Transcript
!"#$%&'()'*+), A Christmas Journey
Sarah Jean Linquist
Book Design by Carrie Ehrfurth Photography by Ian Wasserman Published by: ON THE WALL PRODUCTIONS, Inc., St. Louis, MO, USA
International Standard Book Number: 978-0-9838869-2-1 © MMXI by ON THE WALL PRODUCTIONS, Inc. www.onwardisbest.com
[email protected] Limited Collector’s Edition Printed in the United States of America First Printing
Christmas Tree at Night on Page 8 Peter Miller / Stone Collection / Getty Images
Acknowledgements In addition to all the work that Sarah put into creating this book, I want to give special recognition to her sisters Suzanne, Kate and Ann for their tireless and loving devotion in editing the story, to Ian Wasserman for his keen and creative photographer’s eye, to our niece Carrie Ehrfurth for this amazing book design, to Lisa Roth for her rendering of Chapter Nine: The Tunnel, to Jean Ponzi for her Afterwords and to Barry Leibman for his excellent managing of this entire book project. Among the many family members and friends who supported Sarah during the past five years, I especially want to thank the following for their kind contributions: Zeke MacDonald, Nancy Sophir, Dale Dufer, Diane Katzman, Eric Von Schrader, Cherie Brandt, Christine Thorwegen, Kyra Morris, Janet Goodman, Jeffrey Hirsch and Lois Severin. Finally I want to recognize the most important people in our lives, our parents Jean and Alan Linquist, and Henry and Shirley Fishbone, and our two wonderful children, Tyler and Liza. Our parents gave us the gift of life, our children are carrying it Onward! Robert Fishbone Executive Producer
!"#$%&'()'*+), A Christmas Journey
hat a stupendous, outstanding group of Toys!” Santa Claus stretched out his arms to gather in the crowd of dolls, wind-up trains, stuffed bears, and more. “It’s time to get wrapped up and stowed in my pack. It’s almost Christmas Eve. Are you ready?”
-.$/,+%'!"+ The Wrapping Room
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Lots of Toys screamed, “Yes!” Others hooted, snapped, stomped, or spun around in excitement. But
He laughed and patted her shoulder. “Keep looking,” he said.
not Dolly. She turned away her wooden face, pushed back her wild red hair, and whispered, “I’m not going.”
Santa raised his arms and snapped his fingers. On the other side of the glass, hundreds of lights blinked
“We’ll fly through the night together to Christmas trees all over the world!” Santa clapped his hands.
once, then lit up long green branches heavy with silvery streamers, beaded garlands, and shiny balls of every
Behind him Elves climbed three red steps and pushed open a heavy door into a room Dolly had never seen. Inside, long tables were piled high with shiny paper. Crinkled tissue spilled out of big blue bins. Great wooden spools hung from the ceiling, sending colorful ribbons curling all the way to the floor. “That’s the Wrapping Room,” said Pink Doll in her know-it-all voice. She fluffed her blond curls and fiddled with her pink hat. Then she announced, “Everyone ought to get in a nice, neat line.”
color. The giant evergreen tree shimmered with light and swayed in the winter wind. “It’s Santa’s Christmas Tree,” said the Red-Suited Soldier. “It has a big, bright star on the top.” Santa nodded. “After a long night of delivering all you Toys, that bright star will tell me I’ve come home to the North Pole at last.” You’ll be home, Dolly thought, but where will I be? Santa waved goodbye and headed out the Workshop door. Around the room Elves clapped their hands and sang.
“What about a nice, messy line?” Dolly snapped. Some of the Toys snickered.
Santa’s gone to get his List.
Dolly shoved her hands in her pockets. Didn’t any of the other Toys realize
It’s nearly time to leave.
that they were going to be wrapped up and taken away? Didn’t they know Santa
Line up now, one by one.
would leave each of them under a Christmas tree to wait alone for a strange
It’s almost Christmas Eve.
child? Dolly imagined Christmas morning far from the North Pole. She felt a pinch of fear. What if my child tears off that shiny wrapping paper, picks me up, and . . . doesn’t smile? What if she doesn’t love me? Santa pointed at the big Workshop window. “Keep your eyes open,” Santa boomed as he smiled at each Toy. “I have a surprise for you.”
The Toys giggled as they tried to form a line. Dolly wandered over behind the Duck Twins and listened to them quack. She fiddled with her hair. What were children like? Had Santa really found a child who wanted, more than anything, to have a wooden doll with wild red hair? The line to the Wrapping Room moved forward. Dolly looked out the Workshop window at the bright
Dolly pressed her face against the glass and stared. “I just see dark out there,” she muttered to the RedSuited Soldier.
Christmas Tree. Why couldn’t she stay under that tree? She could wait there until Christmas morning. When Santa got back she’d run out and surprise him!
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Click, click, clicking sounds interrupted Dolly’s thoughts. It was Pink Doll fluttering her huge eyelids. “Santa’s such a dear man.” Pink Doll opened her pink purse and pulled out a mirror. “He’s chosen a lovely girl for me.” She cocked her head and checked her reflection. “She’s going to push me around in a darling little buggy. We’ll have tea parties, and she’ll brag about me to all her friends.” “What if that girl loses your hat, cuts off your hair, and scribbles a mustache on your face with a green crayon?” Dolly jeered. “What will her friends say then?” Jack popped up out of his Box. “Golly, Dolly, that would be jolly!” He howled with delight, bobbled and bounced, then collapsed back into his Box. The lid came down with a bang, and an Elf sat on Jack’s Box to keep the lid shut tight. Ahead of Dolly, the Duck Twins waddled toward the Wrapping Room. They stuck their yellow bills right next to Dolly’s ear. “Quackers, Dolly, we can’t wait to meet our child. We know he’ll love all farm animals, like cows and chickens, and ducks.” “You hope he will.” Dolly tapped their sailor ties. “But your child might not like ducks at all. He just might wrap you both back up and give you to his dog.” Both ducks quacked in alarm. The Elf sitting on Jack’s Box came over and whispered to them that such a thing would never ever happen. Just then the Workshop door opened. Santa strode in, stamping snow off his boots. In one hand he held a stack of letters, in the other, a roll of paper.
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“Finally, I’ve finished the List. I’ve read all my letters, considered all the children, and, most important, I’ve thought hard about all you Toys.” He raised one hand and unrolled the paper. “Every single one of you will go to a child on this List—a special child picked just for you.” Dolly stepped forward for a good look. She stared hard, but there were no Toys listed next to the names of children, just a line of dots. Did that mean Santa wasn’t quite sure which child was best for each Toy, which child was best for her? A cold whistle of wind chilled her. She hugged herself and looked at the Workshop door. It wasn’t quite shut. “After the Wrapping Room,” said Santa, “the next thing each of you Toys will see is your child’s smiling face on Christmas morning.” Santa waved the List one last time and handed it to an Elf. Dolly shuffled her feet. Had Santa really found the right child for her? What if he had made a mistake? What if she opened her eyes on Christmas morning and her child wasn’t happy? Santa walked over to Dolly. She looked up at him, wondering if he could read her mind and see her fears. He bent down, a letter in his hand. “Dolly, I have a letter here from a girl who is wishing for a very special doll. She hopes her new doll will be very clever so they can have adventures together.” Santa smiled at Dolly and moved his hand lightly over her hair. “I know you’re clever, Dolly. I gave you a good wooden brain.” He straightened up and chuckled. “Don’t forget to use it.”
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Dolly started to tell Santa that she wouldn’t forget, but just then a cheer went up from the Toys as the
swinging back and bashing the other in the chest. Both Elves tumbled off the
Red-Suited Soldier climbed the three steps to the Wrapping Room. He turned to Santa and saluted, waved
stairs as Jack’s Box toppled over. His head bounced down the steps, his long
at Dolly, then announced:
spring stretched tight behind it. “Pick me up, pick me up!” he squealed. Santa pushed toward Jack, and Elves ran to help. Pink Doll’s eyelids I’m the Red-Suited Soldier,
clattered, and her shrill voice rose high over the Toys, “That silly Jack. He just
And for every Toy like me
wants attention.”
It’s time to meet a special child. This is our destiny.
Jack groaned. Dolly took one step back and fell against the Duck Twins. She tried to stand, but tripped over a tangle of red and gold ribbon, slipped on a strip of green tissue paper, and fell against the Workshop door.
Jack burst out of his Box, swayed on his spring, and yelled “Bravo!” The Soldier
The huge door creaked open a bit wider, and Dolly tumbled outside into the
bowed deeply, then straightened. Without one look back, he marched into the Wrapping
snow. When she looked up, Santa’s Christmas Tree glittered and swayed right in
Room. The door closed behind him. Dolly realized she would never see her friend again.
front of her. She stood, then stepped farther out into the snow and took a deep breath of frosty air. Far above
An Elf led Dolly closer to the red steps. She felt the Elf ’s hand on her arm,
her the tree’s big star gleamed. This was Santa’s Christmas Tree, but couldn’t it be her tree, too? Couldn’t she
moving her forward. When I step into the Wrapping Room, she thought, that door will close behind me, too. I’m about to leave Santa and the Elves forever. Dolly glanced out the Workshop window. The branches of Santa’s Christmas Tree seemed so close she felt she could almost touch them. Wind whistled through a crack in the Workshop door,
hide under its long, green branches until Christmas Eve was over? A puff of wind tossed Dolly’s hair and blew her skirt. “I won’t go to a special child. I’ll stay right here instead,” she told herself. Dolly slipped beneath the tree’s lowest boughs, then twirled and sang as hundreds of colored lights and shiny ornaments shimmered above her.
swirling bits of tissue paper and tangles of colored ribbon around the floor. Two Elves lifted Jack’s Box and carried him up the red steps. Dolly put a hand over her mouth. “I’m next.”
I’m hiding, I’m hiding, I’m safe and sound at last!
Right in front of the doorway, Jack exploded out of his Box screaming, “Hooray for me!” His big head swung low on his spring, smacking one Elf in the face,
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I’ll stay right here, hidden away ‘Til Christmas Eve is past!
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Dolly danced beneath the branches, waving her arms at the bright lights
On and on the little doll ran, pushed by the wind through rolling fields of starlit snow. As she reached
and singing, “I’m hiding, I’m hiding” again and again. Suddenly she
the top of the next hill, Dolly suddenly slipped, then tumbled, head over heels, again and again, down and
stopped. A face with big popping eyes stared right at her. Was it
down. “Ouch!” Dizzy and snow-covered, Dolly sprawled into the deep drifts.
someone to take her to the Wrapping Room? She ran deeper into the branches. Another, bigger face rose up, very close to hers. She reached out her hand to push it away. A hand reached back to her, a hand that looked just like her own. Dolly stamped her foot. “Balderdaggle,” she grumbled. “That is my face and my hand reflected in that shiny ornament. Maybe I’m not such a clever doll after all.” Santa had given her a good wooden brain, but did she really know how to use it? Just then Dolly heard high-pitched, happy chattering. Elves! She saw Elves hurrying out the Workshop door, arms filled with jingling bells, heading towards the Reindeer shed. Dolly crouched low behind a thick fall of tinsel. “Oh no! I can’t stay here. Those Elves will keep coming and going until Christmas Eve. What if they see me? What if they take me back to Santa’s Workshop?” I’ve got to get away now, I’ve got to disappear! I’ll run, I’ll find some special place. I know I can’t stay here! Dolly dashed out from beneath the Christmas Tree into the night. A strong gust of wind grabbed at her skirt, pushing her along so fast she scarcely felt the snow beneath her. “Fleetorious feet!” Dolly cried, “I can almost fly!”
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olly stood and steadied herself. She brushed snow off her face. Where was she?
She looked in every direction, searching for Santa’s Christmas Tree and its
shining star. Everywhere she saw endless snow and, far, far ahead, a distant line
where land ended and stars rose up high—more stars than she had ever seen.
“I’m all alone,” said Dolly. She felt a prickle of panic. She had always been
around Toys, even ones that were so silly she wished they’d go away. Not anymore. “I’d even be happy to see
-.$/,+%'0#1 A Hole in the Night
Pink Doll,” she whispered into the darkness.
“Santa!” she called. “Where am I?” There was no answer except a blast of cold that pushed her hair flat
against her head. It made her remember Santa bending down and smoothing her hair with his hand. She could almost hear his voice. “You have a good wooden brain, Dolly. Don’t forget to use it.”
She scanned the sky as if hoping she might see him, his sleigh swooping down to rescue her. Instead,
the sky was full of stars—twinkling stars, big bright steady stars, clouds of tiny points, and, overhead, a high, wide ribbon of stars streaming across the sky.
What an extraordinary thing, thought Dolly, that a small Toy could stand in the snow, look up, and
see such splendid stars. Did Santa see these same stars when he and his Reindeer flew across the sky on Christmas Eve?
Whoosh! A star suddenly shot across the sky, a bright ball that left a trail of sparks and gleaming dust.
The big star dropped lower and lower and finally exploded in a patch of bright light.
The light hung in the darkness, directly ahead of Dolly. She bounded through the deep snow until she
came close to the circle of light. “It’s a hole,” she said in wonder. It hardly seemed possible. “It’s a hole in the night.”
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Dolly moved closer to the opening. The light coming through it was so bright she had to shade her
eyes. She reached out and moved her palm along the velvety line of darkness that edged the hole in the night, then poked her hand inside. Warm air flowed around it. Dolly laughed as she pushed her whole arm into the hole and waved it back and forth. “It’s so warm in there!”
Dolly pulled her arm out and held it against her cold, wooden body. The heat felt wonderful; she’d
almost forgotten how good warmth could be. She longed to dive in and be warm all over. But would Santa
be able to find her if she left this starlit, snowy place? What was on the other side? Toys? Monsters? She wondered if there were anything at all. If she jumped in, would she fall forever?
Dolly stamped her feet. Her legs were turning numb. They pounded the snow like two sticks of wood
that had never been carved, never been part of a doll, never been part of her. If I stay here, I might freeze, All alone in the snow.
That hole felt so very warm Shall I stay? Or shall I go?
But that hole could be scary. What, oh what, to do?
It’s so hard to make up my mind To jump into some place new.
Once more she gazed upward to search for Santa’s sleigh, but saw only a river of stars flowing across
the sky. As Dolly stared, that bright river seemed to dip slightly in her direction, like a nod that urged her to
go on. Before she thought any more, Dolly grasped the soft edge of night with both hands, pulled her feet up, shut her eyes, and jumped.
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crunch! Leaves slapped Dolly’s face and twigs and branches cracked. “Glorious gladiolas! I jumped through a hole and landed in a bush.” She laughed, then pulled herself up, shook out her hair, and made sure all of her parts were still attached. She looked around. “Everything here is made of paper!” As she pushed aside some branches, she stopped to examine them. “Are those really leaves?” Dolly
-.$/,+%'0.%++ Paper Land
giggled. She ran from one plant to another, making them rustle and bounce, feeling everything, reading snippets here and there on the colorful leaves. “ ‘Admit One,’ it says.” Dolly laughed. “I just left the freezing snow, and now I’m in a warm, wondrous place. But where am I?” There was no trace of the hole she’d come through or even of the bush she’d fallen into. “Are there any Toys or children here?” she called in a loud voice. “Is anybody here?” All she heard was a soft rush and gurgle somewhere ahead. Dolly began to explore. She passed a tree covered with postage stamps—stamps just like the ones on the letters children sent Santa. Her hand touched a bush sprouting strips of shiny wrapping paper. “It’s like the Wrapping Room!” She thought of the Toys. Whose turn was it to climb the red steps to the Wrapping Room? Was it the Duck Twins’ turn? Were they afraid? Were they excited? The gurgling grew louder and louder. Dolly walked by a tree trunk wrapped with ribbons, then stopped. Gurgling, burbling blue water rolled right next to her toes. “This gurgling sounds
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like the Elves laughing.” She
Uh . . . the Elves call me Dolly.
sighed, then called out again.
The North Pole is my home.
“Does anyone live here? Come
Will I find a friend here
out and play Hide and Seek. I
So I won’t be alone?
can’t play alone.” She missed her friends. She really wished for Jack. If only he would pop
To Dolly’s surprise the Brook answered right away.
out from behind a bush and yell, “Golly Dolly!” she’d be happy.
Bubbily, burbily,
The Brook bubbled along, even louder,
Diddleypie.
almost as if it were answering her. Dolly spoke a second time, a bit surprised that she was talking to a
Find your new friend,
burbling Brook. “Water, this is such a wonderful place. But where am I?”
The brave Dragonfly.
The Brook furrowed and fizzed and flowed. Was it her imagination or was it talking to her? Dolly jumped up and clapped her hands. “Glitter and glee! We can play Hide and Seek.” She skipped Bubbily, burbily,
around, looking high in the papery trees and low under leaves made of tickets.
Doodily dum. Where in the world
Come out, come out, brave Dragonfly.
Did you come from?
You surely can’t be far. I promise I will find you,
Yes! The Brook was talking to her. Dolly sat up very straight and smoothed back her hair. She
No matter where you are!
knew she had to use her good wooden brain to give a clever answer.
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Dolly had played this game many times with the Toys, but this time there was so much to look at and so many places a dragonfly could hide that she wondered if she would ever find her new friend. “Oh pooh. I don’t see anyone at all, not a Toy, an animal, a bird, or a bug.” Behind her, Dolly heard the Brook burble and gurgle as if her search made it laugh. She kept looking. Dolly wandered away from the water, examining each leaf and rock. As she walked into a tall stand of
ready to go, Dragonfly.” And Dolly followed the buzzing bug through the papery forest. As the pair traveled on and on, a path opened up, and the forest gave way to broad expanses of open country. The bright paper colors and patterns faded into shades of white and pale yellow. The ground became bumpy. Dolly sniffed. “Dragonfly, do you smell butter?”
flowers, Dolly saw a picture at the center of each bloom. There, in one blossom, she spied a paper dragonfly with lacy wings made of every color. It looked so delicate and lovely that she reached out and touched it. Swoosh! Dragonfly raised her wings, beat them against the air, and rose high above Dolly’s head. She fluttered, flying circles around Dolly until she settled on the doll’s wooden hand. Dolly could see the bug’s shining eyes staring up at her. “The gurgling Brook was right. I found a friend! Dragonfly, my name is Dolly. I am very happy to meet you.” Let’s explore Paper Land together, Every flower, leaf, and tree. There’s so much to investigate, So much for us to see! Dragonfly flew in a circle and dipped her wings for Dolly to follow. She hummed a buzzy tune in her quiet voice, “East, West, Onward is Best.” “You’re right, Dragonfly. And you can be my guide.” Dolly patted her hair into place and then waved at the Brook. “Thank you, Water.” Her flying friend made figure eights in the air. “I’m
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s they came over a low hill, Dolly threw her hands up in delight. “Oh merriment, Dragonfly! This is a land made of popcorn!” She scooped up popcorn puffs from
the sides of the path and took a good, long sniff of their buttery smell. She
grabbed a string of popcorn off a tree and looped it around her neck. She tossed handfuls of popcorn kernels
-.$/,+%'213% Popcorn Land
into the air like golden confetti.
“Mmm, these are the biggest, lightest popcorn puffs I’ve ever seen. Santa loves popcorn. I’ll stuff my
pockets with some kernels and surprise him with this popcorn present. I don’t know where Santa is right now, but he’d certainly stop to visit a land filled with his favorite snack . . . wouldn’t he?”
Dolly skipped along the path
breathing in the rich, popcorn smell. “Dragonfly, could you ever have
imagined a land where every inch was made of scrumptious popcorn?”
Dragonfly flitted from tree to
tree, buzzing to herself as she sampled
bits of buttery morsels. Dolly pranced
joyfully down the path, dancing and twirling.
“Look out!” squeaked
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Dragonfly.
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Too late.
shutting with a loud clack on empty air. Dragonfly soared away
Dolly crashed into a huge mass of feathers. She bounced
down the path. Dolly dashed after her friend, shoes clattering on
off, collapsing like a rag doll instead of like the wooden doll
the hard, rocky path.
she was. But it wasn’t fluffy popcorn puffs she came down
The once bountiful land was barren and covered with nothing
on. She landed on a few unpopped kernels scattered on hard,
but stone. Dolly’s heart sank to her wooden shoes, and she
cold ground. It hurt. She stood and pushed her hair away
slowed to a weary walk. Dragonfly clung to Dolly’s hair. “Oh
from her face.
glumpers, Dragonfly. I can’t believe this land was once full of
Two enormous birds towered over her. Their big beaks
popcorn. It’s so empty now. Those horrible birds haven’t left
clacked as they chomped popcorn. One turned a beady eye
one puff or kernel.”
on Dolly.
Dragonfly rose and fluttered ahead. “East, West, Onward
is Best.”
Munch, munch,
So onward they went, Dragonfly leading the way, flying
Crunch, crunch.
easily. But Dolly grumbled and stumbled over the rough path,
Bug off squirt.
over boulders that seemed like hills. She had to jump across deep
Don’t wreck our lunch.
cracks in the ground. The pair went on and on as the sun dropped
Dolly backed away slowly. The birds were so busy scooping up every single bit of popped corn that they
barely glanced at her. Behind them, Dolly saw a terrible sight. Everywhere the birds had been was now only
lower. Dolly’s shadow lengthened until her legs looked like dark, jagged lines moving
slowly over the rough ground. Her wooden feet hurt, and her thoughts were full of Santa and the North Pole.
barren, rocky ground.
Oh, why did I leave Santa?
“What are you doing, you big bad birds?” Dolly shrieked. “You are eating up Popcorn Land!”
Why did I leave my friends?
One of the birds flapped his wings. “I’m Caw and she’s Maw and we said ‘bug off.’ ”
Now I’m in a hard, gray land.
“Stop!” Dolly said. “Don’t you see? All the popcorn will be gone.”
Caw and Maw blinked at Dolly. Caw paused, swallowed, and burped. “So what?”
While the birds ate and ate, Dragonfly zigzagged frantically in the air to try to get their attention away
from the popcorn. Maw lifted her huge head and fixed a glassy eye on her. “Mmm, you look extremely tasty.” The bird opened her beak, but Dragonfly executed a double-twist back flip. Maw lunged, her beak
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Who knows where this path ends? Dolly suddenly stopped. She turned and retraced her steps, whispering to herself. Had she just imagined
it? She called out, “Dragonfly, look!”
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here in the rocky ground, cracks had curled and crisscrossed to form letters. Dolly traced the letters as she read them out loud to Dragonfly. A S K
F O R
H E L P
“Serendiperous! This message is for us!” Dolly looked in every direction, but the land
was as vacant as ever. “Ask who?” she shouted into the emptiness. “Who wrote this? It says ‘ask’. Please, someone, help us!”
Dragonfly flew back and forth studying the letters.
Dolly kicked the ground, and pepples skittered in every direction. “This is no good. We got a message,
-.$/,+%'2(4+ Lost
but it’s useless. No one is here. Nothing is here.”
Dragonfly dipped her wings, motioning Dolly to follow the path. The little doll stood with her arms
crossed and head bowed. She refused to move. Dragonfly flew back and pulled a clump of Dolly’s hair. “East, West, Onward is Best!”
“OK, you’re right. I can’t stand here like a blockhead.” Dolly began to walk. “Santa told me I have a good
wooden brain. This is a path. All paths lead somewhere. Someone wrote ‘ask’. So, Dragonfly, I think the path leads to someone we can ask.”
They went on, but saw no one. The land was very
quiet. The rocky path dimmed in the fading sun as Dragonfly led her friend up a hill. Dolly stumbled through piles of stones near the top. When they reached the crest, they stopped. Dragonfly circled around and retreated to her refuge in Dolly’s hair. They both stared in silence. Below them the path led down into a forest lit dimly by a mysterious
blue and silver light. Moving shapes clinked, tinked, and jingled. 34
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0.+'?"@("().+&'A$"3)B%(/,
!
ur first look at Sarah’s story idea was late at night in Austin, Texas, at a 2007 Sister Gathering. “I’m working
on a children’s book,” Sarah said, then opened a computer,
pulled up an image, and, like magic, we were in Paper Land. There
was red-haired Dolly marching through a forest of spiky cut paper,
“I want to do that some day!” she exclaimed. That desire resurfaced decades later as this amazing book and as one of the ways Sarah dealt with a
life-changing event.
In 2006, in the midst of a long career as a prolific painter and well-respected scenic artist, my beloved wife Sarah was diagnosed with late-stage
with quirky detail, but it came together to create a magical place,
clothes.
“new reality,” as she called it, detract from her personal mission: to nurture our family, to spend time with loving friends, to create art, and to wear cool
In our home, we have often referred to life as the Great Mystery, and mysterious and grand was how Sarah looked at the world. She really wasn’t
and our youngest sister Sarah was making it come alive for all of us.
trying to figure life out or even unravel it…she just wanted to dance with it.
for her “Dolly book” with her sisters Suzanne, Kate, and Ann.
walking, but with her eyes closed she couldn’t feel the difference between sand paper or silk, a real challenge for an artist who draws and paints.
Gatherings, and Sarah frequently asked each of us for advice and
into those Christmas windows at Marshall Field’s. With this Aha! moment she began this wondrous book.
Louis. In the difficult days after Sarah passed away, Ann decided
through the unknown. To illustrate her story, Sarah created a series of 3-D sets, each a miniature landscape through which her characters journeyed.
drafts, revisions, almost-final edits, new revisions, and last-minute
objects. For her heroine she fashioned Dolly, a small wooden doll with wild red hair. She set her story within the context of her favorite time of year:
Sarah regularly shared her ideas, images, and draft manuscripts
The four of us brainstormed together during our annual Sister
counsel--by phone, email, and during our separate visits to St.
After graduating from Antioch College in 1973 with a degree in fine art and
department store in Chicago. Sarah, already an aspiring young artist, was swept away by a magical holiday scene created by some unknown designer.
ovarian cancer. As someone who courageously and delightfully made every situation her own, even ones that seemed adversarial, she did not let this
a real location in a fabulous world. Dolly was having an adventure,
1951-2010
>
t was a blustery December evening in 1958. Little Sarah Jean Linquist stood with her face pressed up against a large window at Marshall Field’s
trees stuck with stamps, an undergrowth of doilies, and a gauzy
stream bordered with folded gum wrappers. The scene was filled
Sarah Jean Linquist
;<13,'0.()'*11=
the three of us had to finish the manuscript. We worked through
changes. If ever there was a labor of love, it surely was our working
together and individually with Sarah and, later, as a sister threesome
Her first chemo treatments left her with peripheral neuropathy. Her hands and feet became numb, so much that she not only had some difficulty To regain her fine motor skills Sarah began cutting up paper and assembling the pieces into shapes and objects. And then she remembered gazing Sarah wrote a classic journey tale. Her story combines foolishness, bravery, loyalty, risk taking and the need to count on others to help you push
She constructed her Paper Land, Popcorn Land, Metal Land, Teddy Bear Land, Wood Land, and Desolation Land using different materials and found Christmas.
Making landscapes became a wonderful adventure. Sarah was determined to find just the right pieces for her “Lands.” She borrowed heavily from
to see her vision realized.
her own giant stash of “arty stuff ” collected over many years; she also loved to cruise garage sales and auction web sites. She invited family and friends
a mural painting company. Over their first ten years she helped design and
contribute in addition to sister support: Suzanne’s ability to realize
her story and giving tours of her evolving sets to the steady stream of visitors who passed through our house.
pre-computer, pixilated image that became a well-loved, St. Louis landmark.
background of writing and teaching, plus her tenacity and essential
communications, Sarah moved to St. Louis, Missouri with her husband-to-be, Robert Fishbone. Together they established ON THE WALL PRODUCTIONS, complete over one hundred site-specific artworks including Lindy Squared, a In 1988, at the same time that Sarah had her first child, Tyler, she was hired
to be a scenic artist at the St. Louis Municipal Opera (The Muny), the largest outdoor theater in North America. Sarah continued to work through the birth of
We are all writers, and we each had something special to
characters and plot based on her years of writing fiction; Ann’s organizational skills; Kate’s patience, eagle eye for detail, and her
editorial experience. Working together on this book after Sarah
died helped each of us heal and helped us continue our sisterhood
to donate mini Teddy bears, stuffed crows, and small wooden doors or to help make a whole garden of cloth flowers. Sarah had so much fun explaining
Sarah worked on her book project whenever she had time, even after two major surgeries and during four different chemo regimens. I figure she
averaged four hours a day for four years. That’s almost 6,000 hours devoted to her vision: a new Christmas classic that parents and grandparents would read to their children in the days leading up to Christmas.
Very sadly though, Sarah died in June, 2010, before she could finish her book.
Soon after her passing, ten family members and close friends, each one committed to Sarah’s mantra of “Ain’t Life Grand,” agreed to complete
together.
Sarah’s project and make her dream a reality. Working together for over a year, we have grown closer as friends, and as family. We have gained new
Sarah received many commissions to do mural work in both public and private
manuscript in a way that honors and does justice to everything she
on her book was a way for Sarah to find greater purpose in her life, to keep pushing forward, our efforts to
ability to fill both large and small spaces with creative and unusual scenes kept her
vision will live for a long time in this beautiful book. Our writing
her second child, Liza, in 1990. After ten summers working at The Muny, Sarah
was named Master Scenic Artist and became Director of the Painting Department. facilities over the course of her career. Her whimsical approach, coupled with her in high demand. During this time she also had exhibits of her studio artwork in both New York and St. Louis galleries.
She later helped design over 200 art-related products sold in museums and
eclectic gift shops in twenty countries. These included the iconic Scream inflatable and the party game, Pin the Ear on Van Gogh.
Onward is Best, a Christmas Journey is yet another example of her delightful
curiosity and artistic talent.
To see more of her work please go to: www.sarahlinquist.com
The story is Sarah’s. The three of us have tried to finish her
created--her characters, her plot, and her vivid landscapes. Sarah’s contributions are our gift to our beloved sister.
Suzanne Linquist, Kate Adams, and Ann Linquist Sarah’s Sisters
insights into Sarah’s extraordinary artwork and how she looked at the world she had created. And just as working complete her book have helped us all heal.
Sarah’s book is part of her legacy to us all. She has given us amazing landscapes to journey through,
a tale to help us to experience the magic of Christmas, and a memory of her hard work that empowers each of us to reach for something beyond our daily lives, to probe the Great Mystery even more deeply.
This book is a testament to Sarah’s abilities as an artist, to her devotion as a wife, mother, sister,
daughter and friend, and to her delightful spirit. I hope you have enjoyed reading and sharing this book as much as she loved creating it. Robert Fishbone
Sarah’s husband
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here are great-hearted people in all times and lands all over the Earth whose sacred – and often unofficial – job is to keep our human celebrations lively, growing, truly meaningful, and full of joy.
This Celebration-Keeper work is so important that many ancient legends say if the ones who do it ever stop, our world will end. So
you know it’s pretty serious stuff.
It’s surely also one of life’s Great Mysteries that the women and men who accept this monumental job have so much fun keeping festivity cycling
‘round, through holidays and normal days, year after year, that all their efforts, attention to detail and world-tending responsibility feels - like PLAY! And when you become their helper? Ho-Ho-Ho! It’s fun for you too!
Sarah, who created this book, was profoundly inspired by the classic example, the ultimate Celebration-Keeper: Santa Claus. He started out as
Nicholas (or Nikolaos, or AɀɇɍɑȨɇɈɟɉȽɍɑ) seventeen hundred years ago, in a place we now call Turkey. In his real job as a Bishop he enjoyed giving
secret gifts so much that the legend of his generous spirit kept this tradition alive, and pretty soon he had Celebration-Helpers assisting him every December, as Santa Nicola in Italy, in the Netherlands as Sinterklaas – and in many other names and places. Today at his North Pole address, he leads legions of magical Elves – the hardest-working, most-fun helpers anyone could possibly have – working/playing with Nicholas/Santa to keep his tradition festively giving to others through centuries of Decembers.
Celebration-Keepers have their specialties, and our Sarah’s strength was making every celebration preparation FUN. She did this in addition to
her real job, being an Artist.
Sarah Jean Linquist was born in Park Ridge, Illinois, in the United States of America, in 1951 on the 18th of December. Sarah’s coming into this
sweet world was the best Christmas present for her mother Jean, her father Alan, and her three older sisters Suzanne, Kate, and Ann. The Linquist
family was rich in traditions. Little Sarah learned from her earliest days pleasant ways to celebrate birthdays, anniversaries, changes of the seasons, and the year’s parade of holidays – especially Christmas. Her jolly roles included: making cards and presents, dressing up and decorating her environment, singing, preparing and sharing special meals – and addressing her zippy efforts to the spirit of each event.
Sarah adored all holidays and welcomed many different ones into her own family. With her (equally festive) husband Robert, children Tyler and
Liza (Artists all!) and many intertwining circles of friends, Sarah led the lace-snipping of Valentines, the hand-dipping of Hanukah candles, and the baking of and wishing on countless Birthday cakes. She gathered autumn leaves and spring blooms to festoon Thanksgiving and Passover tables for
our grateful gatherings. She cut paper shadow-puppets for our candle-lit, bewitching neighborhood Halloween pageant in her Haunted Driveway. We filled her home with flowers and games and wore Sarah-fashioned crowns to ring in decades of New Years. So much celebrating together!
And come every December, our Christmas Queen pulled out all the stops and all her boxes of Yuletide tunes and treasures. Her loyal helpers
trooped in to munch a cookie, raise a glass, and decorate her home for days with old-time baubles found at church sales and yard sales, made by
crafty lady hands and antique craftsmen. Friends gamboled in for a luminous night of caroling. Then the children’s rooms stilled to await the bells of Santa’s sleigh. And all through her favorite month, twinkling colors in her home rivaled stars in the winter sky.
Now you are part of this legacy! You are the happy ending to Sarah’s tale, savoring it together with your daughter or son, nephew or niece, god-
child, or even a little neighbor pal. And happier still if your dear one is a Celebration-Keeper too, a spirit ready to learn a most delightful mix of skills. Perhaps this warm, safe cuddle-up with you, while adventuring with Dolly and her friends, has started another great human heart on the joyful journey Sarah has shared with her Celebration-Helpers, with all of us who are her Elves.
Thank you for joining the fun! May the tradition of reading this book enrich your celebrations, year after year, with those you love, and those
who love you.
Merry Christmas! Jean C. Ponzi
Sarah Linquist’s Friend
