The Scriptorium Issue I | Page 7

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know? Working the mall is exhausting. We got the easy job here, right Santa?”

The workshop came to resemble an informal office party. Conversation spilled between pockets of elf gatherings; lively chatter flowed through the room as frequently as hot cocoa. Some mugs sported small marshmallows, others large ones. I couldn’t decide if I had a preference anymore.

Work did not cease entirely. Many elves continued on projects. Mrs. Claus, fascinated by all the various points of view, circled the room to listen in. As well, she took an active role in bringing the working elves fresh, steaming hot cocoa, carrying with her bags of both big and little marshmallows.

“Maybe elves are short for a reason. Maybe our hands are small for a reason.”

“Obviously. We’re meant to build toys. You can’t build toys with fat fingers.”

“But my fingers have nothing to do with grooming the reindeer.”

“Or buffing the sleigh.”

“Or sweeping the floor.”

“But who would do it if not for us elves?”

These debates and discussions are ongoing. Weeks of hearing an assortment of views on labor and equality have led me no closer to define a balance between payment and appreciation, but the process of deliberating the issue openly has presented a world of selfless new thinking.

The very first thing to be decided to go was coal. Why on Earth were we still handing out coal to naughty children? It’s a centuries-old practice that is far from sustainable; but worse, it’s promoting the substance as a commodity, when it should just be left alone. The elves have better things to do than mine coal for the one percent (of naughty kids in the world).

Instead, we’ll begin to issue personalized Christmas cards on recyclable stock to parents, grandparents, guardians and teachers of naughty children simply stating that their kids need more genuine attention. Infographics are popular, so we’re working on incorporating simple and direct designs that relay helpful correlations about behavior and emotional needs.

Styrofoam is another major problem, again because it doesn’t promote healthy environmental practices. Some Styrofoam can be recycled, but there’s too little education and too few resources to justify its use. So we’re going a little extreme this year, and doing away with up to 50% of all packaging. Obviously this is a monumental undertaking for toys that require assembly. I can’t just leave a pile of pieces on the carpet with a bow. Thankfully, however, all things happen for a reason, and the answer to this assembly problem, we think, is to bring a few eager elves with me. This is perfect because not only do a bunch of them want to see what it’s like in the Western world, but they know the toys best so assembly is a breeze for them.

More changes are in store as we continue to study our personal influence and expand our righteous intentions (for me in particular; but the movement is contagious). This late-in-life crisis has really opened my eyes with respect to how I view the world. My mind pits me at the center of all things, only because it is from here where my perception begins. But it is, indeed, a false reality, or an incomplete one. The world exists in addition to and beyond my thinking, my understanding. The proof is in any conversation with another being.

The work is not easy, nor is it timely. Christmas is charging forward and we haven’t yet resolved the issue of the reindeer. Do we release them from their happy enslavement this year or next? Will we need to convince them of their freedom? What purpose will they serve in our new society? What will be their replacement? A few elves are working on a biodiesel alternative, but it’s not known how much weight such an engine would add to the sleigh, nor how or where we would refuel.

But questions I can handle. Solutions can only come when questions are asked; and conflict is overcome when crisis is confronted. The despair that had swallowed me some months ago had also fed me strength. It gave me an opportunity—a simple opportunity to think in a new way. I took it, and was rewarded, by a little extra wisdom.

THE END

A Late-Life Crisis continued