Winnie the Pooh and Christmastide Too

It was dreadfully cold. No lilywhite sparkling blanket of snow covered the wood now. It had turned to a bitter, gray, corn slush. Poor Pooh was not allowed near Barry’s Jaguar or Hummer so when running errands he had to walk. Sleet belted down onto his face. He drew his parka and blue Detroit Lion scarf tighter around his neck. Pooh had just gone to CVS to pick up some more cough medicine, and some vapor rub. Then he stopped by the liquor joint for two more bottles of cherry brandy, since he was making totties for Barry like a house on fire. He also had to mail Barry’s cell phone, electric, property tax, credit card, and DSL bill. It was already pitch dark out, and colder than ever. Pooh was relieved to finish his last errand. He just wanted to go home, make Barry his tottie and broth, and then perhaps curl up with a good Christmas movie with a mug of eggnog and perhaps a crappy, rubbery, frozen pizza. Just as Pooh was crossing the street a Hummer limo passed by splashing a monsoon of gray, semi frozen slush all over Pooh’s Columbia parka. Pooh was too busy admiring the Hummer limo to notice that he was now soaked to the bone.
“Oh bother,” he muttered. Though he was a bear of diminutive brain he knew what that Hummer limo meant. Today was December 23rd, the day of the Christmas ball. That limo was taking some lucky guests to the Ford Mansion. Perhaps it was Piglet, Rabbit, Owl, or Eeyore that was inside that limo. “After today it will be over,” Pooh kept telling himself as he trudged through the slop. “Then I won’t have to be bitter about not going anymore. “ It was now white out conditions of sleet and hail. Pooh was soaked, chilled, and red from hail pellets hitting him. He let himself in through the door, took off his parka and galoshes and hurried to the gas log fireplace in the family room. To his shock Barry was sitting up in a chair near the fire, propped up in a sea of pillows and blankets. Some god awful Christmas movie with Richard Thomas and Bo Derek was on the home theater.
“Barry!” Pooh exclaimed. “Why you’re not in bed.”
“Aye,” Barry said weakly, but confidently. “My fever broke this afternoon, and I am able to sit up,” he coughed, but not nearly as serious as it had been a day ago.
“You’re getting better!” Pooh cried. “You need to eat. Can I fix you some warm eggnog?”
“I am better thanks to you,” said Barry smiled. “You sure earned your rent for this month. If it weren’t for you, I would have had to stay in that wretched hospital, or go to a nursing home. Let’s have some warm eggnog to celebrate, and put a shot of some Grand Dad in there as well.”
“Hurrah for Ole Grand Dad!” Pooh cheered and did an Indian war dance. “I baked a mincemeat pie as well. We can have that, and I’ll bring some stuff in from the gift box from Hickory Farms that Owl sent to us.”
As Pooh went to get the eggnog and food, Barry looked around him. Pooh had done an impressive job. Greenery and holy was thrown on the fireplace mantle, along with some nutcrackers. The stair banister also was trimmed with greenery. He had hung Christmas cards around the doorway of the parlor. Paper snowflakes had been tacked up on the windows. There was a Christmas tree decorated with lights, popcorn chains, and Barry’s favorite ornaments, with Barry’s Detroit Lion football helmet adorning the top. Pooh had made the house look special, for if Barry had gotten better. Barry also remembered today’s date. Pooh came in with a tray of two drinking horns filled to the brim with hot eggnog with sticks of cinnamon in them. He had cut six pieces of the mincemeat pie, and brought out an assortment of cheeses, pistachios, and summer sausages to munch on.
“Pooh Bear,” said Barry with a little more vibrancy to his voice. “The Christmas Ball is today!”
“I know,” Pooh sighed and took a long gulp of eggnog from the drinking horn. “I’m not going.”
“Not going?” Barry asked. “But you must. If you hurry, you could still make it.”
“You can’t go,” Pooh replied. “I’m invited because of you.”
“Tis true, I am too weak to dance,” Barry said. “But you saved my life. Even though I was sick with fever I knew you were there reading to me, feeding me that nasty, crusty, broth, making my totties. Plus you decorated the house. All this greenery makes me feel filled with new life. You deserve to go as my special guest of honor. You can take the Jaguar even. Now no more nonsense! You must have a buttermilk sponge bath at once.”
It slid through Pooh’s Ole Grand Dad clogged mind that Barry had said he could go to the ball.
“I can drive the Jaguar?” He asked.
“Yes,” Barry exclaimed. “Now make haste! I have no energy to argue.”
As if in some kind of dream Pooh was bathed in warm buttermilk until his golden fur shone. He slid into the black suit, silk shirt, and red tie. Barry helped him with the pocket scarf. He sunk back into the pillows.
“You look perfect. Bill Ford will be very pleased.” He tossed Pooh the Jag keys. “Now off with you!”