By TERRY CUMMINS
Christmas is a big to-do in our house when my wife begins telling me to do the holly, lights, tree, lawn and the bathrooms. She found a Santa Claus who dispenses toilet paper from his sack. I hit the decoration road right after choking on the last morsel of turkey hash. Doesn’t she understand that miles of Yuletide lights require another tanker of oil from the troubled Middle East? We’re sending 30,000 more troops to Afghanistan to do what? You tell me. Is it to do an Easter egg hunt for bin Laden, or convince the Taliban to pause long enough to go caroling with our troops?
The Muslim faith, as does the Jewish and Christian faiths, believe each of our religions stem from God through Abraham. Muslims also believe Jesus was a prophet. Despite this basic belief in a God of peace, conflict remains the norm.
Sorry, I went off on religion with the holiday season approaching, the one brief time of the year to promote peace. Before promoting it on earth, there must be peace in the family. That’s why I spend three weeks hanging stuff. And then when we get past shopping in war zones and bombing our homes with ornaments, it’s time to bring on the cheer. And when my family and friends, some who apparently worship pagans, come to our house for eggnog and cookies shaped like reindeer, they make comments like, “Your house should be in ‘Better Homes and Gardens.’”
I’ve always considered myself an above average holly hanger. The secret is using a type of Scotch tape, which can take the paint off the wall when you jerk it. When guests walk down our hall, it’s like a dream stroll in a lush forest with silver belles chiming in the leaves. And when they see our tree, a giant Sequoia, with a partridge on the top and four maids milking underneath, I get emotional. My wife uses a different theme each year. But the Donald Duck and Goofy ornaments I hung last year seemed out of place in a celebration of the virgin birth.
Having bulked up for the month of December, my legs were strong enough to climb ladders. It was like preparing for a surge in Afghanistan. Then, the birds attacked. I thought birds, when hearing nature’s call, flew south for the winter, but stupid robins don’t. Wouldn’t any sensible bird, bear or snake take refuge from winter’s wrath? The human being doesn’t need to, being heated with oil from Arabia and shovels exported from China to move snow. What irks me, though, is to have a friend, who went south for the winter, rub it in. He sends fruit with a note, “Had to use sunscreen picking oranges today. Come down and see us if you can get out of your driveway. (Ha-ha!) See you when the birds fly north. Merry Christmas.”
The holly tree in my yard was loaded this year with bright red berries perfect for our walls and ceilings. Then a spirit told me to go to my window. They’d come, as thieves in the night. Squadrons of robins were filling their red breasts with red berries. There were at least 300 of the feathery things squatting on the lawn and the roof. About 10 at a time would fly to the tree, gobble the berries, and then 10 more would take their place. Nature is the strangest thing. It was like they were sharing at Christmas. It’s human nature to be kind and share, except when my God tells me to do this, and yours tells you do that. And kindness is exempt at a mall in December, where we get to bang into other frantic shoppers.
“He’s watching us. Here’s what we’ll do. Fly to the tree over his car and we’ll rest and digest.” My berries are gone, and now my car is polka-dotted. Bird droppings contain glue and if mixed with little seeds, it has to be power washed or scraped.
They stripped it clean, but don’t despair. Specialty stores have everything, including bird-proof holly berries, Yuletide tape and holiday wire of various colors. I remember the year Joseph’s arm broke off. No cause for concern; I moved him behind a cow.
The holidays can be a wonderful time of the year, but we usually get so caught up in the small things, we miss the big one.
