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Dear Tinsel Post Readers, There are certain holidays that arrive with fanfare — bells, lights, a general sense that something very important is about to happen. St. Patrick’s Day is not one of those holidays at the North Pole. It arrives quietly. A little greener. A little softer
Dear Tinsel Post Readers, There is a very peculiar moment that happens every year at the North Pole. It arrives quietly — so quietly, in fact, that many of us miss it entirely because we are asleep, face-down in a snowflake-shaped pillow, clutching a half-eaten sugar cookie like
Dear Tinsel Post Readers, It is officially the hour of the night when even the clocks yawn. Santa is somewhere over the curvature of good intentions, the sleigh writing cursive no one will grade, and the Workshop is doing its best impression of a sleeping dragon: quiet, glowing,
Dear Tinsel Post Readers, Some weeks carry themselves like a neat stack of letters. The weeks before Christmas do not. They arrive like a snow squall with opinions, wedge themselves under the door, and start redesigning the furniture. This is the stretch where even the clocks dev
Dear Tinsel Post Readers, Every year, just after the last haunted marshmallow blinks itself to sleep, the North Pole does something wildly unproductive: we slow down on purpose. We lay out long tables, straighten the evergreen runners, and celebrate a holiday that predates my fir
Dear Tinsel Post Readers, Every October, someone wanders into my office (a brave choice) and whispers, “Jingle, isn’t Halloween a south-of-snowdrift situation?” To which I say: we have lanterns, we have long nights, and we have a deep respect for dramatic capes. Of course we have
Dear Tinsel Post Readers, Every year around this time, just as the aurora begins to blush orange and the reindeer start shedding their summer glitter, someone inevitably asks me, “Jingle, do we even do Halloween up here?” To which I reply: Do cocoa cauldrons bubble? Do bats wear
The newsroom is brewing, and not just cocoa.
Dear Tinsel Post Readers, Well… we did it. We survived another Christmas in July without burning down the Gingerbread Pavilion (though not for lack of trying—looking at you, Marshmallow S’moresapalooza). The final glitter confetti has been swept up (mostly), the poolside sleigh r
Dear Tinsel Post Readers, Ah, July. That magical time of year when the snow glistens, the cocoa flows… and the TinselMart freezer section becomes a war zone. Let me explain. This week, I made the courageous decision to visit our local supply store to restock on red ink (for edito
Dear Tinsel Post Readers, Ah, Christmas in July. The one time of year when the North Pole tries to pretend it’s a beach town, and I pretend I didn’t just get a sunburn from standing too close to the Cocoa Volcano Grill. There’s a certain chaos that hits when elves trade in their
Dear Tinsel Post Readers, Let it be known: the North Pole may specialize in December 25th, but come July 4th, we throw a celebration so sparkly, even the fireworks blush. Now, I know what you’re thinking — “Jingle, isn’t Independence Day more of a ‘down south’ sort of holiday?” S
Dear Tinsel Post Readers, This morning, I woke up to find someone had swapped the newsroom’s official Countdown Clock from its usual festive ding to a screaming “WE’RE HALFWAY THERE” banner—complete with sparkly confetti cannons and a choir of animatronic penguins singing “Livin’
Happy Father’s Day to all the dads out there!
Dear Tinsel Post Readers, I’m writing to you today with twelve candy canes in my coat pocket, one cinnamon bun under my hat, and absolutely zero fear in my heart. Why? Because it’s Friday the 13th, and here at the North Pole… we don’t do superstition. We do sequins, snowball dodg
Dear Tinsel Post Readers, It’s no secret that mornings in the newsroom run on two things: peppermint bark and strong, unregulated coffee. So imagine my horror when I arrived Monday morning to find the breakroom coffeepot suspiciously… empty. Cold. Deserted. Abandoned like an unfi
Dear Tinsel Post Readers, We are now officially two weeks into “summer mode” here at the North Pole, which means three things: the sleigh wax has melted off the reindeer, someone swapped the bell-ringer’s gloves for fingerless fashion mittens, and I—Jingle P. Peppermint, your gli
Dear Tinsel Post Readers, It began as an innocent Tuesday. The cocoa was frothed. The quills were sharpened. I had just settled into my desk with my third cinnamon bun when chaos rolled in like a rogue snowball down Candy Cane Ridge: every elf in the newsroom was wearing the wron
Dear Tinsel Post Readers, Sometimes I wonder if I’m cursed. It started innocently enough: Santa’s Summer Safety Initiative launched this week, and the annual chimney inspections kicked off across the Pole. Seems logical, right? Nothing says July like crawling into soot-filled flu
Dear Tinsel Post Readers, There comes a time in every elf’s life when they must accept certain truths: hot cocoa will always spill at the worst moment, reindeer hooves do not mix well with breakable ornaments, and—most importantly—glitter is forever. This week, in what historians
