Energizer Bunny no match for Christmas Wonder
Ah, the joys of aging. Among them is hearing the Christmas classic song “Let It Snow” for the eight-zillioneth time, while walking through a mall hunting for gifts. Meanwhile, 90 percent of the shoppers, addled by the intoxicating aroma of Cinnabon and credit cards burning a hole in their pocket, are walking the wrong way.
Hint: Think cars on a road, people. And when you see orange Christmas lights, as in at a mall intersection, don’t speed up.
Of course, we have no choice but to “Let It Snow.” By my age, born in the Pleistocene Epoch, I’ve learned that Mother Nature lets it snow whenever she darn well pleases. When it snows, you either enjoy being dumped on and getting powder in your ear holes and down your pants — if you’re foolish enough not to wear a belt — or you turn into a weather curmudgeon and spend your free time checking out real estate ads for San Diego.
Consider the sister songs of “Let It Snow.” They are “Make It Snow,” which is only popular at holiday Christmas parties of ski resort employees with snow-making capabilities. And “Yellow Snow,” which is only popular at holiday Christmas parties involving avalanche rescue dogs.
The other joy of aging is waking at 3 a.m. on a weekend break from work and realizing that all the king’s horses and all the king’s men, singing in a grand chorus, harmonizing on the high notes, couldn’t put you back to sleep again. Such was the case for “Wonder Woman” Sunday. My wife of two years was suddenly wide awake at an hour usually only familiar to bakers, truckers and hospital emergency room employees patching up holiday party revelers who mistook a window for a door.
It got worse. No amount of wishing, meditations on Oregon’s 369 waterfalls or imagined sounds of the grand Oregon Pacific Coast surf could lull her back to sleep.
Being an enterprising sort, Wonder Woman popped out of bed like a Pop Tart and headed for the kitchen. Places to go. Things to do. The Christmas deadline was fast approaching, and there were letters to be written, envelopes to be addressed, boxes to wrap, cookies to make — not to mention quilts to finish.
By the time I stumbled to the kitchen, several hours later, Wonder Woman had made approximately 39 dozen cookies. Green ones. Red ones. Cookies with enough dark chocolate, cinnamon and cayenne pepper to dramatically alter the lives of recipients and make them consider a stint in the Peace Corps or a climb up Africa’s Mount Kilimanjaro.
Wonder Woman kept at it, in Santa’s workshop, all day long. Had the Energizer Bunny witnessed her performance, he would have shrugged his shoulders, said “You win” and taken a Christmas cruise to the Bahamas. And maybe celebrated the Energizer Bunny staff Christmas party with an inordinate amount of “Rock Star” beverage to fuel the proceedings.
By day’s end, Wonder Woman had packages ready to send hither and yon, which is somewhere near Ohio, except hillier, cookies enough to fuel a third-world revolution and Christmas letters for more friends than I could even imagine.
After a full day of activity, we went to bed at 8 p.m. Did I say I was born in the Pleistocene?