take my camera out of the bag and wipe the lens clean.

“My mom has a camera,” he announced. “But it’s in storage.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah.” He nodded emphatically and bustled off outside to join his class.

I had a meeting tonight. I was there to observe and document, not participate; I tucked myself away in a corner and pulled out my notepad.

And then I watched.

The folks there milled about and talked amongst themselves. One couple stood out; both white haired, he’s serious and she’s sparkly, but they stood close together, a complementary pair. When she stood up to speak she rested her hand easily on his shoulder and he softened into her touch, still focused on the conversation. They exist with the ease of long familiarity, like they’ve known each other since before time began.

And there are others, too. They divide themselves into little groups, occupying the same spaces, but all so very different.

I’ve been around hundreds of people today in a very few hours, all things considered. And on my drive home I got to thinking about all the stories each of them hold inside them.

I am a passing flicker in each of their stories, if they even noticed me. And in a few months I probably won’t remember them.

But I’ll remember how I felt. I’ll remember how they made me feel: safe in a sea of strangers.

We’re all just human.

This piece has been sitting in my drafts since June 2023. I don’t remember why I never shared it, but I am choosing to share it now, with no editing or revisions.

---

When I was a teenager, I wanted to be invisible.

I’m so glad I’m not.

---

I was having a real tough time a few weeks ago. I wasn’t sleeping, and the panic attacks were bad, and it seemed like nothing I could do was helping.

I didn’t know what to do so I picked up the phone and called my best friend.

“I just feel like I have had no control over my own life for my entire life. Every choice I have made was for someone else.”

I went over everything.

Everything.

When I was 21 years old, my entire life changed in the space of one night.

---

There’s this line in my mind when I reflect on my own life. There’s before, and then there’s after.

Before, I was navigating through some traumatic experiences and dealing with undiagnosed post traumatic stress disorder and undiagnosed attention deficit hyperactivity disorder. I was terrified of everything and everyone. The dreams I’d once had as a little girl, of being involved and present and connected, were pretty much dead. My ideal future was to be invisible.

After, I was different. I had to become an advocate, a caretaker, a parental figure. I went in a complete 180 spin from the invisible kid to this woman I still don’t always recognize.

I did what I had to do for my mom, for my baby brother, for my family.

But I still felt like every single decision I had made since that night when I was 21, I had made for other people. Even things like moving into my own space (so I had some space away from my family so I could actually care for them more efficiently) and joining the fire department (so they would pay for my EMS training so I could better advocate for my mom) were choices I made for other people.

I did what I had to do for other people, but where was I? Who was doing what was necessary for Annie?

---

My friend let me cry for a bit – she’s good at that – and then she talked.

“You still made those choices, Annie.”

I made hard choices in impossible situations. I didn’t want to be there. I didn’t want to have to do the things I did.

“You chose to do all of those things. No one made you choose that. You could have chosen to walk away.”

Reader, I had forgotten that walking away was an option.

---

I am standing in the emergency room. I hate that I am doing this; I hate that I keep seeing red after I throw away the gloves; I hate that I wash my hands dozens of times and the red in my mind never really goes away.

---

I had forgotten that doing less – even doing nothing – was a choice I could have made.

“You have been in control, Annie.” My friend kept talking. “You couldn’t control the situation but you have always controlled how you handled it.”

That was something I needed – desperately – to hear. I had felt powerless in my own story. Isolated, small, just a tool for others.

But my friend reminded me that I couldn’t control the situation, only my response to it. And all of those things that had been weighing me down for just sort of melted away.

Because in every situation I had the choice to walk away.

I didn’t walk away because that’s not the type of person I want to be. That’s not the way I want to do life. That’s not the best Annie I could be.

So in a very real sense, while I was doing what was necessary for others, I was also doing what was necessary for myself.

I needed to realize that I’ve been moving forward this whole time. And that I’ve been working on being the human I want to be.

Because when I was a teenager, I wanted to be invisible because I was scared and hurt and lost.

I never really wanted that. I wanted to be Annie; sunshine and bubbles and open arms.

Today, I went to the Annual Town Meeting in my hometown. I went in the wrong door and showed up at the ballot clerk’s table flustered and laughing at myself.

“I know you,” one of the clerks said. “You’re the happy girl.”

And then I spent two hours running the microphone around the floor so people could make their voices heard.

Reader, half a dozen people have stopped me to chat this afternoon while I rummaged around town doing weekend chores, to ask if I got a breather after running the mic, to tell me that the sunflowers in the back window of my car are pretty.

That night when I was 21 I had the choice to walk away. To do nothing. To be invisible. I had impossible choices to make and I could have chosen the ‘easy’ way out.

But I made the choice I needed to for my own sake.

And realizing that made all the difference.

I may not see every battle you face or every choice you make but please know that I am so, so proud of you. It matters. It all matters. And I am here, cheering you on.

Love you. Mean it.

– A

💛

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Late August

I’d just arrived home after being on the road for several hours. As I climbed out of the car, slinging my radio strap over my shoulder and conducting a mental inventory of the fresh veggies I’d purchased at roadside stands on the wandering drive home, a movement at the front tire of my car caught my eye.

A butterfly had fallen to the gravel and was fluttering feebly, unable to right herself or to fly away. Her wings were horribly mangled, the upper wings immobile and the lower flapping wildly. I’ve seen this before; she had been caught up in the grill of the car at some point on the drive home, unable to break free.

I stooped and lifted her gently. Her upper wings, outstretched in my palm, drooped. Iridescent glitter brushed from her wings onto my skin, leaving blue-black bruises that caught the late afternoon light.

I watched, for a little while. She had no movement in the upper wings, but paced across the mountains of my palm in agitation.

I had to make a decision.

She would not fly again. This much I knew. She would die, and sooner than later, and she would struggle to the end.

My heart broke over this tiny winged creature, this little fingerprint of God, who’d been the victim of my clumsy human actions, caught up in the mess of my world.

She should have been flying in a meadow somewhere, flitting from flower to flower. But the world is not always safe.

I had, now, a choice.

I could leave her where I’d found her, where the hot sun would burn until dusk, where the tires would move around her.

I could set her in the garden where she would stagger about in the leaves until an animal or another insect or a careless movement or the slow march of time ended the fight.

I wished for a gentle end for this poor injured creature.

But I was a farm girl once and I know that sometimes, the kindest thing is not the gentlest thing.

I made my decision. I set her on the ground, raised my boot, and the world stopped spinning.

To do all things with love and kindness is not easy. For that butterfly, as little as butterflies feel, the kindest thing was to release her from the struggle. The gentle thing – for me, anyway – may have been to leave her in the garden, surrounded by flowers, knowing that the inevitable would happen, but taking no responsibility for it and having no hand in her death. This would have been permissible, but would it have been right?

This is not a decision I have to make often, for which I am thankful.

My first instinct is always to heal. I am the girl with bandaids and waterbottles, the one with a dab of honey on my hand for the frost-nipped bees in late September. I am the girl who made friends with the feral cats and gave them spaces to call home.

What do you do when healing is no longer possible? When suffering is all that remains?

And who gets to make that decision?

I felt a stab of guilt as I looked down at the crumpled butterfly. I had done that. I had taken action and caused irreparable harm and certain death to one of God’s creatures.

I felt the same grief staring at a bowl of chicken soup made from chickens my friends raised, the fluffy and friendly hens I’d made friends with and handfed vegetable scraps from the garden.

What an awful thing to be a human, to be a steward of this world. And what a wonderful thing, too, to have the space in my heart to care.

Years ago, I held a bee for the last hour of her life. She, too, had been injured. But with her, there wasn’t a struggle like this. She was not dragging broken wings, fighting to fly away. She rested in my hand until the end.

Neither the bee nor the butterfly were wrong, and I think I was not wrong in how I handled each. The bee asked for comfort, for warmth. And the butterfly was fighting a battle that was already long lost.

We have an obsession with life, sparked by a deep fear and misunderstanding of death.

But death is also a part of life. Sometimes there is nothing that can be done to save someone. We do the best we can, and that is all that we can be asked to do.

If we wish to live in a world full of kindness and love, we need to let go of that fear.

Fear has no place in the garden of kindness we are growing here.

I lifted the crushed dead butterfly and carefully buried her in the garden where she will become a million tiny atoms which will then become something new.

And I lifted my face to the sunshine.

When the end of my time on this world comes, however that journey ends, just like the butterfly my body will become a million tiny atoms and then become something new here in the mountains that made me. And my soul will go home to the place I have longed for: to a cabin in the woods at the foot of the mountains, with the sun setting over the lake, with Somebody good. I hope that the journey is long – but I am not afraid of the journey or of the end.

Love you. Mean it.

– A

💛

If you enjoy my writing please consider following my blog, buying a coffee, or signing up for my Butterfly Mail through Patreon.

Patreon.com/AnnieLouiseTwitchell

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I usually pick up a new crafty project around the new year. This year, I’m working on a baby blanket.

I couldn’t decide what color yarn to get, until I spotted this sunshine yellow yarn tucked away on the back of the shelf.

Sometimes, you just know.

We are not looking to have kids for a couple years still, but for the first time in a really long time I’m actually seriously talking about having my own children and raising my own family.

It’s a dream I thought had died a long time ago.

Funny things happen when your brain isn’t on fire anymore, ya know.

I know nothing is guaranteed, but for the first time in a really long time, I find I can explore the future and chase my dreams, and find ways to make those dreams come to life.

So, I’m making a baby blanket. Not for anyone else’s baby, but for the maybe-someday of my own, and for the bright little future I see.

The future is beautiful.

The future is sunshine yellow.

Love you. Mean it.

– A

💛

If you enjoy my writing please consider following my blog, buying a coffee, or signing up for my Butterfly Mail through Patreon.

Patreon.com/AnnieLouiseTwitchell

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I started developing my favorite cookie recipe when I was twelve, baking cookies to sell for 25 cents. I tweaked the recipe around until I got it pretty much perfect, but I never wrote it down. It’s just ratios and measurements, mix and bake.

A couple years ago I baked a batch for my department. I ran out of vanilla so swapped it out for rum extract and accidentally made a superb cookie.

Recently my sister-in-law and I found vanilla bean paste in the grocery store so when I baked this most recent batch I used vanilla bean paste as well as the rum extract, and it was just amazing.

So, by popular request, here’s the recipe for what I am now calling firehouse cookies. They’re soft and a little chewy in the middle with a thin caramelized crust. A good dark chocolate and a little extra sea salt just layers the flavors together nicely.

Recipe: Annie’s Firehouse Cookies

1 cup softened butter
1 cup dark brown sugar OR maple sugar
1 cup white granulated sugar
1/4 cup neutral oil (avocado, vegetable, etc)
2 teaspoons vanilla bean paste
1 teaspoon rum extract

2 large eggs

3 1/2 cups all purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
2 teaspoons sea salt

2 cups chocolate chips

Cream butter and sugars together until fluffy. Add in oil, vanilla, and rum extract and beat until combined, then add eggs and beat until light and fluffy.

Add flour, baking powder, and salt; stir to combine. Add chocolate chips and mix until just blended.

Scoop into desired sizes and place on baking sheet. Bake in a preheated oven at 350 degrees Fahrenheit until golden, 10-12 minutes depending on size.

Saving Santa

Annie Louise Twitchell

Can you believe that no one knew what to do, the night Santa got stuck in the chimney flue?

It was the last town on his route, that cold Christmas Eve. Santa Claus had already flown all around the globe but now he landed in Winterville. One last town to go. 

He double checked his list. Winterville was small, with only a few hundred people there. There were one hundred and nineteen children to deliver presents to, and then he could go home. 

Home. 

Santa steered the sleigh towards Winterville. It would be good to go home, to the glowing fireplace and a huge mug of hot chocolate and some good cheese and crackers. Mrs. Claus would have his slippers all warmed and ready for him to slip on and relax. 

In the little gray house on Maple Street, all the windows were dark and all the lights turned off when Santa Claus arrived. Inside, everyone should be sound asleep: Mom, Dad, Lucy, and even the big old dog, Milo. 

Santa guided his reindeer and sleigh down onto the roof, then picked up his bag of presents and tip-toed across to the chimney. He put the bag down first and climbed in afterwards. He thought about the presents and made sure he had everything: a rocking horse for Lucy, a big bone for Milo, a new blanket for Mom, and socks for Dad. Dad always got socks.

The little gray house, he thought, then the blue house, then a white house a little further down the street. Santa’s nose was cold and his fingers were beginning to ache from the frosty air. He did love Christmas Eve, but it would be so nice to get home to Mrs. Claus and take some time off on Christmas Day. 

Distracted by the anticipation of a steaming mug of hot chocolate piled high with marshmallows, Santa forgot to pay attention to the chimney. Halfway down, the big red bag slipped and the rocking horse tipped and wedged itself sideways in the chimney. 

Santa nudged it with his foot, but the bag was well and truly stuck. He tried to climb back up the chimney but the cord tied around the bag was caught on his boot and he couldn’t get free, not in the tight space of the flue. 

How many hundreds of years had he done this? He’d never gotten stuck before, but now, tonight, he was well and truly stuck. 

Tucked in her bed, with Milo close by, little Lucy had only just fallen asleep. She was supposed to be asleep hours ago, after Mom had kissed her good night and turned out the lights, but Lucy had laid awake, watching the snow fall outside her window, waiting and listening for Santa Claus. 

“Help!” Someone called in a muffled voice. “Help! I’m stuck!”

Milo got up, and Lucy did too. They snuck to the door and peered out into the hall. Mom and Dad’s door was shut, and everything was quiet, but then Lucy heard the voice again. 

“Help!”

Milo went down the stairs with Lucy close behind. In the living room sat the tree, all decorated and beautiful. In the fireplace was a package with the paper all torn. 

Lucy picked it up. “Socks? I didn’t ask for socks, Santa.”

“Those are for your father, young lady,” a voice said from overhead. “Can you please go get him?”

Lucy looked up the chimney. All she could see was a red velvet bag and some gold cord. “Santa?”

Santa sighed. “That’s right. You should be asleep, young lady.”

“You woke me up,” she said. “Me and Milo both.” 

Santa wasn’t usually claustrophobic but it was starting to feel a bit cramped in that chimney. “I am sorry for waking you. But can you please go get your parents? I find myself in need of assistance.”

“Okay, Santa,” Lucy said, and she scampered off upstairs. “Santa is stuck in our chimney!” She yelled, throwing open Mom and Dad’s door. “He says he needs an assistant.”

Dad sat up straight. “What?” He said, rubbing his eyes. “What’s going on?”

“Santa came! But he’s stuck in our chimney and he needs help!”

Downstairs went Dad and Mom and Lucy and Milo. 

“What’s going on?” Dad asked, poking his head up the chimney to see. 

“I’m stuck,” Santa said. “I seem to be in need of some assistance.”

Dad got to work. He pushed and he pulled, he prodded and poked, but no matter what he did, Santa couldn’t budge. 

Finally Mom said, “I think we need to call someone.”

“Who?” Dad asked. 

“The fire department,” Mom said. “They’ll know what to do.”

All around town, the firefighters were asleep too. Kate expected to be woken by Christmas music and jingle bells but instead she was woken up by her pager blaring out a tone and a dispatch. “Winterville Volunteer Fire, please respond to 15 Maple Street for a report of a man stuck in the chimney.”

Kate jumped out of bed and pulled on her pants and snow boots. She hurried out to the garage and got in her truck, and drove across town to the fire station. 

Jimmy and Pete and Greg and Levi were all coming, too. At the fire station Kate kicked off her snow boots and jumped into her bunker pants and boots, pulled on her hood and jacket, and went to start up the engine.  

The big red ladder truck and the big red engine pulled up outside the gray house on Maple Street. Levi took a walk around the house and Kate went inside to talk with Mom and Dad, while Jimmy and Pete and Greg got the ladder set up. 

“Santa is stuck in our chimney,” Lucy told Kate. 

Kate smiled at the little girl. “We’ll get him out. Don’t you worry.” 

“Just don’t break the toys,” Santa said, his voice echoing in the chimney. 

“We’ll try not to,” Kate promised. 

Levi came inside and peered up the chimney with his flashlight. “I think I see the problem,” he said. “Something in the bag is wedged up against a brick that sticks out. If we can budge it a little bit, I think we’ll be okay. But we better get the big man himself out of there first.”

“I can’t get out,” Santa called down. “The cord is caught on my boot and I can’t climb back up.”

Kate hummed thoughtfully and looked up the chimney again. “I wonder if we could get the cord loose. I can see it from here.”

Levi stepped back to give her some space, and started talking on the radio with Greg. Greg thought they could get a rope down the chimney for Santa to climb up, as long as he could get free from the cord. 

“Miss Lucy,” Kate said, turning to the little girl. “Do you have a broom anywhere?”

“Yeah!” Lucy dashed off to the kitchen. Something crashed, and Lucy called, “I’m okay!” then came running back with a broom and dustpan. 

“Thank you!” Kate took the broom and poked it up the chimney. She tried to catch a loop of the cord but instead she found she could move whatever was in the bag and stuck on the brick. 

“I can move the bag,” she told Levi. 

Levi got back on the radio. “We can move the obstruction but we need that rope first. I don’t want Santa Claus falling down the chimney and crunching Kate.”

“I don’t want to do that either,” Santa said. 

It took just a couple minutes more but Greg got a rope down the chimney to Santa, and Levi got a hook instead of the broom handle, and Kate got soot on her nose. Then it was a couple quick tugs before Santa’s big red bag dropped down into Kate’s arms. She hauled it out of the fireplace and set it by the tree as Greg carefully lowered Santa the rest of the way down the chimney. 

Santa climbed out of the fireplace, his rosy red cheeks and bright red suit all covered in soot. He took a big deep breath and looked around at the firefighters, Mom, Dad, Lucy, and Milo, and then he smiled. “Thank you all,” he said. “Now, it’s nearly dawn, and I have to finish my deliveries.”

“How many stops do you have left?” Kate asked. 

“There are one hundred and eighteen children, although only sixty-one houses.” Santa sighed. “I best be on my way. But first… presents.” 

He picked up his big red velvet bag and took out the wrapped presents, tucking them carefully around the Christmas tree. Lucy crept over and touched the largest package, which looked suspiciously like a rocking horse, and Santa shook his head at her. “It’s not time quite yet, little one.” 

Kate laughed. “Sorry, kiddo. But I have an idea. Santa, you’re running out of time.”

Santa nodded and picked up his bag. “That is true, my dear.”

“We can help. This is our town, we know where everyone lives. You just tell us which packages go where and we can get them delivered.”

Santa thought about this, looking outside at the snow and then at Lucy’s tree. He stroked his beard and rubbed his nose and finally said, “Are you sure?”

Kate and Levi both nodded. “Yes sir,” Levi said. “We’re here to help.”

“It’s not an emergency,” Santa pointed out. 

Levi shrugged. “We’re all awake now. If there is an emergency we’ll have to go, of course, but we can help for a while anyway.”

“I want to help!” Lucy yelled, then added, “Please?”

All the adults looked at each other, then Mom nodded. “Go find your snowsuit.”

Lucy dashed off to the hall to find her snowsuit and boots, and Kate turned to Santa. “Hey, Santa,” she said. “Do you remember that firefighter helmet you gave me when I was a kid? It was black with a pink shield?”

Santa nodded, his eyes twinkling. He gave the red velvet bag a good hard shake and then opened the bag and held it out to Kate. She reached in and pulled out a black helmet with a pink shield on the front, just the right size for Lucy. The front of the shield read “Lucy” on the top and “Winterville Christmas Fire Department” on the bottom. 

Lucy came back, all dressed up for the cold, and held her mittens out to Kate. “Help?”

Kate knelt down and helped pull her mittens on, tucking them into the coat sleeves so no snow could get through, then she gently set the helmet on Lucy’s head. “Now you’re ready to help.”

Then they all went outside. Santa’s sleigh and reindeer were still up on the roof of the little gray house, and Greg was scratching the reindeers’ ears. 

“Jimmy, can you take Santa up the ladder to his sleigh? We’re going to get that down here and help him finish his deliveries,” Levi said.

Jimmy helped Santa up the ladder. “I always wanted to see this,” he said, running his hand over the sleigh. 

“Do you want a ride down?” Santa asked. 

Jimmy nodded eagerly and hopped in beside Santa, who then clicked his tongue to the reindeer. They took off from the roof and soared overhead before turning in a circle and coming back to the yard beside the fire trucks. 

“We’ll take the south side of town,” Levi said. “Kate, you and Lucy and Santa can do the north side. We should be done pretty quick.”

Santa gave his bag a good hard shake, then handed out the presents. Now each package had a street address, instead of just a name. 

Levi and Pete helped Kate and Santa sort out all the packages and tuck them away with the tools and equipment on the trucks. Mom and Dad helped too, and Lucy just watched. Was this really Christmas, or was she just dreaming?

“What do reindeer like to eat?” Mom asked Santa. “Our neighbor has horses and I could borrow a bale of hay.”

“Hay would be good,” Santa said. “I know they’ll be getting hungry before we head home.”

Dad and Greg stayed home to feed the reindeer. Mom and Kate and Santa and Lucy all rode in the ladder truck with the funny backwards seats, and Levi, Jimmy, and Pete took the engine. 

Santa didn’t go down the chimneys, this time. It was dawn, and the pink and gold sunlight was peeking out from under the snow clouds. Santa walked up to the front doors and knocked, and when someone answered the door, he handed out the presents. 

Lucy and Kate and Mom helped him carry presents, and they went pretty quick. Soon there was only one house left. 

In this house lived Naomi, a little girl who was very sick. She was in Lucy’s class in school but Lucy hadn’t seen her in a long time. 

“We have to be quiet,” Kate said to Santa. “We don’t want to scare her or get her too excited when she sees you.”

“I know just what to do,” Santa said. “Little Lucy, come here.”

Lucy trotted over. “You can be Santa Claus today,” he said. “Can you do that?”

She nodded, feeling very solemn and serious.  Santa took his big red scarf off and wrapped it around her, and Mom handed her the present for Naomi while Kate took the present for her mom, Beth. 

Kate knocked on the door, and Beth came to answer. 

“Merry Christmas,” Lucy said, trying to sound like Santa. “This is for Naomi.”

Beth looked like she wanted to cry. “Oh, come in,” she said, holding the door open wide. 

Lucy stepped inside with Kate. There wasn’t a Christmas tree or stockings anywhere to be seen, but Naomi’s hospital bed in the living room was surrounded by pretty Christmas lights, and she had a cozy red blanket wrapped around her.

“Merry Christmas, Naomi,” Lucy said, and handed her the present. “I hope you feel better.”

Naomi smiled, and whispered, “Merry Christmas, Lucy.”

“We won’t stay long,” Kate said to Beth, handing over the package. “We had a special guest today and we just wanted to make sure you both had something for the holiday.”

Beth hugged Kate, and hugged Lucy too, then Kate took Lucy’s hand and walked outside, back to the fire truck. 

Lucy was quiet as she walked beside Kate. She climbed up into the ladder truck beside Santa and sat down. 

“Well?” Santa asked softly. 

“Santa,” Lucy said, “Can you change my present? Can  you make Naomi better?”

He sighed a little, and his jolly face turned sad. “I cannot. I’m sorry. I can only give gifts and fix broken toys, not sick people. But I can tell you a secret.”

“Yeah?” Lucy looked up. 

“There are other people who can help Naomi. When Naomi had to go to the hospital, Firefighter Kate helped get her there. The doctors and nurses at the hospital helped, and so did the ladies at church who made meals for Naomi and her family so they would have something to eat even though they were so busy taking care of Naomi. The man at the bank who helped pay for Naomi’s hospital bills helped, too. And you, too, young lady; by giving her a present today, you helped too.”

“Oh.” Lucy sat and thought, while Kate drove the ladder truck back home. As Kate pulled into the driveway and parked, Lucy looked up at Santa again. “When I grow up, I’m going to be a helper,” she said. 

“I think you already are,” Santa said. “I am very proud of you, you know.”

Kate came to the door and helped Lucy out of the truck. “Thanks for helping, kiddo,” she said, and Lucy gave her a hug, saying, “Thank you, too.”

Dad was waiting, with hot coffee and hot cocoa and cookies. Santa took a thermos for the trip home, but he was eager to get back to the North Pole. 

Lucy stood on the front step and watched as Santa flew off. “Merry Christmas to all,” he called from the sky. “Thank you!”

Lucy realized just then that he had forgotten his scarf, still wrapped warmly around her. She ran inside. “Mom, Santa forgot his scarf!”

Mom and Dad were sitting around the Christmas tree with all the firefighters, with Milo snoozing by the tree. “I don’t think he forgot, Lucy. I think he meant for you to have it.”

“I think so, too,” Kate said. “Merry Christmas, Lucy.”

“Merry Christmas,” Lucy said. “I think this is the best Christmas ever.”

—

A couple of notes: 

This is, obviously, a fictional story. The characters are not intended to represent any specific individuals, alive or dead, and the story may not represent best practice because “Santa Claus stuck in a chimney” isn’t really in the protocol books. 

Secondly, did you know that an estimated 65% of firefighters in the United States are volunteer firefighters? (NFPA, 2020.) Volunteers may be paid per call or may work without any compensation, depending on how the service is set up. They typically work full-time in other positions and fields, and they respond to emergency calls when they have the opportunity and availability to do so. In my county, for example, currently we have one department that is staffed 24/7, and the rest are a mix of per-diem (staffed for specific days/shifts, but not 24/7) and on-call/volunteer. When someone calls for help, they go. Sometimes they’re leaving their families in the middle of Christmas dinner or waking up in the middle of the night for a chimney fire. 

Thirdly, one of the reasons I wanted to share this little story today is because I’m just a few days away from bringing home Orion, my black lab puppy who is going to be trained for a first responder therapy dog. I know first hand from my own experiences how much a dog can help with the stresses of the job and I’m excited to work with Orion with the goal of offering that support as a resource to our local first responders. It will be at least 18 months before we can begin working, and I have all of the essential items for his first few months. However, I am still coordinating for some of the supplies, training, and courses he and I will both need. I usually share some links when I share a short story, in case folks want to help support my writing, but for this month anything that folks contribute will go towards the puppy fund and making sure Orion has what he needs. You can check out the following links if you’re interested; if not, please enjoy the story, hug your family, and remember to breathe. 

Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and I love you. 

-A 

AnnieLouiseTwitchell.com 

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