Practically Perfect - 7. VII. Highest Possible Vantage

VII. Act Three – Saint Nicholas Day

Scene 1: Highest Possible Vantage

MICHAEL Winced in pain. Although the nursery was quiet, where he sat in a chair before a crouching Mary Poppins and the lace curtains flapped pleasantly in the spring sunshine, a dark little cloud had settled over the young boy's heart.

"Now, let's take a look at this, shall we?" She carefully rolled down the black and torn stocking from his left knee. The action exposed a boo-boo: a scratched and angry abrasion.

The boy's mind was angry as well against the bully who had pushed him down in the park to take his sister's ball.

Mary perused the contents of a small tin box painted white with a circle and cross on its lid. She extracted a flat wad of cotton batting, and a bottle of saline solution. "It's not as bad as it feels, Michael, I can assure you."

The young man's petulance only grew. He shifted on his seat. "Next time I see him – "

"Next time, you point him out and I'll deal with him." She cleaned the wound, bringing Michael back to thoughts of his pain.

"Why do people act that way, Mary Poppins?"

"Fear."

"Fear of what!"

"Fear of themselves, young man." The capable nanny's hands now retrieved a swab and soaked it with two precise drops of ochre-red iodine. She paused a moment, the scent of iron filling the gap. "This will sting, Michael."

He grit his teeth and nodded.

As is natural, Michael winced and tensed his muscles the second the antiseptic touched his open sore.

"There, there," Mary crooned. "You're a good man; you know sometimes hurt is unavoidable. It's a crucial part of getting better. You do understand that, don't you, Michael . . . ?"

He nodded.

"Good."

As she went to work preparing the cotton pad of the dressing and unrolling a suitable length of gauze, Michael inquired most sincerely, "Mary Poppins, can't you simply use your magic to make me better right away?"

"I'm afraid not. Even if I could take the pain away, where would the lesson come from? What good would have been the hurt in the first place?"

The boy was confused.

She bandaged his leg. "Did you ever consider what 'magic' is, Michael."

"Umm."

"It's best thought of as a position of the heart, and occurs when the highest possible vantage is obtained. Think of me floating on the clouds, peering down on others' problems. From up there, vistas stretch out, and we can see the best way to be useful. For the higher we rise above the fray, the clearer our vision gets."

"And do you see a lot, Mary Poppins?"

"I see most everything, Michael Banks, practically everything." She finished her task and began tidying up the first aid kit.

"Besides," she chimed matter-of-factly, "even if I could take the injury away, the anger would remain. Time and healing are the only remedy to lessen thoughts of having been wronged. You do understand that, don’t you, Michael . . . ?"

He nodded again, albeit more slowly.

She stood and brushed the hair aside on his forehead. "Good. None of this may be easy, but I have faith in you, young man . . . . "

P. L. Travers

Mary Poppins Rights a Wrong

˚˚˚˚˚

Riffles of laughter and delight rise spontaneously. Flowing crowds seek out bends and recesses in the trappings of the season to linger and explore. Even as they pause, the current continues to move through them: happy memories of this wonderland, especially for the young in the long years to follow, course along like a continual stream of consciousness.

If we undo our enchanted brolly and fly over them, the full-born top-to-bottom splendors of Famous-Barr's Christmas 1964 come into view.

Approaching noon, this fine day in the first week of December finds the canteens and eateries of every size and description abuzz with merrymakers at mess.

On the Second Floor, the great French farmhouse table at Soupçon is bedecked with a six-foot-tall religieuse à l'ancienne.[1] Made by the award-winning pastry chefs of the store, the golden crackle encasing every delectable mouthful of éclair draws hungry lady-shoppers as surely as any SALE sign.

In the opposite corner, and tucked behind Men's Fine Tailoring with almost cunning subterfuge from the eyes and nostrils of any wayward female browser, The English Pub hosts a few joints of roast beef in an open rotisserie, under which lèchefrites remain searingly hot and ready for a customer's Yorkshire pudding to be made in the drippings.

Fresh evergreen boughs garnish the mirrors over the back-bar. This is where yard-long taps of British beer cap themselves proudly with porcelain lions, unicorns, and fearsome red dragons. The same greenery lays atop the series of colorful prints of hunting scenes in thin gold frames. In contrast, citrus-sized globes of holly and mistletoe hang via red ribbons from the finials of the brass chandeliers. They are there so passersby may remember the 'spirit' of the season; the kissing plant especially aggrandizing in the presence of the mighty draughts of barley wine, stout and porter.

On the Third Floor, chatting patrons hold claim-stubs and linger expectantly at Gift Wrapping. Behind the counter, the fingers of a small army of packagers work in concert: massive rolls of brightly-printed paper stack themselves like the logs of a cabin against the walls. The counters below are kept clear for assembling boxes to be filled and lathered expertly in ribbons and wrappings of the client's choosing.

Snowmen and red trimmings are ever-popular, but this year a strong competitor appears in the form of a solid crimson paper with jolly Santas and candy canes tumbling freely, as if in outer space.

Famous-Barr gift boxes also make winning choices, and arguably, the one featuring the corner of the building with Mr. Fink's ninety-foot tree of lights is the connoisseur's choice. Bound with a simple ivory-colored ribbon, it is the most beautiful and tasteful of them all.[2]

In a corner of Three near the escalators lives the Christmas Gift Bazaar. Exotic trinkets, like brass cricket cages from India, and silk lanterns from China, vie for attention amid majolica chocolate sets from Andalusia, and woven tapestries from Flanders.

Here too a Neo-Edwardian tannenbaum resides in the center of the counter island, but offers a beautiful setting for intricately carved angel figures from Napoli. High-priced, delicate and exquisite, they hover in ecstatic praise above an equally elaborate manger scene at the base of the tree. At eyelevel to the customer, the Holy Family, kneeling shepherds, sheep, donkeys, geese and cows gaze towards Il bambino. 'Round the sides of the trees, a caravan of camels, attendants and three wise men wend their way in procession to the stable.

Up on Five, one area is reserved for immaculate aisle upon aisle-full of boxed Christmas cards – one of three such stations in the store – and where ladies with headscarves down on shoulders peer at the images and messages. Photos compete against more traditional artwork: a picture of an accordion-like jack-in-the-box says Poppin' up to remind you it's Christmas Card Time!; while single-tone red prints show a sleigh-full of children and the words Over the Wood and Through the Snow….

Options are nearly endless, and Card Department stock boys replenish vacancies on a nightly basis – by Xmas Eve, they will be out; that's guaranteed.

An intermediary space serves as bridge. Here can be found various ways to display the cards received for the season. Countertop models include wire trees with built-in loops or clips, and wall-mounted numbers featuring long, wide strips of felt that the correspondences can be pinned to. The tops of these hangings come in Santa, snowmen, bells or elves, although each is lovingly decorated with cutout appliqués trimmed in metallic sequins.

Next door is the Home Wrappings Department where more shoppers peruse rolls and stacks of printed finery, satin bows and spools of decorative flourishes. Children's themes assert themselves, and one area of delight for small ones in recent times is well represented: space.

Gift tags show Santa in a UFO; gift paper reveals Rudolph in the Milky Way; gift ribbons highlight robots on snowy alien worlds. Sputnik appears in a myriad of abstract designs.

On the other side of the Floor, and in total contrast to it, The Merry Xmas Shop invites visitors with an Alpine façade. Split timber eaves crown frosty windowpanes behind which flicker electric candles. Inside, one is transported to a remote and enchanting corner of Germany – Erzgebirge. The region has long been famous for producing wooden toys and holiday decorations rivaled by none, not even its better-known neighbor, The Black Forest.

A mother and child move about the shop in suitable, old-world reverence. An occasional reaching gesture by little fingers is met with a gentle shake of the maternal head to signal "Look, but don't touch."

Some the height of a man, others as small as a child's palm width, the central table displays that masterwork of German woodcarver's charm – the 'pyramid.'

Always in tiers, usually of a varnished but unfinished wood, these crossovers between toys and teaching tools are operated at home by lit candles at the base; currents of heat rise and work on fan blades at the top to turn a central shaft. Around the levels of the pyramid, wise men turn while children and animals move on the other. Unlike the natural finish of the structure itself, the animated characters are painted with loving detail in vibrant color.

Around the perimeter of the shop runs a counter, above which are shelves, and upon these stand nutcrackers and 'smokers.' Infinite fancy shows itself in how the martial toy crackers are dressed – some looking 17th Century, some wearing U.S. Army fatigues. The smokers on the other hand serve a different purpose and always wear civilian attire. Jointed at the hip, the inside conceals a small metal plate where a smoldering lump of incense is placed, usually pine-pitch or juniper to bring the holiday scent of the woods indoors. The top being replaced, the current of draft created from the figure's open mouth makes him look like he's smoking.

Down below, and closer to the pleading grasp of the small ones, the countertops are filled to capacity with hand-carved and hand-painted figures in diminutive size – in other words, a size perfect for little digits to grasp and admire.

Grouped in sections, one area hosts a constellation of angels. All little girls, each figure dresses in white and is supplied with light blue wings upon which sit white dots to show stars. Many of them are musicians, playing everything from oboes to French horns; from harps to pianos and organs too. Other angels lift arms to bring gifts for the Christkind to deliver – rocking horses, tops, and even one with a tiny pyramid.

On the shelf above the angels live the special, starry stands. Like stepped half-moons, these platforms are painted sky-blue and have candleholders at the back. Entire bands of the heavenly beings can be collected instrument-by-instrument and assembled on these.

Farther along the counter, an area is reserved for village children. Meant to inhabit Christmas town displays, they too come to the crèche with gifts: some with playthings, others with highly detailed flowers supported like parade lanterns on their waists.

Whimsical animals stable themselves in another section. Not only barnyard creatures and the exotic camel, but everyday lifeforms including insects. One small grouping serves exclusively for ladybugs. A tiny bandleader – barely larger than real-life – raises his baton to lead the merry din of earth and add to the celestial praise above.

The artistry and imagination of these East German craftsmen seem boundless.

Taking leave of the rarified and somewhat pricy atmosphere of the Erzgebirge shop, we see one corner of Seven offers decorations anyone can afford.

Racks of pre-printed holiday décor from the Dennison Manufacturing Company are stacked and waiting. Cherry-cheeked Santas, and cheeky-nosed reindeer peek out from behind clean plastic packaging. These, along with perfectly rendered Christmas trees, can brighten otherwise dull corners not normally touched by holiday color for a mere 25¢ a set.

Also on the Seventh Floor – aligning with the landing of the 'UP' escalator so no wandering eye can miss it – is the magical heart of Famous-Barr's seasonal offerings – the Trim-A-Tree Shop. A veritable forest of lit and decorated tannenbaum, this department too is arranged logically by theme.

Visitors are invited to pick up one of the fabric-lined baskets at the entry and browse the delights at leisure.

The aluminum section off to the left draws attention, especially young attention. A small clump of them rotate slowly while lighted wheels at the base project color up through the branches. As aluminum is a shockingly good conductor of electricity, wiring a metal tree could be hazardous to health and property, and these standalone lights on the floor offer vibrancy of color.

On the boughs hang more space-age treasures for sale. Glass ornaments shaped like rockets, flying saucers and distant planetoids speak to budding dreams of becoming astronauts. Amidst the far-flung fancies, pirouetting Santas in bulbous red suits with white flocking on the cuffs balance on a single toe to remind one of more earthbound matters.

In the green tree section, minute screw-in light bulbs are the latest thing. Many imported from Italy, pinpoints of colored illumination make the traditional Christmas bulbs appear chunky and very old-fashioned indeed.

On the branches hang gloriously modern ornaments from West Germany – mica stripes, swirls and polka dots overlay rich metallic tones of cobalt, demantoid and copper. Tall icicles and pinecones with the same background hues have naturalistic frosting only on the high points.

Examples from Poland glow softer, more pastel, and feature hand-painted arabesques in hints of old-world charm. While tucked around back of one tree there even lurks a beautiful sphere from the U.S.S.R. – of an incredibly deep mauve, the silvering peeking through lends a moody but undeniable sense of gravitas to the offerings.

In the white tree section, more choices of lights hoist themselves up for inspection. The new varieties of 'Sno-Glows,' or 'Krystal Jems' are traditional size, but coated with what looks like chunky sanding sugar. Lit as they are, subtle hints of the color beneath blend white topping with the branches and decorations.

The central tree in this display is blessed with Italian glass ornaments. As fanciful and detailed as Venetian Carnevale disguises, these tall figures come as princesses, ballerinas, harlequins, and 18th Century ladies in Marie Antoinette wigs and dresses. Annealed arms and legs, hand-pulled by craftsmen, bespeak of centuries of the Murano glassblowers' skill as they add life and charm to the Christmas tree characters. Painted in precision and love, these bright heirlooms are designed to last a century or more.

Around the sides, all the ornaments on display are boxed and ready for loading in the shopper's basket. White containers like cake boxes have clear plastic panels in the lids, and differing sizes allow the multinational treats within to be savored visually.

So among the shoppers this noon, many find themselves unwilling to run through the wonders of this multistory-tall holiday emporium hastily, thus they make their way to one of the dining establishments positioned from Basement to top of store.

Our excursion slows and settles on more of the lunchtime crowd. This time, we hover at the juncture of Fine Arts and Famous-Barr's elegant restaurant on Six.

A wide-open plaza of sorts forms where folks waiting to be seated can peruse the artwork; it's a lovely spot to linger.

Amid the noise of happy diners and clinking china from within, we land before the wide double doors of the STL Room as Fink and Bruce exit. The younger man holds a toolbox. They are in mid-discussion, with Fink saying "…The fix should hold till tonight, then I want you to check all the motors for the animated elves. A dab of oil never hurt any machine."

"Yes. Got it."

They continue walking towards the elevators and past the Record Department to the staff door.

Just inside the behind-the-scenes area, they're forced to step aside as two six-foot-tall chipmunks in letterman sweaters file past. A third one – with a giant 'A' on his chest – reaches out and stops Bruce; a muffled "Wait" halts the Display Department men. 'Alvin' takes off his costume head hurriedly.

"Oh, hey, Martin. Whatcha doing?" asks Bruce.

"You know I work in the Record Department…?"

"Yeah."

"Well, my buddies and me, we're doing a show for the kids. We're promoting a new album, The Chipmunks Sing the Beatles Hits."

Jerahmeel Fink cringes, and Martin misunderstands. He raises the ukulele in his 'paw' and reassures, "We don’t actually sing the songs – only lip-sync."

Fink is further flabbergasted. Hogwash upon hogwash…the moptop four sped up to high-pitched screed….

Bruce jokes: "Not lip-sync, but chip-synch." The boys laugh, but stop when noticing the scowl the older man's face.[3]

"Martin, this is Jerahmeel Fink, my boss in the Display Department. And this is Martin Davis, the fella with the car for sale."

The chipmunk kicks his head back in friendly greeting. "What's up?" Brooking no reply, he immediately restores attention to Bruce. "Hey man, I'm glad I saw you today. I got another offer on the Triumph, and well – I can't hold it for you indefinitely."

"I know, I know," Bruce's glance shifts briefly to Fink and makes the older man uncomfortable.

The boss decides he better grill the chipmunk about the vehicle. "Why are you selling a one-year-old car anyway?"

"I don’t want to, believe me. But my wife had a baby and wants a station wagon. Says a coupe is dangerous and my hands are tied."

"Why not trade it in?"

"Famous is family, and I want it to go to the right person. One who'll love it as much as me. Bruce is ideal. He'll even let me visit her, won't you?"

Bruce grins. "Sure."

Martin exclaims, "OH! I got them." He pulls out a photo developer's envelope of pictures by reaching down his costume collar to his shirt pocket. He hands it to Bruce.

The young man sets the toolbox down, and tears into the photographs. He makes sure Fink can see as he sorts through them.

A handsome car, obviously well polished, sits in a driveway. Bruce stands like Steve McQueen with a stiff arm braced on the 'bonnet' and a cocky glare for the camera. Fink wasn't buying the picture perfect view of a boy and his roadster; there was more to Martin's side of the story, he was sure.

He presses the chipmunk. "And there's no problem with the way it runs? No mechanical issues…?"

"No. No, nothing like that. But…occasionally, very rarely, the electrics need a little coaxing, if you know what I mean."

Fink gloats. "I thought so. That's typical for English cars. I was a mechanic during the war, and sometimes those Spitfire engines would roll up needing all sorts of rewiring. We did it every time we saw one, whether they needed it or not; it was only a matter of time till they clunked out."

They are interrupted by one of Alvin's compatriots yelling: "Come on!"

"Gotta go, fellas," says Martin, rotating his head face-first in preparation to slip it back on. "Come look at the car yourself, Jezahbeel. You'll be able to see if it's a loose wire or bum fuse, or something else." Slipping on his head, he pats Bruce's back roughly. "Catch ya later, dude!" He jogs down the hall to go do his work.

Fink, watching him go, turns to see Bruce has 'high hopes' smeared all over his youthful face. His lower back tightens and his knee aches.

The department manager picks up the toolbox, shoves it into the young man's chest, and sets the pictures on top.

As the smile fades from his employee's visage, Fink says curtly, "I said, we'll see."

From that tense little moment behind the scenes, we again fly up and through the store to visit with more festive shoppers and Famousites.

Down on the First Floor, there is an almost continual stream of activity. However, by mid-afternoon, the shoppers of the main floor slow and look for refreshment. The coffee shop and baked goods of the Basement are considered, but so too are the tempting delights of Baskin-Robbins.

Behind the counter, Naomi Tyson, her manager and one other girl are working. Naomi hands a red sample spoon to the young mother on the other side. While the woman guides the taste of Watermelon Sherbet to her small daughter's mouth, Naomi's glance slips off of them and over to a spot near the Candy Counter.

Mary Poppins stands amid a conglomeration of kids with her toes sticking out. They admire her accoutrements while a pair of moms chat with her.

Mary makes eye contact briefly, and offers a smile for Naomi.

"No, no. She doesn't like that," the mother says of the Watermelon Sherbet. "We'll stick with two bowls of….

Vanilla.

"…Vanilla, thank you."

"Coming right up." Naomi adjusts the skirt of her Neapolitan-striped dress and dishes out two servings of their most favored flavor.

As soon as she hands the lady her change, Naomi's manager steps up to her.

"You can take your break now."

"All right, Miss Higgins."

"Well, well – what do we have here?" a bright British twang chimes from in front of the counter. Mary Poppins further enquires, "Iced cream?"

Naomi chuckles. "And sherbet and sorbet. It's my break time; may I treat you? We can sit for a few minutes."

"Well, it will be my treat…." She extracts a coin purse from the outer pocket of her omnipresent carpetbag. "Choose what you like."

"And for you, what flavor do you 'fancy?'"

"Oh…let me see…? Today, I feel like…. Vanilla."

Oh, let's see – boring!

"All right." Naomi dishes out two flavors and they go off to sit at a small table with an ideal view of the crowds coming and going.

"You know," Naomi states with a smile. "I'm a little taken back someone as interesting as you would go for plain old, neutral old, Vanilla."

"Are you indeed? Well, I'll freely admit to being partial to Rum Punch flavored anything, but barring that, I have the second best alternative."

"Baskin-Robbins has 31 flavors. You can find – "

"That's not what I meant, young lady. Sometimes the thing we most desire is the familiar; we simply must go about obtaining it."

Mary pulls up her bag; roots for a moment.

"Ah, yes. Here it is."

A large medicine bottle of the old-fashioned variety with a cork stopper gets set on the table.

"What do you mean?" Naomi asks.

"I mean, I ordered Vanilla with the intention of 'doctoring' it to suit my current mood." She uncorks and sniffs. "Ah, yes. What do you think?"

Naomi takes it and smells. A floral aroma, redolent of the woods greets her nose.

"Blackberry Brickle," Mary explains.

Now Naomi smells exactly that; blackberries with an undercurrent of caramel-walnut brittle.

"Your 31 flavors do not include that one…?"

Naomi shakes her head, passing the container back.

Mary pours a smooth, dark-bluish syrup atop her 'Vanilla,' saying, "I thought not. And you, what flavor are you having?"

"…Mint Chocolate Chip…"

"AH, yes." As she stoppers her bottle, Mary nods her chin judiciously, as if Naomi's choice speaks volumes about the young woman's psychological condition.

Naomi picks up her spoon and laughs. She can't help it; it's all so perfect. "May I?"

"Of course."

Naomi's sample of Blackberry Brickle makes her exclaim a closed-mouth 'Mmm,' for indeed, it's delicious.

Mary joins her and soon is smiling herself. "I must say, this store of yours has such a charm all of its own, especially in its holiday finery. There's more to it than just that. I'd have to say the place has a way of seeping into the heart as well."

Naomi nods, digging into her Mint Chocolate Chip.

Mary continues, "You've seen them, I presume, the Father Christmas masks on the children's coats."

Naomi knows. Each child who visits with Kris Kringle – or Father Christmas – leaves Santaland with a three-inch round Santa face attached to their coat buttons. The plastic 'I've been to Famous' mementos can then be hung on the tree at home.[4]

"That manner of delightful gesture," admires Mary, "goes straight into the heart of a child. It plants joy there, and joy so planted is intended to grow and bloom in adulthood."

Although she'd never thought about it in quite that way, Naomi could not argue against the logic. It is delightful; it is magic.

Poppins has a few more spoonfuls, then acts like she remembers something. "I asked Mr. Fink about those masks. I was positively charmed when his face lit up and he told me this store has been in the memory-making business for generations, including his own."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean he relayed one of his childhood memories of the store to me. Fairyland 1926, he assures me, was not to be forgotten or missed. As I recall, he described it like this: One enters a magical labyrinth representing the regions of ice and snow from where he of the white whiskers and red suit comes. Passersby witness the realistic effect of beautiful ice palaces, and cliffs and mountains of snow. Through passage after passage the young ones go – electric fans out of sight near the ceiling blow chilling breezes upon the spectators – until with bated breath they think they come to the ends of the Earth. And then LO!" Mary's spoon clinks on the table's metal edge for effect. "All of a sudden, they are out in the open of a vast throne room and very nearly in lap of Santa Claus."[5]

Naomi releases a pent-up breath. A thought enters her mind. There was something less-than second hand about Mary's description.

"You sound as if…. As if you saw it here yourself." Naomi chuckles awkwardly.

Mary's only reply is a half-hearted Pish posh before she hastily resumes consumption of her Vanilla-Blackberry-Brickle 'iced' cream.

"This store is a marvel. Do you know which department captivates my fancy the most?"

Naomi shakes her head, suddenly remembering her ice cream.

"On the Eighth Floor. The lights and decorations for the outside of the home. Such sights to turn the most modest of abodes into nighttime celebrations. Plastic figures for any tableau desired, and bough-garlands already strung with flame bulbs of peach, periwinkle and lemon. They cheer the heart. Every porch railing of this city seems to support one."

"That's true. People here love their holiday lights. My folks included."

"And most charmingly of all, to my taste at least, are those accessories. Unscrew one of the lamps and attach a red plastic bell. Oh, Miss Tyson, three of them grouped top or bottom of an outdoor wreath is magical."

"Well, make sure you walk over to Washington and Sixth."

"Why, my dear?"

"One of our rivals, Stix, Baer & Fuller, has a display I think you'll enjoy."

Mary looks a bit sad to Naomi.

"I'll see, my dear. I believe I rather prefer your store."

By way of changing subjects, Naomi says, "Bruce and the whole Display Department have done an amazing job this year. Well, all except 'Jerry.'"

"In addition to work matters, young lady, Mr. Fink has expressed an interest in the unlikely friendship between you and Mr. Achitoff."

"Oh?"

"Oh, yes. But do not bother to concern yourself with it. People are forever exercising their powers of projection. They see what they want to see, but we know differently, do we not?"

Naomi nods, feigning interest in her ice cream once more, and not too sure of her answer.

"Yes, it's the same with my friend Bert and I. People assume we're stepping out because they care for us, and because they desire our happiness as a pairing." She takes a judicious lick of her spoon, her eyes never leaving Naomi.

"I suppose you're right," says the young woman with a sigh. "You know, at first – I was…initially drawn to…him – I don't want to offend your sensibilities…but, I thought he was 'safe.'"

"I understand, dear."

"Do you? I mean, he's so nice, and decent – artistic and all – I thought friend right away."

"I understand that as well."

"He's lonely. That drew me into him – moth to flame, I guess."

"Well, he's a wonderful young man, and the two of you make a fine team. But I'm interested in your future ambitions, Miss Tyson. Tell me, will you always serve ice cream?"

"I'm studying Accounting through a night course. My job here is putting me through college, so I am grateful."

"But…."

"But – there's always a 'but,' isn't there – perhaps accounting is not for me. I like making people happy out front and not behind the scenes."

Mary eats, but with a knowing glint in her timeless eyes, silently encourages the younger woman.

If that sensation arises again of having opened a magical umbrella, we can leave the two in their corner with ice cream and conversation, and finish our holiday tour of the store.

Bruce's column covers, married to the motion of Tchaikovsky's ballet music, elicits a near-continuous peal of Oogh's and Ah's from parents and kids. A perfect phalanx of charms, these six wooden soldiers and six FB nutcrackers march straight into long-term memory.

Christmas all across the land is destined to be glorious this year – well, not as glorious as at Famous-Barr. And in less than a week the store's children's' event will take shape on the afternoon of Saint Nicholas Day, which should not be mistaken for that balderdash skullduggery notion of 'coincidence.'

Now then, whether Naomi Tyson or Bruce Achitoff shall awake with a piece of candy or two in their clogs, we cannot say. But we're rather more confident Jerahmeel Fink shall arise on the wrong side of the bed to discover a lump of coal in his own.