Are you Santa?

Last Saturday, as I wandered through J.C. Penney, I spied the real Santa Claus. Well, he looked like a human-sized version of the old elf. He had white hair, a lovely white beard, and a round belly. After all, no one has ever seen a skinny Santa.

I was not the only person who spotted the gentleman. A little girl, about 6 years old, and her mother approached him.

“My daughter said that the Santa in the mall is cheesy. And his beard is fake. She wants to know if you are the real Santa Claus."

The man smiled down at the girl. “I am,” he answered, “but I have a lot of helpers. Have you been good this year?”

The girl solemnly nodded her head.

“That’s good. You have a merry Christmas.”

I am sure he smiled again. Maybe he winked and nodded. And away he went, strolling through the store, St. Nick in blue jeans and a navy jacket. The girl and her mother melted into the crowd of shoppers.

And I stood in the sweater section, grinning and thinking, “Yes, VIRGINIA, there is a Santa Claus!*”

[*Francis P. Church, New York Sun, Sept. 21, 1897.]

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Clause

Eight-year-old Virginia O'Hanlon wrote a letter to the editor of New York's "Sun," and the quick response was printed as an unsigned editorial Sept. 21, 1897. The work of veteran newsman Francis Pharcellus Church has since become history's most reprinted newspaper editorial, appearing in part or whole in dozens of languages in books, movies, and other editorials, and on posters and stamps.

"DEAR EDITOR: I am 8 years old.
"Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus.
"Papa says, 'If you see it in THE SUN it's so.'
"Please tell me the truth; is there a Santa Claus?

"VIRGINIA O'HANLON.
"115 WEST NINETY-FIFTH STREET."

VIRGINIA, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except [what] they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men's or children's, are little. In this great universe of ours man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect, as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.

Yes, VIRGINIA, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus. It would be as dreary as if there were no VIRGINIAS. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.

Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies! You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas Eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if they did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that's no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.

You may tear apart the baby's rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived, could tear apart. Only faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, VIRGINIA, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.

No Santa Claus! Thank God! he lives, and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.

[from http://www.newseum.org/yesvirginia/]

Trailers and Quotes

“Say that I starved, that I was lost and weary,
that I was burned and blinded by the desert sun,
footsore, thirsty, sick with strange diseases,
lonely and wet and cold, but that I kept my dream!” Everett Ruess

Book Trailer : The Underdogs / Mike Lupica

Book Trailer : Scorpio races / Maggie Stiefvater

Fun Fact Friday discussion of Hunted / Adam Slater

Book discussion – The back door of midnight / Elizabeth Chandler

Excerpt from "The Lost Songs"

Lutie Painter had never skipped school before. . . On the phone, Saravette's voice had been thready and weak, as if she were ill. But one sentence had been strong and sharp. "You have to know," said Saravette suddenly.. .

The bus approached a swell of tall office buildings, and most of the remaining passengers got off. The strangers had been a comfort. Now Lutie's courage collapsed. So did the city.

And then she saw Saravette leaning against a telephone pole.

Lutie signaled for a stop. The brakes on the bus squealed. Lutie tottered down the long empty aisle. The driver raised his eyebrows and nodded toward the neighborhood. "You know what you're doing?"

Lutie had no idea what she was doing.

"This is not a good place," said the driver, which was certainly true.

Lutie pointed at Saravette. "She's waiting for me."

The driver took in the sight of Saravette. Thirty years old, looked eighty. Sunken cheeks from lost teeth. Tattoos and piercings no longer brave and sassy, but pitiful. Wearing two sweaters on an already hot morning. Both dirty.

My mother, thought Lutie.

Impossible. The wreck on the sidewalk could not be related to her.

Carefully, as if the steps were made of glass, Lutie got off the bus. Every other time, the instant his passenger's foot hit the pavement, the driver's foot hit the accelerator. This time he waited and kept the door open. Lutie loved him for that. She forced herself to walk over to Saravette, who gave her a light smelly hug. Lutie cringed.

Once upon a time, Saravette had led Lutie's life. How did you get here from there? Lutie wanted to scream at her. Why didn't you just go home again? What keeps you in this horrible place?

Saravette lit a cigarette. The smoke in her lungs seemed to calm her. The next sentence was rational. "You still going to Miss Veola's church?"

"Yes," said Lutie.

"She still comes to find me sometimes," said Saravette. "I'm one of her lost ones," said Saravette proudly. "I surely am. Miss Veola's still preaching at me. There's a lot to preach about too. By now," said Saravette, laughing, "I've broken all the commandments."

She's using the Ten Commandments as a metaphor, Lutie told herself. Saravette's probably forgotten what the Ten Commandments even are.

Saravette put out her cigarette and immediately lit it again. For the first time, her eyes met Lutie's and stayed focused. "You have to know something," she said quietly. It was not the voice of a crazy person to a stranger. It was the voice of a mother to her daughter.

Panic filled Lutie Painter.

"I skipped school," Lutie said loudly. "What did you need to tell me? Why did you beg me to come?"

Saravette turned away. She still had a beautiful profile.

"Give me a minute," whispered Saravette. "Then I'll be ready." She signaled one of the scary guys at the counter. The man--who looked hardly older than Lutie--hooked his thumbs in his sweatpants and sauntered over, smirking.

She's going to buy drugs, thought Lutie. Right now. With me sitting here.

Saravette's breathing become shallow and quick. Her eyes lit up. The man-boy sat down at the table with them. One hundred percent of Saravette's attention was on him.

She's already forgotten what she said, thought Lutie. What's murder, after all? Just one in a list of ten. Whatever.

Lutie was afraid to get up from the table, afraid to walk out of the coffee shop, let alone walk back to the bus stop. She picked up the little piece of paper on which their tab was scribbled and went over to the woman at the register.

The woman took the money with a sort of fury and glared at Lutie. "How you getting home, girl?"

"Bus," whispered Lutie.

"I'm going with you."

The woman marched Lutie out of the coffee shop. Saravette did not call to her and Lutie did not say good-bye. They walked past people Lutie did not want to know better, crossed the main street in the middle of the block and stood under the little sign for the bus stop.

The bus appeared almost immediately, which was a good thing. Lutie's knees were shaking and her heart was falling out. Her mother might be a murderer.

"Thank you," whispered Lutie.

"Don't cry, honey," said the woman. "And don't come back."

[Excerpts from p. 3-10 of The Lost Songs / Caroline Cooney]

Notice to Students

All overdue fines must be paid before taking final exams.

All books currently checked out have been renewed with a due date of January 4, 2012.

Merry Christmas

A musical treat!

New Books

Adventure calls!

Pelham Bay Park, New York
The Movie - coming soon!

Jim Davidson - Survival on Mt. Ranier

"Everett Ruess" by Dave Alvin [ballad; beautiful black and white photos]
"Time to Live" [filmed in the Utah desert where Ruess disdappeared. Beautiful!]

2004 Expedition footage

And the Heisman goes to. . .

Jitters and Butterflies

A little anxiety is good for you. It can help you focus and remember material for a test, provide extra energy for a performance. But too much anxiety can hinder performance.

Read "The Two Faces of Anxiety" in the December 5 issue of TIME Magazine.

Time Magazine teaser

The miracle of the King James Bible

The Bible of King James

". . . the King James Bible has sewn itself into the fabric of the language. . .
[Expressions such as]the apple of my eye; old as the hills; at death's door; at our wits' end; baptism of fire; bite the dust; the blind leading the blind; casting peals before swine. . . are the King James Bible speaking through us. . . ."

Read the entire article (and don't miss the gorgeous photos).

[December issue of National Geographic ; p. 43]