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Santa Lives in Buffalo, Strapped to a Railing

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Last March Santa looked forlorn strapped to the fifth floor balcony of an apartment building near the Canisius College Metro station. His cherry red suit was faded to a soft tea rose pink. His pink cheeks had bleached to vampire whiteness. Traffic soot embedded into his beard, hair, and the rim of fluffy white on his hat gave them an ultra-real dimensionality that shouldn’t be possible on his round plastic body.  Now a year later, Santa still rigidly dangles that hundred or more feet off  the ground. But between last March and today he had his weeks of glory, and the true brilliance of the apartment owner shined into the December nights.

 We assumed that Balcony Santa was collateral damage in someone’s busy life. You know what I mean – wreaths that were perky in December but flap forlornly in February’s gusts, the spindly Christmas tree carcass that appears on the curb in April, and one of my favorites – Rudolph standing in an unkempt front garden with late summer purple coneflowers bobbing around him. We figured Santa was just like those forgotten remnants of Christmas spirit. But this winter, on a fine December evening we were hurtling down the Scajaquada Expressway and there he was shining far above the road. Santa was lit and glowing: his red suit agleam, his dark eyes like holes in his dreadfully cheery winter-white face. He hovered, one arm in the air raised to spread a message of Christmas cheer: “Farewell to all, and to all a good night…” He lit up the Christmas season. He glowed through New Year’s Eve. And then he was shut off.

 You have to figure that Santa is tied onto that balcony railing pretty firmly. Even permanently. He hasn’t sagged. He doesn’t move in the 50 or 60 mile an hour winds that howl through the city. And when I think about the annual effort of untangling lights, hanging lights, prying lights down, stowing lights – I wonder if Santa’s owner isn’t much smarter than me. Sure, a person would have to have selective vision, to be able to look past Santa on say, the Fourth of July, but I bet that is easier than going hypothermic for the Christmas spirit every year. Balcony Santa isn’t forgotten. He is simply waiting in his aerie. And maybe, he is keeping an eye out – checking off the naughty and the nice.

Why Can’t My Husband Find the Ketchup?

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Men and women see the world differently. This isn’t my opinion; it’s a strongly supported scientific hypothesis. Men and women perceive space and the items in it differently. I wrote an article about it. I think about it all the time for my work. But for some reason I never applied my ivory tower notions to my household.

 Why does my husband have to lean into the refrigerator hunting the ketchup? It’s been on the same door shelf position in all 11 of our households over the years. It isn’t rocket science. The man memorizes the URLs of hundreds of routers and switches and techie stuff for his work. But he can’t reliably find the ketchup.

 It just isn’t his fault. Evolutionary psychology tells us that men learn large territories and routes through them, while women learn smaller areas in greater detail. Back in the day, men were hunting the big game over days of effort. Women were taking care of every other detail of life, including feeding themselves and their families using their detailed knowledge of local, smaller resource areas. Don’t argue it. Just accept it as an idea. A maybe explanation for inexplicable male behavior in the household.

 The notion has important implications for maintaining a harmonious marriage.

 You have to remember that your man is not being deliberately obtuse to avoid domestic responsibility. He is using the skill set thousands of generations of men developed during critical phases of our species’ survival. He quite honestly may not have the ability to remember that the ketchup lives on the second door shelf.

 You are thinking that he should be able to see the bright red ketchup there on the door. That the bottle placement is stupendously obvious. But evolved psychological tendencies can be remarkably subtle and powerful. Give your man the benefit of the doubt. Don’t expect him to know what you know about the ketchup, the car keys, the dog’s leash…when he asks, just tell him exactly where the object is or pretend you can’t hear him. Don’t worry if he can’t find stuff when he is on his own. He won’t even notice there’s a problem because this is normal for him.

 Is it easier to be a woman? I think so. After all, I can use a map to go the long distances – and I have all that extra time to travel them because I am not hunting the house for my keys, the dog’s leash, or the ketchup. Enjoy the partnership. Let evolution run wild and free!