Dear Santa,
I have not believed in you for many years, so please forgive the hurried and inexpert tone of this letter. I am, let’s say, over 29 years old and I have been relatively good this year, if you’ll agree that the occasional swear word in traffic is not that big of a deal. I’m hoping to get back in the Christmas spirit this year and maybe even start believing in you again, especially if you can help me get this really big present that I can’t get for myself.
Yes, I know I missed the December 24 deadline, and I’m very sorry about that. But I have just a little bit of education, and I know that, because of the Orthodox Church calendar, Russia and Ukraine and a chunk of Eastern Europe don’t celebrate Christmas until January 7, so I figure you’ll be making another trip anyway. I really hope you’ll read and respond to my letter because I, a humble American Protestant, am experiencing a time of need.
You see, Santa, I have this job. It’s a college teaching job, and I’m truly grateful to have it. But, at work, I have this office that, I’m sad to say, is probably no bigger than the cockpit of your sleigh. The paint is dingy and the furniture is old and the air tends to stale a little, but I’m not complaining about any of those things. The worst part, Santa, is that I have no window.
The office, sans window. Even with four lamps, three mirrors, and a variety of artwork, there's insufficient light.
I know that for a lot of people, this wouldn’t be a big deal. People like miners and gamers and postal clerks – not to mention dwarves, gnomes, and cave trolls – do just fine without daylight. But I’m like a plant, Santa. A leafy green plant with Seasonal Affective Disorder, and I need light. I need light in order to metabolize all those student essays and emails, all that Western literature. You might call my process “photo productiveness.” Without the photo, I am not productive.
Sadly, my school is a little strapped for cash at the moment, and they won’t be making facilities improvements any time soon. And it’s true that all the offices in my building are pretty much the same and I’m not any worse off than my peers. That’s why I’m asking you, Santa. Because if you make this happen for me, no one’s budget will be unbalanced, and no one will have room to complain that they didn’t get one, too. I mean, who beyond the age of 4 has the nerve to whine about what someone else got from Santa Claus? I think you’ll agree with me that this is the best way.
So, since I know this request is last minute, and I don’t know what you’ll have room for in your sleigh, I thought I’d give you some options.
This would be my first choice:
A skylight and blue sky
Granted, this one could take some time, since you’d have to cut a hole in the roof and build a little vaulted ceiling. But what’s the good of having elves if you’re not going to put them to work, right? If they need a little incentive, tell them they can sign their names on the wall or take one of the desk copies of our composition textbook. (Sorry, I forgot to leave cookies.)
But, if a tiny little remodeling job is too much to ask, I could live with 4-5 of these:
Chic light box, especially calibrated for people with SAD
You could have the elves install them at various points around the walls. Or, actually, since there’s not a lot of wall space, they could put them up further toward the ceiling. At an angle, in fact, where the wall and ceiling meet. That way, all the light boxes would simulate a sky light. Oh, and I’ll probably need some extension cords. (Again, the elves should feel free to take a textbook – or there are some paper clips in the center drawer, and rubber bands for the reindeer.)
I have to admit that I’ve heard, though, that light boxes can get pretty heavy. So, if options 1 and 2 won’t work, I would take some (a dozen, perhaps) of these:
Daylight bulb - like trapping a little piece of the sky in your lamp!
Now, I do already have one of these, and it gives me a good feeling to let its light wash over my face, so I know daylight bulbs would be an improvement over the hot, plain bulbs I’ve got in my lamps now. Those things are nearly as harsh on the eyes as the fluorescents overhead (which I try not to use, as their barely perceptible flickering makes me anxious).The only thing about the daylight bulbs is: they need to be bright and powerful enough that I can actually see to read.
Of course, with these bulbs, I realize I’m running the risk of turning my office into a giant terrarium. But, if that happens, I figure I can just get a couple of turtles that students can feed whenever they drop by. I’ll pretend I lit it up that way on purpose, for the turtles.
If you don’t like the daylight bulbs idea, Santa, you could get me some artwork like this:
If lit from behind, this picture could simulate the outdoors
Hm. Well, now that I look at it, this seems very much like those pictures they sometimes sell in gas station parking lots. You know, the ones for Cool cigarettes or something where the water appears to move. It’s supposed to suggest refreshment, but it just looks like something electrical is about to short out.
Plus, if I put up this picture, it would just look like a stream was flowing into my office, and that would remind me that I’m often swamped by work, constantly under the murky water of five-paragraph essays. And, well, let’s just say I would probably spend more time than usual going down the hall to the bathroom.
So, maybe this, then?
The latest in tanning technology
I know, I know, Santa. This would totally weigh down your sleigh and might even keep you from getting to those Orthodox children on time. But think of the benefits. I would get the daylight I’m so desperate for – or at least a reasonable facsimile thereof. And with this in my office, I would get so many visits from my female students. We could even have special “tan and topic sentences” meetings, when we can discuss their papers while we all soak up some rays. Heck, I might even be able to charge them a dollar or two – and then I’d be able to pay you back!
If none of these things are even remotely plausible, though, Santa, this might be a solution:
A periscope
Sure, this, too, would involve the tiniest bit of remodeling. But the elves wouldn’t have to do anything more complicated than make a hole in the ceiling. Well, and in the roof of the building. If they’ll install the periscope right above my desk, I can just look through it whenever I need a splash of daylight.
Do me one favor, though, please – make sure the periscope has a view of the campus and the hills, not just the building roof. Nothing would put me in a worse mood than seeing a pile of pigeon droppings when I was hoping for the sky.
I guess I can imagine something like this in my office
In conclusion, Santa, I hope that you’ll find it in your heart to provide one of these gifts. If you could get me some daylight – real, artificial, whatever – you might just restore my faith in you. And, if that happens, I promise I’ll have cookies next year.
The Catbird Seat 