He seems pretty peaceful, doesn’t he?

In the midst of post-Thanksgiving digestive confusion, I am now facing the annual dilemma, which attains truly biblical proportions in my house (at least with my wife) — when do the Christmas lights go up? It was frightening enough after supper Thursday evening walking through the neighborhood. A number — not just several — of our neighbors had not only already hung their lights, they could also be seen erecting Christmas trees (Yep, they were assembling them from a box. No sightings of real trees yet, at least). Sadly, I realized I was already behind and would be fighting to make up ground during the balance of the holiday. A part of me (okay, a really big part of me) has hit the wall regarding hanging lights, setting up increasingly rusty reindeer, and figuring out the whole extension cord thing. I’m no Clark Griswold, but it takes a full day to put up our meager display, the centerpiece of which is our manger scene, made in China, bought at Target. And outside of the give or take one month period he’s in the front yard, Baby Jesus spends most of the year buttoned up with Mary and Joseph in the rafters of the garage — except this year. A couple of months ago he mysteriously appeared on my workbench, wrapped not in swaddling clothes but, rather, still in his original plastic bag. Depending on who you talk to, he either fell, was forcibly ejected, or was divinely placed. I suspect our cats had something to do with it, but the fact remains BJ has been an almost daily reminder of my impending responsibility. Am I receiving an otherworldly message to suck it up and get with the replica manger program and the spirit of the season, or is something else at work? You tell me. I haven’t decided yet what to do. 

No matter.  BJ waits patiently in his bag, tucked away in his plastic blanket, still sleeping sublimely whenever I walk by.  I think he’ll be okay with whatever works out.

– Dad