Santa Exposed

Much has been made about the physics of Santa Claus, often calculating his requisite speed in Mach numbers normally reserved for experimental aircraft. I'm told these calculations are a regular exercise at engineering colleges. All these theories are brought to naught, however, by the lack of plausible answers to one question frequently asked by children:

What does he do at the houses with no fireplace?

Ours is such a house. If anyone managed to get down our chimney, they'd end up in our harvest-orange Chrysler furnace. (Yes, Chrysler made furnaces, too, about as well as they made cars.) Houses with fireplaces are now, I believe, the exception, rather than the norm.

So what does he do?

I have an answer: he goes through the attic. Not only that, but, as you'll see in this photographic evidence gathered a week before Christmas, the presents are already there.

This is troubling data, indeed. The presents are already there? A week in advance? Wrapped, and assembled neatly by the attic stairs? One can come to only two conclusions: either Santa visited early, and dropped off the presents, but didn't distribute them (rather unlikely from an efficiency standpoint) OR... Santa has outsourced delivery. Consider that systems are already in place for the timely delivery of packages to individual homes; Santa could simply send gifts by the truckload to major shipping hubs.

The gedankenexperiment ("thought experiment") prompts further questioning: What if Santa wasn't stuffing all the stockings in person, either? The so-called "Santa's Helper" theory would have us believe that local agents carry out the "last mile" of distribution, and we must reluctantly admit that it has merit.

So, then, does Santa distribute presents at all? Actually, this distributed distribution system makes the traditional delivery possible: Santa, in his old age, can still make several hundred, perhaps thousand, deliveries in person. One might theorize as to the how these recipients are chosen; perhaps only those on the "nice" list receive a visit from the old gent himself; perhaps visits are chosen for their high profile, or likeliness to be seen "in the act" by people that will perpetuate the Santa Claus mythos. This reduces the necessary speed of such an arrangement to a much more believable level, and gets around the problem of the reindeer burning up upon re-entry.

Whatever the case, these revelations neither confirm nor deny the existence of Santa Claus, but we believe make the theory much, much more plausible.

A Little Something I've Been Working On

I've been working on this for a while now, and now that everyone can see it, I'll mention it here. As of this morning, there's a brand-new design for the Town of Winona Lake website — finally! I've been working on this for months, and we're finally down to the place where it could go public.

I had previously declared myself done with freelancing, but when the opportunity came up to update the town website, I made an exception. I'd groused about the old design for so many years that I figured I should put my talent where my mouth was, and do something about it — for now, it's just a new design and improved navigation; in the coming weeks and months, I'm aiming to help improve the content, as well.

I love my little town, and I'm happy it now has a website I can direct people to with a grin!

Comments, critiques, and bug reports are all welcome.

Just something that made me smile

Edited to add: A number of people have mentioned that they either can't see the video (in which case, go here) and an amazing number didn't realize that this is done with shadow puppets — you know, making shapes with your hands in front of a light. Those bunny ears are fingers.

Beautiful Things

I came in to work yesterday morning to find a surprisingly heavy envelope on my desk. Turns out it's from my friend and co-worker Amy, who has been joyously hammering her way back into being an artist again.

Aren't those just the coolest bookmarks ever? I love 'em!

Story of the Night: The Magic Bunny

I tell my kids stories every night before bed, nearly always based on a two topics that they request. (When I get three kids making requests — that's going to get really tricky.) I forget what they requested for the night I told this story, but this is the story they got. Deborah says it's the same plot as a Pixar short. Pooh. I wasn't thinking of that when I told the story, and Deborah likes my version better, anyway. So there.

The Magic Bunny

Once upon a time, there was a magician, and he lived in the circus and he loved to go out and do tricks in front of the audience, and make them laugh, and make them cry in astonishment.

But the magician wasn't magic.

His hat wasn't magic. His wand wasn't magic. The thing that was magic was his bunny!

Truth is, it was the bunny doing all the tricks. The magician would reach in his hat and pull out a bunny and the audience would applaud. He could make it appear out of thin air or show up in a balloon. Or pull it out of his coat sleeves. But the magician got tired of not really doing the tricks and he got lazy. The last straw came when he forgot to buy carrots for the bunny.

The magician went out on stage and he flashed his biggest smile and waved his shiny wand and his shiny hat around. He wiggled his fingers dramatically and plunged it into his hat. SNAP! A rat trap snapped aorund his fingers. Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow! The magician hopped around holding his hand in pain and grinned sheepishly at the audience as if to say, "Now that shouldn't have happened." The audience howled with laughter. The magician, with some apprehension, wiggled his fingers again and stuck them in his hat again. Eeeeeewww! He just stuck his hand into a pile of dirty underpants! As he pulled them out, the audience said "Eww!" too and they laughed and laughed and laughed. The magician was very downhearted but he tried to put his best face on it. He grinned painfully at the audience and very carefully stuck just one finger into the hat. The rabbit bit him on the finger. The magician was so discrouraged and sad that he ran off the stage.

"What are you doing?" roared the magician. And the rabbit said, "I'm the one doing all the tricks! Why don't you take care of me and spend time with me any more? You even forgot to feed me today!" The magician realized he was right, and he was very sad and sorry.

The magician walked out on stage carrying his hat, carrying his wand and carrying his rabbit. He put the rabbit down on the little table and he said, "My lovely audience! I would like to show you the real secret of my magic. It's not my hat! It's not my wand! It's not my special sleeves!" — the audience gasped — "It's my bunny!" And with that he gave the wand to the rabbit, and put his top hat on the rabbit, and the bunny wiggled his nose, and the magician disappeared! The audience leaped to their feet. They applauded and they whooped and hollered. They threw money and roses. And the curtain came down on what had been the best show ever.

The End.

Then Aiden asked, "Where did the magician go?"
The storyteller said, "The rabbit sent him to the store to buy carrots."

Training Up Your Children in the Way that They Should Go

I'm blogging just like like Daddy!

Shift-option-command... rats, now I can't reach the other key I need!

Digging It

Over the last week or so, they've been dredging out the canal. Apparently, the silt was getting so deep that the island was threatening to turn back into a peninsula!

This, of course, has been deeply fascinating to both Fiona and Aiden — not just one digger, but two! And dump trucks! Almost every time I've gone to drop off or pick up Fiona at school, we'll just stop for a while either on the bridge, or somewhere close to where they're working, and just watch. I would have thought mainly Aiden would be interested, but Fiona has been every bit as entranced. How often do you get to see these things, right on your very own block?

Friends in Need, in Deed, and in General

This morning, one of my oldest, dearest friends is taking her daughter in for another round of surgery. Little Lia just turned one. Her diaphragm is half paralyzed, she has a compromised immune system, and yet, miracle, by miracle, day after day, she's one now. I'm staring out my back window into the gray afternoon, thinking about her.

* * *

It's on days like this that I realize how much I suck at being a friend. Yes, I'm entertaining. I can tell stories and jokes, and be interesting. Sympathy? Fail. Knowing what to say? Fail. Knowing when to shut up? Well, you get the picture.

I'm not even entirely sure how to be friends with someone. All my efforts seem to have the reverse effect — and the people I am friends with, seem to be so in spite of me. I remember Deborah asking me how one becomes friends a while back, and I really didn't have a good answer. She also told me a tale of her, back in junior high or high school, having decided to be friends with someone... by following them around until they gave in and were friends back! Sure, it's not the greatest method, but then... what is?

* * *

A number of years ago, I used to get comments on my annual reviews at work that I was "prickly." I've never completely figured this out. I'm aware of one co-worker who is utterly terrified of me. Nonsense. I'm a big teddy bear. (Who, granted, wears black, rides a motorcycle, and shaves once a week whether he needs it or not. Perhaps her mother warned her about such guys.) But it's not the first time I've gotten comments like that. One friend in high school used to tell me that all I had to do was walk into the room to weird people out. How can I be friends with you if I'm somehow broadcasting from across the room that I won't? It'd be nice to know what the heck I'm doing, so that I can stop doing it.

I count myself amazed and fortunate for the friends I do have. They're amazing people. all of them. It still leaves me wondering, though.

How do you become friends with someone?