Santa’s Nose: An Observational Piece From “The Chair”

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One of the greatest gifts of being Santa is the opportunity to observe people for hours at a time without being a stalker: they come to you. And want pictures of you. As a result, you see a lot of different types, and experience a lot of different smells.

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The nose knows.

The nose knows.

Sometimes, like in the picture above, it’s the smell of wine, baklava, small children, leather, perfume, and dear friends. With a little cigarette smoke clinging to clothing in the winter air dragged into the room as well.

Other times it’s the smell of quiet desperation when mom asks you to pray for her little boy. Her words, “The cancer came back four weeks ago” sent a shock through my heart and caused my nose to run as the tears stung my eyes. The freshly washed hair of that little fellow no longer rang in my nostrils, but was replaced by a downcast scent that I hoped was not doom.

The fragrant aroma of dryer sheets and mothballs is a frequent one, as people pull the very best sweaters out of the closet for that special picture, and make sure that their Disney Princess clad daughter has a freshly laundered ball gown to wear for the day.

A young man with cookie crumbs on his lips, and a light coating of sweat on his forehead from the frustration of autism, and a noisy room, is vibrant to the nostrils. It vanishes as you extend a white-gloved hand to calm the tremors and it is accepted, and gently held, as he communicates his thoughts to Santa. If only you could hold that hand forever and ease the pain he knows in his every minute.

Cookies, peppermint, and chocolate wander into the nose every few minutes: these are the staples of Christmas.

Curry, peppers, and soy sauce are delightful additions to the mix. Often clinging to the clothing of a mother as she brings her little ones for the photo, sometimes coming right from her pores as she’s worked up a sweat herding small children to the chair. The history of vast continents comes forth in the rich skin tones and dark hair of my guests, confirmed by coriander and mint on special days.

Other times it’s the Frito like scent of a dog’s paws as they climb up on Santa for the picture. Pet days are rare anymore, but each dog smells a little bit different from its friends, just like people.

Loaded diapers, nervous tingles of urine, and sour formula are the reminders that you’re holding one of God’s newest creations in the crook of your arms. Parents trust Santa not to drop their precious baby, and I’m determined never to fail in that task.

Garbage, floor wax, and automotive lubricants are part of the mix when working moms and dads bring their little ones to see Santa at the end of a Saturday work day. Hard working people who love their children and come right from their jobs are always welcome in my kingdom.

Tears and fright have their own smells. Sometimes it’s because Santa is 10 times their size and has a scratchy beard. Sometimes it’s because their son in the Rangers is leaving for a combat tour in some remote part of the world. Either way, comfort and prayers are the response to my olfactory intuition.

Home made bakery, lovingly wrapped in a napkin, or bit of foil, carries sugar and almonds to my nose – right before it’s secreted in my bag to be enjoyed later. The scents vary, but they include vanilla, mint, fruitcake, brandy, whiskey, honey, puff pastry, and almost any other scent associated with the gift of baked goods from your oven at home. Almost always delivered by a smiling child who has a gift for Santa. I love those gifts. They mean a lot to me.

Last of all, but still vital, the smell of contentment is unique. I don’t get that one quite as often as I’d like, but it’s the one that smiling people give off when the world is revolving in their direction that day. It’s the scent I hope to find and pray will be gifted to all who visit me.

I hope the next time we meet you are able to tickle my nose with the last scent. I wish and pray for you to be contented this day, and all the rest of your days.

Be blessed. I’ll be back later this week.

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I have a favor to ask of my readers: would you kindly share this blog with your friends, family, and colleagues? We hit a million views in 2014, and while the readership continues a nice growth trend, it could be a lot better. Just hit the Facebook like button, share it on your timeline, tweet the blog with a link, and tell that person at the next desk that there’s this lunatic who writes about all sorts of stuff that they might like.

I appreciate your help. When we hit 2,000,000 readers I will give away something cool to a drawing from the subscribers (that’s the box on the right toward the top) who have helped promote this mess. No used sheets, probably not honey, more likely gift cards. Be a part of it. I’ll update from time to time where we’re at in the count. Thanks.

It’s Official: I Am Now A Professional Writer.

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If, by professional, you mean that your story is featured on the cover of a real magazine and you got paid to write it.

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titaniumreindeer

Yes, the fine people of SPLICKETY chose my work, TITANIUM REINDEER for the December “Merry Everything” issue. SPLICKETY PRIME is a flash fiction magazine – everything is 1000 words or less. It forces writers to get to the story without the usual padding. My story is about – well, about 600 words. If you want to know what the story says, you need to buy the copy either digitally, or in print. Here’s the link to the Kindle version. Yup, for realsies. I got paid, and they asked me not to give it away free. Seems like a fair deal!

I hope you all enjoy it. This is the first writing gig I’ve been paid for, and there is a lot more to come in the next few weeks. Yes, Virginia, there really is a publisher for Santa.

I’ll be back tomorrow with more of my usual drivel, but for now, go hit those links and find out what TITANIUM REINDEER is all about. (It’s not for the little ones, so don’t download it on your Leapfrog device. Please!

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I have a favor to ask of my readers: would you kindly share this blog with your friends, family, and colleagues? We hit a million views in 2014, and while the readership continues a nice growth trend, it could be a lot better. Just hit the Facebook like button, share it on your timeline, tweet the blog with a link, and tell that person at the next desk that there’s this lunatic who writes about all sorts of stuff that they might like.

I appreciate your help. When we hit 2,000,000 readers I will give away something cool to a drawing from the subscribers (that’s the box on the right toward the top) who have helped promote this mess. No used sheets, probably not honey, more likely gift cards. Be a part of it. I’ll update from time to time where we’re at in the count. Thanks.

The 2015 Scheels Christmas Commercial – Starring ME!

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This was fun to shoot. It’s always amazing to see what doesn’t make it to the final version. I’m rather hoping the other footage gets used as well – it was all well shot.

I want to thank Media Productions of Fargo, N.U.T.S. who were my agents for this shoot, and the gracious people of Scheels. This commercial was just plain joy to work on that night.

I’m still stunned that 10 hours of work condenses to 30 seconds. But I know for sure that Santa will be back at Scheels to shop next time he’s near one – great place, great people.

Now, here’s the link to the video and the video itself:

A Palate Cleanser

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Yesterday’s blog seemed to trigger a few people. I have reports of howling in the woods and fists bludgeoning reason.

Just to clarify, self-deprecating humor is part of this blog. If you missed it, more’s the pity.

Oh, and for one reader – Why yes, that is an Arabic Bible on the header. You evidently missed the loaded .45 automatic on top of it. While this blog does come from a Christian world view, we also handle weapons on a regular basis. One of them is sarcasm. You can take, or leave, anything I say here as you see fit. But I don’t speak on behalf of all Christians. I’m pretty sure I only speak on my own behalf most of the time. And I wonder about that!

Now, on to current business. My friend Emilie Hendryx is not just a gifted photographer, but she’s also a writer and a blogger. She’s gathered together several of her friends, all of whom are professional writers (Yup, I finally got a paying gig. News in a day or two on that!) and we’re all contributing Christmas stories.

I have the honor of leading the parade today. I do hope that you’ll stop over at her blog, Thinking Thoughts, and read each story this month. Mine is a true one, and describes a modern miracle.

I hope you’ll click that link and go check it out. Share it on Facebook and/or your blog (the link to her blog, not any stolen content!) and help her grow her audience.

Be blessed, have a great day, and go read that blog!

We Need To Kill More White People.

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At least that’s how it seems to me after reading my friends posts this weekend in the wake of the shootings in Colorado Springs. Being a deep thinker, I decided to address this one right away to avoid being late to the stupidity festival.

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It’s become America’s number one industry: outrage butt-hurt. Every time someone is killed/not killed it is automatically a race issue. It is not just my black friends doing this, it’s some of the white ones as well.

“Notice how he didn’t get beaten/shot? Well, he’s not Syrian or Black, so there’s your answer.” That one is almost a direct quote – I spared them from a Google search.

My favorite, from this past week was, “Lookout people! Minneapolis Police flying Blackhawks today. Keep outta danger.” Uyh..er…but… Well, Blackhawks are not gunships. Mind you, flinging Molotov cocktails at the police might warrant a bit of targeting, but last I looked Blue Thunder isn’t quite here yet. If you doubt me, here’s the video link. In my house, flinging exploding bottles of liquid fire gets you shot. I think the Minneapolis Police Dept. is being remarkably restrained under the circumstances.

The point of this ramble is that either you, as an individual, wish for the police to use minimum force in every circumstance, or you want to see your enemies punished. It’s truly one or the other.

The police, like it or not, were not responsible for slavery. Nor were the currently sworn officers on the job responsible for the Watts riots, Selma, or anything whatsoever that happened before 1950. So why is it that a 27 year old cop is blamed for all of this history?

I did notice that a lot of people weren’t shot in the United States last year, most of them not shot by the police. The number grows every year at an almost fantastic rate. Strangely, more people are shot by other people in the black community than are shot by cops. Same in the white community. I fail to see how just shooting more white criminals will help in this statistical race, since the number of people not shot so exceeds the number shot as to make it almost statistically insignificant.

Perhaps a lottery? All of you with a grievance over a black person being shot by the police (whether or not they grabbed a gun, had a knife, tried beating the cop unconcious, etc., or it was just a murder by the officer) get to pick five white people you know personally. Once everyone who feels outraged has selected their vicitims, they will be rounded up in a large stadium and random people will be killed from the pool until no more black people are ever shot by the police. It worked for the Germans during WWII, why not here?

I suspect either you’re starting to get it, or you’re not reading any longer, merely sputtering and slamming your hand on the desk.

That’s what I want. I want everyone to be treated with appropriate levels of violence regardless of the crime, the race, etc. If you can get the cuffs on without a death that’s the way it should be. If the suspect resists, game is on! Regardless of color, if you fight the police you run the risk of dying. Goes for big bearded white guys as well. So far so good.

But let’s not see how outraged we can be over the police not killing suspects. Keep in mind that your favorite Boston Marathon bomber was not killed by the police. He rather so deserved that extra half a magazine in my opinion, but they got the little slime without killing him. Let’s not riot and loot and act crazy when the police arrest one of their own for murder or some other felony. It means they (the department) are doing their job and putting a bad guy in jail.

Let’s march, and sing, and link arms over dead children in Chicago who are gunned down every day. Averaging over 12 deaths a week in Chicago – a city with some of the toughest gun laws in the nation. But it is not in the media because it doesn’t fit the meme. Let’s all agree that cops who shoot people on the ground when they’re no longer a threat should be tried for murder. Let’s agree that shooting a fleeing misdemeanor suspect in the back is probably a homicide, but there may be exceptions.

Let’s try to follow the rule of law, protest peacefully, and not presume that it all boils down to race. It doesn’t. On either side. Let’s not get in each other’s faces and spit and hurl nastiness. Let’s at least pretend that we’re not a society no further advanced than the Hell’s Angels where you treat one member badly the whole gang stomps you.

Perchance we could all try to act like brothers and sisters? Crazy talk, yes I know. But I’m working on it. How about you?

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I have a favor to ask of my readers: would you kindly share this blog with your friends, family, and colleagues? We hit a million views in 2014, and while the readership continues a nice growth trend, it could be a lot better. Just hit the Facebook like button, share it on your timeline, tweet the blog with a link, and tell that person at the next desk that there’s this lunatic who writes about all sorts of stuff that they might like.

I appreciate your help. When we hit 2,000,000 readers I will give away something cool to a drawing from the subscribers (that’s the box on the right toward the top) who have helped promote this mess. No used sheets, probably not honey, more likely gift cards. Be a part of it. I’ll update from time to time where we’re at in the count. Thanks.