Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.

I promise not to complain about the sheer futility of Daylight Saving Time, and the ending of Daylight Saving Time, and the ridiculousness that is the idea of Daylight Saving Time, and the fact that we are a mere two weeks away from the sun setting before 4:30 pm. I promise.

I have had the most bizarre song stuck in my head; it is Please Come To Boston. It’s somewhat obscure, and I do not know how it happened, but I have been singing You rambling boy why won’t you settle down, Boston ain’t your kind of town, there ain’t no gold and there ain’t nobody like mmmmeeeeeeeeeeee, ’cause I’m the number one fan of the man from Tennessee. Over and over. And with the very strong crescendo, which made my kids look at each other, alarmed and silent. A friend (HI ALLISON) who I saw at the yoga studio this afternoon helped me out for a few moments, by singing I am sixteen, going on seventeen, but alas, mere minutes later it was eclipsed by Please come to Boston, she said no, you come home to meeeeee. If this goes on much longer I may need to be medicated.

Saturday night I went to see Dr. Strange, which was the very last thing I wanted to do on Saturday night. Well, maybe not the very last; it was probably above “colonoscopy” but much, much below “binge-watching The Crown while drinking wine on the couch in my pajamas.” However, I am very happy to have seen it, because it was extremely entertaining, very funny, and the perfect length. Too many movies these days – she says, while shaking a grizzled, liver-spotted fist in the air – are at least thirty minutes too long. I highly recommend it, if you are a person who enjoys superhero movies. Even if you’re not, it’s still very fun.

I was feeling especially drained this weekend, after the eon that was last week, and seven and a half hours of teacher training on the weekend, which is why I wanted to just curl up at home on Saturday night. Friday, if you recall, I was chaperoning a field trip to the Olympic Oval. It wasn’t until we were actually at the Oval that I learned WHY we were there, and that was to watch the qualifying heats for the World Cup for Short Track Speed Skating. Did you know there was a World Cup for Short Track Speed Skating? Neither did I. But it was very fun, and I learned all sorts of interesting things, like Kazakhstan is quite a contender for Short Track, and also, the 500 metre event is absolute insanity. I kept waiting for someone to get killed, but it didn’t happen, happily.

The event was sponsored by an insurance company, and I am giving them a little bit of the side-eye. Since it was a qualifying event, the vast majority of spectators were all kids in Grades 5 and 6; hundreds of kids were there, with homemade flags and signs. The insurance company had thoughtfully provided each child with a gift bag, containing a water bottle, some very nicely done trading cards with photos of speed skaters on them, and TWO NOISEMAKERS; one that folded into an accordion and was used to make loud clapping sounds, and one that was a very loud kazoo. Imagine, if you will, an arena filled with hundreds of children aged 10-12, all armed with noisemakers. The noise was not to be described. Every time a Canadian set foot on the ice, the cheering and kazoo-ing got even louder, if that was even possible, bless those patriotic hearts.

The thing I did not know about speed skating is that there needs to be perfect silence prior to each heat, because any noise can trigger the starting gun and result in false starts. Think about that for a moment, if you will.

To be perfectly honest, the children were very good about this silence rule for the first little while, but kids will be kids and by the time the men’s 500 metre came up, there were a number of false starts and several warnings over the loudspeaker. I was pretty relieved by the time we packed it in, because things were starting to go off the rails a tiny bit. I was also relieved that Jake had somehow managed to break his kazoo-noisemaker.

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.


  1. “Please Come to Boston.” Wow, I hadn’t thought about that song in time out of mind. You are such a font of 70s culture…

    Seems like setting the kids up for failure to give them noisemakers and expect them to be silent. Jeez.

  2. I now have I am sixteen, going on seventeen stuck in my head and it is ALL YOUR FAULT. I’m tempted to post your kids vuvuzelas in retaliation.

  3. OMG, what sadist packed those gift bags? Honestly, that’s just beyond the pale.

    I’m also a woman of a certain age I guess because I’ve made the same comment about virtually every movie I’ve seen in the last 5 years – 30 minutes too long. When did 2.5 hours become the standard length for movies? Really I can count on one hand the number of movies that needed to be that long. BAH (shakes fist on lawn)

Leave a Reply