Most people in Blogville liked graphics a lot. But the Grinch, south of Blogville, would give them no thought.
The Grinch hated graphics! For every danged season! Now, please don’t ask why. No one quite knew the reason. It could be her head wasn’t screwed on quite right. It could be, perhaps, that her shoes were too tight.
(I think that the reason most likely of all may have been that her heart was two sizes too small.)
But whatever the reason, her heart or her shoes, she stood there all Advent, still puzzled, confused. She stared from her cave with a sour, Grinchy frown at the warm, lighted windows below in their town.
She knew every blogger in Blogville beneath was busily hanging a MySpace-type wreath.
“They’re posting their glitter!” she snarled with a sneer. Those darned Christmas graphics – they’re practically here!” Then she growled, with her mouse fingers nervously drumming, “I must find a way to keep graphics from coming…”
For tomorrow, she knew, all the bloggers up early would rush for their cursors and cause hurley-burley. They’d scroll through their favs and they’d post from their links, and they’d copy from Facebook with barely a blink.
And then they’d do something she liked least of all. Every blogger in Blogville, the tall and the small, would welcome in Christmas with hardly a word. They wouldn’t choose adjectives, adverbs or nouns, they’d use photos and graphics with nary a frown.
And the more the Grinch thought of the glitter they’d bring, the more the Grinch thought, “I must stop this whole thing! For nearly a year I’ve put up with it now. I must stop those graphics! The question is, how?”
“I know what to do,” said the Grinch in a minute.
And she made a red coat and a hat, and got in it. She chuckled and clucked, “What a great Grinchy trick. With this coat and this hat, I’ll look just like Saint Nick!”
“All I need is a reindeer…” And the Grinch looked around. But since reindeer are scarce, there was none to be found. Did that stop the Grinch? No! The Grinch simply said, “If I can’t find a reindeer, I’ll make one, instead.”
So she called her cat, Dixie, and took some red thread and tied up a horn on the top of her head.
Then she cleaned out her hard drive and cleaned it out more.
She emptied her trash bin of folders galore.
She hitched up poor Dixie, who started to freak
and headed to Blogville, a language-crazed geek.
As the sleigh gathered speed and started straight down toward the homes where the bloggers lay sleeping in town, their windows were dark. Quiet snow filled the air. Those bloggers were dreaming sweet dreams without care. Their hard drives were defragged, their viruses cleaned, their firewalls stout against hackers unseen.
But the Grinch found a chimney – a rather tight pinch – and if Santa could do it, then so could the Grinch. She got stuck only once, for a moment or two, then she poked her head out of the fireplace flue. The glittery stockings were hung in a row. “Those stockings,” she grinned, “are the first things to go.
Then she slithered around with a smile most unpleasant throughout the whole room, and deleted the presents. Ipads! And bicycles! Skateboards and drums! Cuisinarts! Baby dolls! Laptops and plums! Once she’d poofed them away, the Grinch, very nimbly deleted the gifs of the bags and the chimney.
Then she turned to the icebox, deleting the feast. She deleted the pudding! erased the roast beast! She cleaned out that icebox as quick as a flash – why, that Grinch even trashed their last can of hash.
Then she looked at the scene with a satisfied glee. “And NOW!” grinned the Grinch, “I’ll delete that danged tree.” The Grinch grabbed the cursor and started to click when she heard a small sound like a tap-tapping stick. She turned around fast, and saw a small Tweeter – a Blogger’s young child who couldn’t be sweeter.
The Grinch had been caught by this little blog daughter who’d left her warm bed for a cup of cold water. She stared at the Grinch and said, “Why, Santa? Why? You’re taking our tree? Our Christmas tree? Why?”
But you know, that old Grinch was so smart and so slick she thought up a lie, and she thought it up quick. “Why, my sweet little tot,” the fake Santy Clause lied, “there’s a light on this tree that won’t light on one side. I’m taking it home to my workshop, my dear. I’ll fix it up there, and then bring it back here.”
Her fib fooled the child, so she patted her head, and got her a drink and sent her to bed. The babe went to bed with no way to see the Grinch click on the mouse and delete her fine tree!
As she went out the door, that foolish old liar, the last thing she took was the log for their fire. The one speck of image still left in the house was a crumb that was even too small for a mouse.
At a quarter-past dawn, with the bloggers abed, she went to her desk to recycle the sled. Her bin overflowed with both ribbons and wrappings – the tinsel and tags! The trimmings and trappings!
As she opened the bin to finally dump it, “Begone, all you bloggers!” she was Grinch-ish-ly humming. “They’re finding out now that no Christmas is coming! They’re just waking up. I know what they’ll do. Their mouths will hang open a minute or two and then those poor bloggers will all cry, ‘Boo-Hoo’!”
“That’s a noise,” grinned the Grinch, “that I simply must hear.” So she paused. And the Grinch put a hand to her ear. And she did hear a sound rising over the snow that started out low, then clearly did grow.
But the sound wasn’t sad. It sounded quite merry. It couldn’t be so – but it surely was Merry!
As she stared down at Blogville the Grinch popped her eyes. Then she shook at the sight of a shocking surprise!
Every blogger in Blogville, the tall and the small, was posting without any glitter at all. She hadn’t stopped Christmas by trashing the pics, the trees or the cookies or even St. Nick.
And the Grinch, with her Grinch-feet ice-cold in the snow stood puzzling and puzzling: “How can it be so? It came without glitter! It came without gifs! It came without videos, YouTubes or tifs.”
And she puzzled three hours, ’til her puzzler was sore, until thinking of something she hadn’t before.
“Maybe Christmas,” she thought, “doesn’t come from our words, the glitter we post or the songs that we’ve heard. Maybe Christmas is more than our words and our art. Maybe Christmas, at best, still comes from the heart.”
And what happened then? Well, in Blogville they say that the Grinch’s small heart grew three sizes that day!
And the minute her heart didn’t feel quite so tight she whizzed with her cursor through bright morning light. She brought back the gifs and the glittery headers, and pinned back the links for the Twitter defenders.
She posted the candles, the presents and trees before laughing herself, with a Christmas-tide glee.
“I love plain old words,” she said with a smile. But Christmas is here! Let’s indulge with some style!
Comments always are welcome. To leave a comment or respond, just click below. Please – NO Reblogging. And if you’ve never read the original book, “How the Grinch Stole Christmas”, put it on your list for Santa – or better yet, get it for yourself and read it now. Your heart will grow at least three sizes. I promise.