Stephan Doyle

James Martinez and Judy Betancourt

“Grandma, what would you really, really like for Christmas?” asked James.

“I’d really like to have a Christmas mailbox,” said Judy, “can you do that?”

James knew just what to do. He shot down the road about a block to the one person he knew who could transform a standard rural mailbox into whatever might be a Christmas mailbox.

“Steve, my grandma wants a Christmas mailbox. Can you do that?”

Steve looked hard at James, “Sure, WE can make a Christmas mailbox for your grandma, but this is a gift from you to her, right? Right? So I am going to help you, but you are going to make it, right? Right?”

“Right. It’s my gift to my grandma.”

“OK, good. I’ll get the stuff together and I’ll meet you at your house. OK?”

“OK.”

Steve gathered up greenery and extra lights, as there are always extra lights when your shopping list list includes the item “Lotsa lights, never too many.” When Steve arrived at the Bettancourts, James met him. “We’ve got some place to go. See you later.”

To others, this might have signified a time to harrumph a “well, I never!” or perhaps a sigh. But for Steve, it signalled none of that and he proceeded to decorate the mailbox and string lights in the handsome lilac bush nearby, and he blew out leaves in the area to make sure that every inch was a beautiful gift from Janes to the grandma he loved so much. Ever after that Christmas, the neighborhood enjoyed a lovely vignette of lights and greens, a sparkle of good tidings to those traveling to the end of Kilkare Road.