On Christmas Eve — as the most magical, special and wondrous holiday pokes its nose ‘round the corner — I ponder for a moment the great Christmas mysteries. Those perplexing questions that weigh on our festive minds and make us stay up late at night scratching our heads and staring at walls.
Big, complex, unexplainable mysteries … like why dogs and cats are drawn to the Christmas tree. No doubt your animal is, too. I watched a video the other day of a cat who climbed up into someone’s Christmas tree, and it reminded me of my cats when I was little. They toppled the tree one year. Another used to — how do I put this delicately? — “mark” the tree as his own (presents, too.)
Now it’s my dog who feels the magnetic pull of our magical tree. Whenever she comes inside, her first stop is always the Christmas tree where she rubs her body against the low-hanging branches. This sends a cloud of needles flying about the room. The tree leans and teeters, and ornaments dangle precariously while we scream, “Stop K9! You’ll ruin Christmas!”
Does she love the feel of sharp needles on her back? Or the smell of Christmas trees, which might mask everything else foul and malodorous she rolls in? Or is she just scouting out the perfect spot on the tree skirt to throw up on later? That’s what she did last year.
It’s a mystery, but they do love those indoor trees.
There are many others I haven’t figured out. Like why Santa is still using elf labor when he could have sent the whole operation to China and saved a bundle.
Or why toys and games always beep like garbage trucks backing up. Why?!? My daughter got a penguin racetrack game from my dad. Little penguins are transported up to the top of a plastic mountain before sliding wildly down a track. It provides endless viewing pleasure — another mystery I can’t explain it — and I could watch those little guys for days. Every time one crests the top, I offer encouragement: “Go on, little buddy! Don’t be scared.”
But above the whirring of the electric motor comes the most awful squeaking chirp — an incessant beeping that is like a dentist’s tooth scraper probing my inner ear. Why would anyone do this? Only an evil toy designer who realizes he can draw us in with penguins and then melt our brains with a death ray that sounds like a fire alarm. (That one I figured out!)
Here’s one I’m still working on: Why do we parents always leave gifts that need assembly to Christmas Eve? We know darn well that it would take a professional build team three weeks to do the job. Yet we somehow think we can pull off the feat in less than 45 minutes while crammed in a crowded, dark garage with no tools but a worn-out Phillips screwdriver and some pliers that no longer grip.
And for that matter, why do we buy toys that need assembly at all when we know a critical part or a key screw will probably be missing? There’s nothing quite like having to duct tape on a shiny new bike’s front tire.
How come I have advanced degrees, have done well professionally, can problem solve — shoot, I even invented a spray that will reduce the national debt — but I can’t remember to check a string of lights before I attach them to my house?
Why do I always eat a pound of apple coffee cake batter even though I know it will leave me feeling like an out-of-tune high school band is marching in my stomach?
Why do I think trying to eat a pound of smoked turkey sausage in one sitting constitutes common sense?
How come I always toss balled-up wrapping paper to my dog, never remembering that she will shred it into the tiniest of bits and then nearly choke on a bow?
And maybe most of all, how come a pretty girl standing by a Christmas tree with an ice skate on her red shirt and a green bow in her hair will always melt my heart and freeze a smile on my face?
It’s just another of those Christmas mysteries.