Voices Singing Let's Be Jolly

The leftover turkey meat has been relegated to the dog’s dish. The last two or three pounds of stuffing have been tossed in the trash. The final hunks of pie have been disposed of, as Mrs. U and I return to world of break-and-bake cookies for dessert. My belly is back to its late-2005 form. All of this can only mean one thing: It’s time to get ready for Christmas.

Yes, tomorrow we will enter the pine-scented tent on the side of the road and make our selection. I hope to choose our tree more wisely this year. Last year I was either very flustered or very drunk; I can’t remember. Somehow, we ended up with a seven-foot version of Charlie Brown’s tree. I guess it wasn’t so bad, once it was decorated, but the bald spot was prominent enough to prevent us from doing the old “comb over” with pine needles. I have nothing against bald people, but I prefer my trees to be lush (think Ted Danson’s hairpiece in Cheers, not Becker).

After the tree-hunting exhibition, I will once again tempt fate and make my yearly, wobbly ascent up the extension ladder to hang the lights on the house. As I’ve aged over the years, there are many areas where my abilities have continued to mature and improve. This list includes, but is not limited to crossword puzzles, remote control dexterity, competitive eating, defensive driving, blowing off telemarketers and changing diapers. One area where I’ve really regressed is climbing a ladder. I remember the good old days when I could scoot up and down a ladder like a squirrel climbs a tree. Maybe it’s an inner ear issue, but it’s become much more difficult. Each shaky step requires me to stop, look up, look down, then say “You got it? You got me?” to whoever is holding the ladder. Once I reach the top, and I need to release both hands to attach the string of lights, I become much too aware of my giant clown feet balanced on the tiny strip of metal that is the ladder rung. I realize I could avoid this entire charade by simply limiting myself to the lower portion of the roof and avoiding the peak, but it’s not possible. You see, another thing I’ve developed over the years is the need to compete with my neighbors. Granted, I won’t be duplicating the Rockefeller center job the guy across the street does on his A-frame (I’d need an Armenian family of circus performers to pull that off), but I do need to put a little altitude on my lighting job nonetheless, just for the sake of civic pride.

Our final Yuletide task this weekend will be to officially photograph the Undaling in his Christmas outfit before he grows out of it. This is not as easy as it sounds. It will take some serious defensive maneuvering, schedule flexibility and, above all, proper lighting. First, we’ll need to put him in the outfit. Then, we’ll need to block any and all bodily fluids from leaving a stain while we wait for him to get in his smiling mood. Finally, when we sense that the smiles are about to begin, we’ll need to rush him outside to our makeshift studio and capture the image before he decides he’s hungry, wet, tired, uncomfortable, gassy or bored again. All he really has to do is sit there and smile, but I haven't found a way to properly communicate that to him quite yet.

Wish us luck.