A Whole Herd of Elephants

“I want to talk about a pair of elephants,” I said as the end credits rolled for It’s A Wonderful Life on the Panasonic flat-screen television that we had saved up for and finally purchased in the after-Christmas sales. We had allowed a small contribution from our twenty-three-year-old daughter for both of our birthdays and Christmas combined.

My other half looked at me with a dubious expression. “Let me guess. You want us to adopt some elephants through World Wildlife, is that it?”

“Much as that idea has merit,” I replied, “we’ll circle back to that later.”

Amusement glinted in those familiar blue eyes at my use of the latest phrase we had learned from our daughter at her new job, working remotely for a marvellous Canada-based company. “Go on. Enlighten me.”

“Do you remember when we first met?” I asked, reaching for the remote to switch the television off. How many footsteps had this kind of device robbed us of over the years?

“Do I ever,” came the prompt response. “Your smile almost knocked me off my feet.”

I bestowed a smile which started in my heart, rose to crinkle the corners of my eyes, then curved my lips and revealed my teeth.

“That’s the one.” A thumbs up accompanied the words.

“We’ve slowed down a bit since then,” I commented.

The frown lines deepened on the forehead that I had so often kissed. “Are you hinting that there isn’t enough hanky-panky under the blankey these days?”

I laughed and shook my head, then paused to think what to say next. The topic at hand was far more awkward than talking about sex. Finally, I tried approaching from a different direction, “Do you remember when we last climbed Sharp Haw?”

“Are you testing my memory in case of dementia?” came the rapid response.

"Fiddlesticks,” I responded. “No chance of that with your crosswords, the chess club and all the Sudoku.” I glanced down and petted our Siamese cat loafing next to me on the sofa. Callisto deigned to allow me to pet her without looked too offended.

It didn’t pass my notice how sedentary those hobbies were. Since our beloved Poppet, a sweet greyhound rescue dog, had crossed the Rainbow Bridge this summer without needing a vet’s assistance to depart this mortal coil at a venerable age, we didn’t go walking that much. Usually only along the canal and back again once or twice a week.

I debated with myself whether I should alter course and raise the vexed question of visiting the Yorkshire Rose Dog Rescue with a notion of perhaps adopting another dog. But then I saw the almost empty tub of Cadbury Heroes chocolates which we had mutually demolished over the past few days. Resolve strengthened, I aimed to keep calm and carry on. “Elephants could perhaps be misleading,” I admitted. I raised my gaze and studied the now pudgy face that I knew so well.

“Get on with it,” came the grumble, then, when I still couldn’t find the words, “spit it out.”

“Teletubbies.” I forced the word out as I could not for the life of me figure out how to say this.

Looking away, I swallowed hard and thought of high blood pressure, diabetes, heart attacks and the plethora of illnesses that obesity can contribute to causing. I then met the confused face with a little smile to try and make peace before I spoke. “We’re not elephants, we’re Teletubbies.”

I watched the penny drop in that clever mind, the chin lifting a bit to dispute such a notion, then the reluctant realisation dawn. A few moments of silence ensued to mull it over. “I hope and pray that you haven’t signed us up for blooming WeightWatchers.” 

“No,” I reassured. “I’m sure we can do it ourselves. I want to book us in to get an M.O.T. from the doctor first and then we’ll try to go back in time to our healthier selves.” I waited a beat then added the telling point, “Losing weight and exercising regularly is supposed to help toward a good night’s sleep.”

The slow nod reassured me that this wasn’t going to be the battle I had worried it might be. Sometimes, during a grocery shop, when I had suggested less snacks and chocolates, the argument had come back about how we were entitled to indulge ourselves now that we were retired.

“It has been a slippery slope,” I said, “and the climb back up isn’t going to be easy.”

“Bit like climbing Sharp Haw then,” the love of my life agreed.

“Precisely,” I said, feeling tears of relief brim in my eyes. “And I’m going to ask the doctor whether we could work up to climbing again. I would enjoy the view from up there.”

A laugh was not something I expected. I tilted my head, inviting an explanation.

“You always did set the highest possible goal.”

“That’s my specialty,” I admitted, having steered everyone in our family from one victory to the next as best I could, comforting when they faltered, reassuring them if they had setbacks.

“Are you quite sure you don’t want to choose Snowdon, though? Or Kilimanjaro? Or how about Everest? The sky’s the limit, quite literally.”

I responded to the grandiose, impossible list with the eye roll which it deserved. If Sharp Haw couldn’t be in our sights, I decided I would think of something else.

So together, we made a list of improvements, feasible things that would make a difference. Walking every day unless it was icy. Resisting the lure of chocolate and other treats by cutting back rather than cutting them out entirely. We began to explore healthier options. Fortunately, neither of us was overly keen on alcoholic drinks, so we decided to only indulge with friends.

The beginning daunted us, but we encouraged each other. Sometimes we laughed together and must have seemed daft to any onlookers at Morrisons because we made silly bets with each other like who could put the smallest quantity of what we started to call contraband in our shopping trolley. Of course, we bypassed the tempting aisles of sweets, chocolates, biscuits and cakes entirely.

The doctor gave her blessing on our mission. She didn’t entirely rule out Sharp Haw but wanted us to come back when we thought our fitness matched our ambition, just to make sure.

We didn’t exactly compete with each other, but we did track our weight once a week and kept a record of our blood pressure readings. Our daughter designed a sweet poster of two sloths draped over a tree branch with the wording: Get Fitter Not Fatter. I kept displaying this around the house in various places, so it wouldn’t just blend in with the surroundings over time.

When spring blossoms rose toward the sunlight, we had progressed to walking farther without overdoing it. Each of us then joined a walking group but not the same one. We had never seen the point as a couple to being glued at the hip, especially during retirement when our working lives no longer pulled us in opposite directions for most of the week.

I felt vibrant and enthusiastic, like my body was waking up from a long hibernation. I could breathe better, felt a greater interest in healthy meals and even sleep improved for both of us. Neither of us mentioned it, but even the hanky-panky got more energetic and satisfying.

Then, when summer arrived, I knew it was time to set another challenge. To do this, I got my old Santa costume out of the wardrobe. I used to wear this at work on Christmas Eve, but donned it today to support my idea.

The expression I got when I entered the living room was worth all the effort.

“Ho Ho Ho,” I said, somewhat muffled by the white beard I was wearing.

If I could read minds, I would say there was a question about my possible lack of mental stability lurking behind those blue eyes, given it was summer time. A few moments to process and recover, then a composed greeting. “Hello Santa, what brings you down to Yorkshire from the North Pole?”

“I have come to invite you to join me,” I said to keep the mystery going a little longer.

“I’d be happy to take a turn flying the sleigh, if need be,” came the willing answer.

“Not at all.” I restrained myself from laughing. “Toward the end of November, I will be participating—anonymously of course—in the Great Santa Fun Run. I sincerely hope to see you there!” And with another Ho Ho Ho, I hurried back upstairs and stashed all the Santa gear.

When I returned to the living room, the latest Times crossword puzzle was being pondered over as if nothing unusual had occurred. 

As I sat down on the sofa, I felt my mood plummet from the jollity of pretending to be Santa. Crestfallen, I realised I must be the only one interested in walking five kilometres on a probably cold, possibly rainy November day for charity. 

Perhaps it was the obligation to wear a Santa suit? I wasn’t sure, but knew I would go it alone if I had to do so. Or I might ask our daughter if she would join me.

Then, with a crackle of pages, the newspaper was set to one side and a pronouncement made with definite aplomb. “I had a visitation while you were upstairs.”

“Oh?” I asked, then continued with, “Are we talking about a ghost or a Martian with antennae or what?”

“Not at all.”

A smile quirked my mouth at this repetition of what Santa said earlier, but I managed not to laugh.

“I have seen Father Christmas.”

“Oh?” I asked as nonchalantly as I could.

“We’ve been invited to take part in the Santa 5K this November.” The voice I loved dropped to a confidential whisper. “Apparently, Father Christmas will be attending himself but in disguise.”

“Wow,” I said, grinning with the joy of playing this game together. “I’d better get right on it then.”

Grabbing hold of my laptop, I dismissed the half-played Solitaire game and googled how to register for the Santa 5K locally. Quick as a wink, we were both signed up. “They’re going to provide a Santa t-shirt,” I said, turning the screen to share pictures from last year.

Those blue eyes, studying the images, turned thoughtful. “All well and good, but I want us to go the whole hog.”

Our daughter was better at shopping online, so she organised the purchases for Operation Santa. And so, when we reached almost the end of November, on a cold, crisp but dry morning, we walked together through Craven Court Shopping Centre looking like Mother and Father Christmas. We held hands and responded jovially to anyone we met along the way. Some people obviously had no idea about the Santa 5K event today and simply thought we were both several cards short of a full deck.

It felt special when we joined a few other Santa Clauses on the High Street, exciting as more and more red-and-white clad participants gathered. When the minutes were ticking toward the set-off time, I felt I was in the middle of a whole herd of elephants dressed like Santa, milling around, laughing and chatting. We took turns trying to figure out which one of the increasing crowd of people was Father Christmas in disguise. I laughed so hard at one point that I had to tug my beard down and recover.

Over two thousand Santas soon began their journeys, runners first, then joggers, then wheelers and walkers which included us. I felt more alive than I could remember feeling for a long while. So many people sharing a single purpose: to raise funds for whatever charity they wanted to support.

The walk itself was mostly almost flat, but when we got to the hilly bit, I started thinking about Sharp Haw again. Maybe it would be possible. We could invite our daughter along, make it a family outing which would also provide some support if that became needed.

When we crossed the finish line hand-in-hand, I felt like I had run a marathon. The emotional charge brought tears to my eyes as I received the little medal on the red-and-white striped lanyard. Impulsively, we hugged each other tight. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” I murmured.

“For what exactly?” came the inevitable response.

“Oh, for being you,” I said because I was at a loss for words.

Our daughter found us. Wearing her Santa t-shirt over a red jumper and jogging bottoms, she had walked with a bunch of friends and had a splendid time.

Together, the three of us walked to our favourite tea room on Coach Street and enjoyed lunch. Nobody ordered dessert, despite the tempting home-made cakes on offer. I was partial to their ginger cake but would save that for closer to Christmas when we went out as a family.

I leaned across and whispered in my daughter’s ear to tell her I would make my own way home. Pulling my beard up into place, I gave the both a thumbs up before disappearing on an essential errand. 

Ordinary people mingled with celebrating Santas all along the High Street. I made my way to the British Heart Foundation. My smile was hidden behind my white beard as I looked at my reflection in the charity shop window. 

Drawing closer, I admired the dragons and unicorns as well as other colourful animals on display. I studied the two elephants that I had noticed earlier today. One purple, the other lavender, both adorned with tiny mirrors and little jewels, their trunks raised. A friend who had visited India once told me that was lucky. They would look perfect on our mantel, a reminder of a special day and what we had accomplished together over the past eleven months. 

When I went in, the woman behind the counter asked, “And what can I do for you, Santa? Very well done, by the way, and congratulations.”

I fingered the medal I wore, then pulled down my beard and gave her my best grin. “Thank you,” I said, then gestured toward the window. “I want to talk about a pair of elephants.”