🎃 OCTOBER AT THE NORTH POLE

Some elves are born with a talent for making toys.

Some can wrap a present so perfectly you almost don't want to open it.

Almost.

Ginger can bake.

Holly Wood can turn anything into a production.

Me?

I could make frost.

At first, nobody thought this was particularly useful.

A little frost on a window.

A frozen puddle.

A snowflake spinning in the air.

Nothing major.

Then I discovered something very important.

Frost is fun.

Especially when nobody is expecting it.

I don't remember exactly what happened.

That's my story.

But apparently somebody left a bucket of water outside the workshop.

And apparently somebody else froze it.

And apparently Santa stepped onto it.

There was sliding.

There was arm waving.

There was a surprisingly graceful turn.

And then...

Santa stopped.

He looked at me.

I looked at him.

He said:

“Jack.”

I said:

“Santa.”

Long pause.

Then Santa started laughing.

That's when I learned one of the most important rules at the North Pole:

If you're going to make mischief...

make sure somebody smiles when it's over.

That became my rule.

Well...

one of them.

People hear the word mischief and think it means trouble.

Sometimes.

But good mischief is different.

Good mischief surprises you.

It interrupts boring.

It makes somebody look twice.

A snowflake where there wasn't one before.

A snowball appearing somewhere a snowball definitely should not be.

A hallway that suddenly becomes...

slightly more slidey.

Nothing dangerous.

Nothing mean.

Just enough to make somebody say:

“JACK!”

That's usually how I know it worked.

Eventually I realized frost could do more than make people laugh.

It could make things beautiful.

I started painting snowflakes on the toy-shop windows.

I learned how to make snowflakes spin.

I could put a little icy sparkle around the workshop.

Sometimes I'd walk into a room and leave tiny crystals behind me.

Not because anybody asked.

Because the room needed it.

Probably.

That's when I figured out the second part:

MAKE MISCHIEF.
MAKE MAGIC.

The best surprises leave something better behind.

One Christmas Eve, Santa came looking for me.

That doesn't always mean something good.

I immediately started trying to remember what I'd done.

Santa said:

“Jack, can you help me tonight?”

I said:

“Depends. What have you heard?”

He hadn't heard anything.

Excellent.

The sleigh runway needed light.

The weather was rough.

Snow was blowing everywhere.

Santa needed the reindeer to see exactly where they were going.

So I went outside.

I looked at the runway.

I looked at Santa.

Then I winked.

Twice.

You have to wink twice for the big stuff.

I swept my hand across the snow...

and turned the whole runway into a shining path of icy light.

Santa stared at it.

Thunder and Lightning came stomping through the snow.

So naturally...

I added snow stars around their heads.

They looked fantastic.

Thunder pretended not to care.

Lightning absolutely cared.

That's when Santa looked at me and said:

“You know, Jack... your frost can be pretty useful.”

I said:

“I know.”

I'd been waiting years for that.

Some people hear Frosty Elf and think I'm supposed to freeze everything.

No.

Absolutely not.

I have standards.

I'm not here to freeze the cheer away.

I'm here to make it sparkle.

There's a difference.

Christmas should feel alive.

A little unpredictable.

A little ridiculous.

A little magical.

If everything happened exactly the way everybody expected...

where's the fun in that?

This brings us to counting.

The North Pole has a perfectly good Christmas countdown.

It tells you exactly how many days are left until Christmas.

Very accurate.

Very responsible.

Very...

boring.

So one day I looked at the number and said:

“That's boring. Let's do it another way!”

That was the beginning of Count It Another Way.

Why should there be only one way to count to Christmas?

Ginger has a way.

Holly Wood has a way.

Mr. T definitely has a way.

Count Barkula has several ways.

I started asking everybody.

Then I made them show their work.

This was mostly because I wanted to see what would happen.

Turns out...

a lot happens.

Mr. T likes subtraction.

A lot.

He says if we're counting down, the numbers should go down.

Fair point.

Then I showed him:

3 − (−3) = 6

He stared at it.

Then he stared at me.

Then back at it.

He said:

“No.”

I said:

“Yep.”

He said:

“We SUBTRACTED.”

I said:

“Yep.”

He said:

“THE NUMBER GOT BIGGER.”

I said:

“Yep.”

That was a good day.

For me.

Not mathematics.

Mr. T is still investigating mathematics.

Count Barkula likes countdowns almost as much as I like messing with them.

Almost.

He counts Christmas.

Birthdays.

Vacations.

Dinner.

Walks.

Probably naps.

I once asked him how long until dinner.

He gave me the exact answer.

I changed the clock.

He changed it back.

I changed it again.

He looked at me through all that hair and said:

“Dude.”

Fair.

Sometimes professional counters need boundaries.

Ginger and I have a complicated working relationship.

She builds things.

I occasionally...

improve them.

She bakes cookies.

I occasionally...

inspect them.

Without paperwork.

She likes plans.

I like the moment immediately after the plan stops working.

But Ginger understands something I understand too.

Making something for somebody is a kind of magic.

Her magic usually involves flour.

Mine occasionally involves making the flour look like it snowed indoors.

We have different methods.

Holly Wood loves a dramatic entrance.

So do I.

The difference is Holly plans hers.

Lights.

Music.

Timing.

Possibly a wind machine.

I just arrive.

Sometimes on a wintery wind.

Sometimes sliding.

Sometimes from somewhere nobody expected an elf to be.

Holly once told me:

“Jack, you can't improvise an entire Christmas production.”

I said:

“Watch me.”

She did.

Five stars.

Eventually.

Santa likes asking people:

“Do you know Jack?”

This has become a problem.

One elf tried to answer:

“Well, as a matter of fact... I think snow!”

Santa said:

“Ha! You don't know Jack!”

Everybody laughed.

I did too.

Then they kept doing it.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Now everybody at the North Pole thinks they're a comedian.

You're welcome.

People ask me that.

Actually, they usually just repeat it after me.

But I'm going to pretend they ask.

Be Frosty doesn't mean be cold.

It definitely doesn't mean be mean.

It means...

Take it slow.

Take it easy.

Let the magic flow.

Don't get so busy trying to make everything perfect that you forget to enjoy it.

Look around.

Play.

Laugh.

Do something unexpected.

Make somebody smile.

And when you get the chance...

leave a little sparkle behind.

That's being Frosty.

I make jokes.

I make snowflakes.

I make trouble.

Small trouble.

Professionally supervised trouble.

But there's one thing I don't joke about.

Kindness.

Because there's a difference between laughing with somebody...

and laughing at them.

There's a difference between a surprise...

and something that hurts.

If your joke leaves somebody feeling bad...

that's not my kind of mischief.

Fix it.

Say sorry.

Then do better.

That's why my rule doesn't stop at mischief.

It goes:

MAKE MISCHIEF.
MAKE MAGIC.
DO GOOD.

You need all three.

Otherwise...

you don't know Jack.

I'm Jack the Frosty Elf.

North Pole trickster.

Frost maker.

Snowflake spinner.

Hallway slider.

Christmas countdown troublemaker.

Professional cool guy.

I wear silver boots.

An ice-blue cap.

And I keep snowball surprises in my elf-tool pack.

No.

You may not inspect the elf-tool pack.

Nice try.

I can freeze a puddle.

Make a snowflake spin.

Light Santa's runway.

And occasionally make an ordinary day...

a little less ordinary.

That's my job.

Well...

I appointed myself.

Santa hasn't objected.

Recently.

Nah.

That's boring.

Let's do it another way.

Tomorrow there'll be another window that needs frost.

Another countdown that needs messing with.

Another elf who has been serious for far too long.

And probably another conversation with Santa that begins:

“Jack...”

I'll be ready.

Because Christmas doesn't need to be perfect.

It needs people who are kind.

It needs people who play.

And every once in a while...

it needs somebody to slide through the workshop and remind everybody:

Take it slow.

Take it easy.

Let the magic flow.

Make mischief.

Make magic.

Do good.

And whatever you do...

BE FROSTY. ❄️😎