Merry Glittermess

This happens every year, this explosion of light in my students' eyes; as soon as the first kid trotted into the room, I could see they were three inches above the linoleum.  Others followed, bouncing and bobbing like sea buoys in a mild storm, whispering, the whites of their eyes showing clear circles around pupils.  What?  What??  The adult wanted to be ready for whatever onslaught was brewing--did someone get slugged on the bus?  Did you "find" a cell phone?  Was there a man at the corner giving out five-dollar bills?

"It's DECEMBER," said one little girl, "SANTA'S COMING!"  The crackle of information sizzled through the telepathic cable system that each kid has connecting to the other, I saw blue sparks of electricity running through invisible wires like you would see with the old, electric streetcars.  Something was burning, I believe it was my retinas from looking at the gleaming, half-toothy smiles oddly reminiscent of staring into the sun.  Breakfast was a frosted cinnamon thing and sugar, AKA cereal; these children were running 20 amps on my 15 amp breaker and would soon accelerate to plugging in the hair dryer while running the microwave.  Certain relay switch death.

"Do you believe in Santa, Ms. Coburn?"  Definitely, or how else would you explain the new floormats for my car, just what I wanted last year?  Why, when I was a kid....but they weren't listening.  The new info that Ms. Coburn believes in Santa snapped like a whip, verification for the wiser ones who were having a hard time standing up to the naysayers.  The Adult: sit down.  Finish up breakfast.  We have work to do today, and I would like to give you some free time if we get it done.  Deal.  But after the last child sat down to continue eating orange and green cereal, there was a happy, collective sigh of I love Decembers.  

Just like any holiday, not all of them celebrate; there are two new Burmese children that aren't too sure what's going on but if it means sweets and paper cutting, yabba dabba do!  And at the other end of the spectrum are the kids who get nothing through neglect or poverty or illness; every family in my group is listed under the hardship of poverty.  I have two who fit the extreme, both sweethearts, a boy and a girl.  The boy tries to be pragmatic, "We ain't having nothing cause my Mom just got out of the hospital and we need the money for other things."  Mom did indeed come out from the hospital, but there is a bit more to the story that I don't want to say.  It isn't to his advantage.  The little girl still hopes and talks of Santa.

The energy flows and needs to be funneled; what better place than through making stuff, cutting paper, given temporary control over a glue stick, having a finished product.  I only had black construction paper, so we made snowmen out of some copy paper and used white crayons to make snowflakes and drifts.  They had a lot of fun doing it, and the activity channeled the Christmas juggernaut into a nice scene to take home.  A nice, black scene.  How can this be made more holiday-like and less Funeral March of the Snowman Army?  I broke out the glitter.

This is a brave thing, for glitter is the most tenacious, maladroit, insidious notion on the Periodic Table; it has been declared by the building engineers as a plot to drive them to early retirement.  It isn't the sharp-eged glass of diamantine days, thank heavens, but is a softer, more finely ground plastic film that has a static charge making it stick to any other electrically charged object, like my fingers, clothing, hair, garbage can liner, and plastic spoon.  What's she doing?  She's got GLITTER--which is just as exciting as illegal fireworks in the middle of the street.  They bent their heads down diligently over their work, showing me how good they are so that I wouldn't be interrupted while dispensing glue and fairy dust.

I put a few swirls on each picture, gingerly tapping the container just enough to add a bit of zip, not introduce mayhem.  Each was ruffled gently to release the excess over a folded paper, then set to dry amid  murmurs of That's So Beautiful, said in hushed tones as reverence for the demigods of holiday sparkle.  They didn't look too bad, but I have to find a color of construction paper other than black.  I want to show them how to make Christmas loop chains that don't appear as Victorian mourning banners.

Here's a theory of why we like it so much, according to website Mental Floss: "According to researchers from the University of Houston and Ghent University in Belgium, our impulse for shiny things comes from an instinct to seek out water. The theory is that our need to stay hydrated has kept mankind on the lookout for shimmering rivers and streams. And thanks to natural selection, that’s left us with an innate preference for things that sparkle."  Does this explain the popularity of craft stores?  Lizard brain with a glue gun and a debit card, watch out.

Mild night, unless the temperature drops the lake will not freeze over, leaving Buffalo, New York in open season for lake effect snow.  My kids are wishing for snow so much, I know that when the first flakes come that there will be a rush for the windows with squeals of "It's snoooowing!"  I have stocked up on scarves, but for some reason, hats are harder to come by this year at the thrift shop, maybe because last winter was pretty warm and people just didn't use them?  We'll just bundle up, I've already given away coats and mittens.

The busy time of the holidays are upon us, we will be making menorahs and spinning dreidels, learning what traditions other cultures celebrate.  In this neighborhood, the big day is January 6th, Three Kings Day which is still the day the Eastern Christian Church recognizes as Christmas; the Western Christian Church didn't change to December 25 until the 4th century.  Caspar, Melchior, and Balthazar; Europe, Arabia, and Africa.  Horse, camel, and elephant.  Gold, frankincense, and myrrh; wonder if there was any glitter in there.

Night is a wonderful time for stories, I think of how the telling of bedtime stories began as a method of lullaby, a calming antidote that gave the busy mind something quiet to think about, to ruminate before hitting the pillow.  How many of us read before bed?  Even five minutes is enough to signal that there is a change in the tides, the ebb has become the flow, pushing sand and shells into breakwater design.  Iridescent fishes of thoughts flutter through layers, till the unconscious falls into depths not witnessed by day.

Sleep all, here is a story for you.  Susan.