December 1, 2024
Håkan shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and angrily kicked an innocent rock that had gotten in his way. The shoulders were pulled up to the ears and the mouth was drawn into a crooked grimace. It was the day before Advent, and Håkan was upset. Upset and worried. Or maybe mostly worried. All his 60-year-old life, he had believed in Santa Claus and had always been looking forward to Christmas. Well before December, he wrote long wish lists which he then carefully stamped and mailed. In the address field he wrote “To Santa, North Pole”. On the wish list was everything from an extra large bag of Saturday candy and a gingerbread with his name on it, to a Lego castle and new speedy shoes. But he was never greedy, no, not Håkan. He politely wrote at the top that Santa didn’t have to bring ALL the presents, if that was awkward. It was enough for him to get one. Or maybe two. With two he would be happy.
So he had done this every single year for 60 years. Yes, in the first years he had of course had help from his mother and father, before he could spell “Santa” himself. These days he knew that “Santa” was spelled with an “S” and not an “C”, he actually learned that before he turned 40. And every year Santa had answered. He had received a nice little card, with glitter on the edges and a greeting from Santa. And on Christmas Eve, always after Donald Duck, he came limping over the rocks outside Håkan’s parents’ little white house by the sea. He knocked on the green door and always said “are there any nice children here?” in his deep, booming voice, before he stepped inside and opened his large sack of Christmas presents.
But now Håkan was concerned. And worried. This year too, he had written down his wish list and mailed it to Santa, well in advance of December. At the top of the wish list was a new sled, one that went faster than all the other dads’ sleds. With it he would whiz down the hill from Lotsutkiken, his striped scarf flapping behind him in the wind. But he had received no answer. No fancy postcard with glitter had appeared. And yesterday, when Håkan met his bestie Kjell, Kjell had patted him a little on the arm and laughed a little when Håkan expressed his concern. “You…” Kjell had said. “Isn’t it time you realized Santa isn’t real now?” Håkan had just stared at him, unable to answer. What if? Not for real? Håkan turned on his heel and walked straight away.
In an old pilot’s lookout not far away, a subtle light suddenly lit up. Small whispering voices were heard, and eager footsteps drumming against the centuries-old wooden floor. A scent of gingerbread wafted over the high mountain on which the lookout sat.
Yes – Håkan walks around beautiful winter Vrångö and broods over both his wish list and Santa. With an imminent Christmas ahead of us, there is a lot to organize! If nothing else, our dear Jennie, at Hamnkrogen Lotsen, knows it!
Therefore, she has already started planning for next year’s lobster fishing, and is now dreaming of all the guests who will come to them and enjoy the best seafood on the west coast, fine-tuned live music and wonderful atmosphere. Jennie’s best Christmas gift tip for you is to book you and someone you like on our joint lobster fishing package!
