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Dear Editor:
My village is full of elves. Sometimes I see them and I know their names. They are small, as one might expect. They come to my door in summer, bringing me fistsfull of dandelions, and they are named Harlow and Abby. In the winter, about this time, they bring me delicious, beautiful cookies - one is that same Abby, and the other is her brother, Ethan.
Sometimes, they are as much as six feet tall. They come and do some difficult clearing in my yard and under-charge me for doing ugly work. And, at times like these, elves like those plow my drive before dawn, then disappear into the darkness.
Not quite finally, for they just don't quit, there are those who insist upon feeding festive dinners to lucky, grateful oldsters. They, too, almost disappear, refusing to be thanked...making that difficult in these days of slim phone directories, and few residential mailing addresses...especially difficult for newcomers like me. Once in a while, these chefs and delivery people are willing to admit they made the best cranberry relish ever, and even to share the recipe.
Thank you, Diane and Brenda, Sandy and Alivia, Dawn and Deb, Linda, Judy and Bill, Cheryl (all the way from Puerto Rico, now how did she manage that?), Joy and Sherry.
Last but not least, there are those who travel all the way from Biba Road to bring me goodies. Thank you, Mary and Marge.
Thank you to all the elves who have made this strange time like the olden times of friends and neighbors sharing and caring.
Lola R. Gregg,
Avoca