I decided to walk home from the Christmas Eve concert at San Francisco’s classic Castro Theatre, savoring the memories of a unique experience.  Entitled “Songs of a Wintery Fairyland,” a ticket had been thrust upon me by Ron and Val, my neighbors across the hall.  While I had been reluctant to attend at first, now I promised myself to thank them in the morning.      Although San Francisco is a small city -- only 50 square miles -- it still took a while to hike up over the hill to get home.  It must have been just about midnight when I tiptoed up the three flights of stairs to my apartment.  Not a creature was stirring, and darned if I would be the one to wake up the mouse.      As I pushed open the front door, though, I thought I heard something from the living room.  I froze, and listened carefully.  It sounded like someone was in there; I was sure I heard someone walking around.      What kind of a lowlife robs someone’s home on Christmas Eve?!      I figured I had three choices.  One, I could slowly back out of the apartment, tiptoe down the stairs and out of the building, and then run to the corner store a couple blocks away to call the police, and let the robber get away.  Two, I could tiptoe across the hall and bang on Rob and Val’s door -- if they were even home -- and meanwhile alert the robber and let him get away.  Or three, I could surprise him, take him down, and then call the police at my leisure.      I chose the third option.  Those were my goodies under the tree!      Slipping off my shoes, I slunk down the hallway toward the living room.  Now I could hear the thief clearly, walking around in boots.  Probably getting crud all over my carpet, too.      In my mind’s eye, I pictured my living room, trying to figure out what I could quickly grab and use as a weapon.  The closest thing would be a statuette on the table by the entrance to the living room.  Oh, but that was crystal -- what if I had to use the weapon?      Then I heard the sound of his boots change, and I realized he had gone into the kitchen.  I heard him opening cupboards and the refrigerator.  Stealing my presents wasn’t enough?  This guy had to raid my icebox, too!      However, with him out of the living room, I would have the element of surprise.  Stepping into the room, I reached for the crystal statuette, but then my eyes lit on an even better weapon.  About 18 inches long, wrapped in aluminum foil, and as heavy and hard as a rock: Aunt Dorothy’s fruitcake.      Preparing myself, I crept close to the kitchen door.  When I heard his boots approach the doorway, I took a swing!  WHACK!  Right across the face.  Bull’s-eye.      The white-bearded, fat thief in the red suit fell backward into the kitchen, unconscious, and I heard the clatter as a plate of cookies and a glass of milk hit the floor.      “Great,” I said.  “I just clubbed Santa like a baby seal.  I can guess which side of ‘bad or good’ this falls on.”      Stepping over his body, I grabbed Santa under the arms.      “Come on, old boy.  Man, you’re heavy!  Let’s get you into the living room and over to the fireplace.”      After a good deal of struggling -- it was like pulling a beanbag chair full of jelly -- I got Santa into the living room, and kind of pushed him halfway into the fireplace.  (Which, incidentally, I had cleaned out after the last fire I had.)      Piling his bag -- amazingly light and empty feeling, although I resisted the urge to peek inside -- in Santa’s lap, I then went into the kitchen for a glass of water.  Back at the fireplace, I tossed the water into the old man’s face.  As he sputtered back to consciousness, I grabbed his hand, and carefully staying back out of the way, laid his finger aside of his nose.      As he vanished up the flue, I yelled after him.      “Sorry about that!”      But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight: “Happy Christmas to all... except for the guy who hit me tonight!”      And then a lump of coal dropped down the chimney and into my fireplace. Best wishes for the Holiday Season from Marc Lynx and all the “Missing Lynx” characters.   Click here to return to the main Signature Quotes page Click here to return to the main Missing Lynx page
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