Santa’s Reindeer: Ranked From Best to Worst

From our friends at Sass & Balderdash, a timely explanation of those guys who dance on your roof!

 

We all know Dasher and Dancer, and Prancer and Vixen, Comet and Cupid, and Donner and Blitzen, but have you ever theorized about their personalities, like which reindeer is guilty of murder and which one is under-compensated? It takes a special reindeer to pull Santa’s sleigh, but being special and being a reinderp aren’t mutually exclusive. I’ve put together the definitive reindeer ranking from best to worst. And no, Rudolph isn’t number one. 1. Blitzen “A Visit from St. Nicholas,” the origin poem for Santa’s reindeer, saves Blitzen for last, and that’s because he’s the best. Mighty, true, and resilient, Blitzen is a king among reindeer, the one true leader. Blitzen is the one Santa truly depends upon, and he doesn’t need to guide anyone’s sleigh to prove he’s the boss. His name is derived from “lightning,” so he’s basically the Thor of reindeer. Without question, Blitzen is far and away the MVR: Most Valuable Reindeer. 2. Vixen It’s hard being the only female reindeer on the team, earning 30% less reindeer feed than everyone else. Vixen is so much more than just “the girl reindeer,” but she struggles to get credit for her efforts in a buck-dominated field. Despite […]

Source: Santa’s Reindeer: Ranked From Best to Worst

Preparing for Christmas in a Changing Climate

plain door wreath 450

Fall has been lingering this year. Normally, cold weather in Boston starts at the beginning of November, and by “cold” I am thinking below 40 degrees Fahrenheit, the temperature at which I begin to consider locating my long Johns. The first (usually uneventful) snowfall tends to be between Thanksgiving and the start of December. Not this year.

I’ve heard people say how “lucky” we’ve been with the mild weather, but in my book if the weather is routinely 20-30 degrees different than the usual temperature not for a day or a week but for (so far) a month and a half, that has got to be a bad sign. It also means that I have had a hard time accepting that Christmas is really on the way. I keep forgetting to pick up the wreath I usually put on the inside of our main door (trees don’t work in a small apartment with a large cat).

 

Now as the high glaciers melt into green

Ocean water, rising, rising, now when we look up

Expecting the water to fall in flakes for hungry tongues,

Now the sky is grey and strangely warm.

 

Unseasonal, that’s what it is. The nights are long

Just as you might expect, but the air lacks crispness,

The blue of the afternoon sky lacks snap. I cannot say

I feel lucky. Even after nine feet of snow in Boston,

 

Which only finally melted six months ago, I fear

What might be coming: either ten feet this winter, or,

Possibly, none at all. Either way we lose. Already

Polar bears are drowning for lack of arctic ice.

 

Already small Pacific islands are losing ground

The way an old man loses hair: a little at a time,

Then all at once. It’s the opposite with the stores,

Switching the candy and hangings from one holiday

 

To the next overnight and at least three weeks early.

I cannot make that transition at all this year. So much

Worry about the Earth, not enough glad tidings.

Too much grey and drear, not enough merry and bright.

 

In the face of this, I force myself to find a small, green

Wreath for the inside of my door, to dangle small golden

Pigs—for abundance—a red bow to remind me to take

The bull by the horns and face the absence of winter

 

And the endless presence of winter, both living in me

As I move through the warming world feeling colder

Now than I ever felt as a child in a snow fort. Courage,

Says the angel in the branches. Embrace hope.