Tiger Attack!

I rolled over in bed yesterday morning, replete with happy Christmas memories and heard the bizarre news that a man had been mauled and killed by a tiger on the loose in San Francisco. I stared at the TV, not quite certain I'd heard it right. But I had. A man HAD been killed by a tiger. In San Francisco. On Christmas Day. Why is it that the Truth is always stranger than anything you can imagine? I consult psychics quite regularly but if they were to tell me that a man would be consumed by a tiger on Christmas Day in San Francisco, I think I'd change psychics. This is just too weird. And why is it, that anything that actually happens is so much more loony than anything we can imagine?

I'd like to know why that young man had to die at the mouth of a tiger. What in the world was going on? In some of Sylvia Browne's books, where she tells of life on the Other Side, she says we are all pre-destined to know what day we will pass long before we come back to make this human life on this side. It is all carefully recorded and arranged long before we are born. She says you spend years arranging your human life and how it will spin out and who you will know and meet in this life while you're in spirit form on the Other Side. But what in the world... I mean, what would possess somebody from wanting to be mauled and eaten by a tiger as his means of exiting this world? It's not one of those Ten Most Popular Ways To Die, is it?

I'm envisioning a line of spirits on the Other Side, arranging the lives they will live when they are born. It must be sort of like the lines we used to have to stand in when we were registering for classes in college, before they had the online registrations they have now. Folks standing there with long lists of paper, trying to get the courses they need to complete their majors. Only these Spirit Folks are trying to arrange the right set of happenstances for living their lives to the fullest and fulfilling their destiny.

There's this line marked "Passing on the 25th of December, 2007" and a lady is standing behind a man. The lady looks over at the man's paper and asks, "So how are you planning on passing?"

He flourishes his paper in front of him importantly. "I'm going to get slashed by a tiger at the zoo."

"No way!" Open mouthed she gawps at him. "In this day and age? You can do that?"

"Yup!" he grins triumphantly. "Not many go that way, but I've got permission."

"Oh, so unfair!" she gripes. "I want to go that way too!"

"You can't," he flashed his papers in her face again. "We're passing on the same day. In the same state too. You're California, aren't you?"

"Yes, but... Gee... what a great way to go! I wish I'd thought of that! I didn't know in the Twenty First century you could choose that passing, especially in an industrialized country. Especially California!"

"Yeah, well, I've been working on this quite a while. It wasn't easy, believe me!"

"Well, shoot! Congratulations, Buddy. You've one-upped me! But see here.... I put down mauled by pit bulls on mine."

"Yeah, that's not bad. It sure beats passing in your sleep. Good luck to you!"

So that's the conversation I think they had in that line on the Other Side. For the rest of the news yesterday morning mentioned that a woman in Yermo in Southern California got mauled to death by pit bulls too. On Christmas Day. Hey, I'm not making this up. I'm only trying to imagine how it got to this in the first place.

Countdown

The healthy little 'pad' of days before Christmas has eroded away and with a measly seven left, time is running out. I checked my lists and found an order that hadn't arrived. I've checked another list and found out I still need to bake about six more Christmas breads or batches of cookies to fulfill my always-too-long gift list. The days until The Big Day remain full: dinner with friends, Christmas parties, outings with the children, get-togethers with family and friends, last minute appointments to primp or get that end-of-the-year doctor or dentist appointment in, you name it, there's something going on almost every day.

It's not just the adults who are awash in heavily laden To Do Lists. Charley, the eight year old, found himself shopping in the school Christmas Bazaar last Friday, then rushing off on a bus with second and third graders for an exhibition of the Nutcracker Suite (he liked it) and when they arrived home, was gussied up by his mom and dad for the company Christmas party we held at the Town Hall. He didn't get to bed until after midnight, and only then after his dad showed him the Geminid meteor shower. But he proclaimed his day, "The Best!"

Charley's all worried that Santa will fail to bring him the game system he's been asking for. A week ago, he got to talk to Santa at the Harley shop and told him what he wanted for Christmas. Santa didn't agree, he only grunted and murmured, "We'll see."

Charley was maddened by that answer. "Does that mean he'll bring it, Mackey?" he asked, worriedly when we made our way back to the car. "What does 'We'll see...' mean, anyway?"

"I guess it means Santa has a lot of requests for that item, Charley," I said. "He might not be able to bring it."

So this week, Charley penned his daddy down and asked him outright if Mommy was going to get the video game for him. Daddy shook his head. "No, she couldn't find one when she went shopping." Now Charley was worried. When his second opportunity to see Santa came up at the company Christmas party, Charley was the first in line. I saw him standing in front of Santa, imploring him at great length about something. I could guess what it was. I asked Charley later what he had said so urgently to Santa.

"I told him I really wanted that video game, Mackey," Charley reported. "But Santa didn't say he would bring it. He didn't say anything at all."

"Well, you know, Charley," I was trying to find something to say that would make him feel better. "Sometimes we ask Santa for something that he can't bring us. I remember when I was eight, I asked for a Betsy-Wetsy Doll. I really wanted this doll that you could feed a bottle to and then she wet her pants. But as much as I wanted that doll that year, I didn't get it. So sometimes, we just have to accept that Santa can't bring us everything we want."

Charley looked at me aghast. "A doll that wet its pants?" he repeated. "Why would you want that?"

"It was back in the Fifties, Charley, and that was pretty special then. That's what I wanted."

Charley shook his head. "Gee, Mackey, back in Those Days, you must have been in a desperate situation."

Before any of you head to that desperate situation, check off some items on your To Do Lists and then settle back and enjoy these next two weeks of fun and joy and Love. That's what I'm going to do!

Playin' Games

In addition to Christmas being a special time for children, it's also when we take a little more time to have fun and play some games with those children. Charley likes to play word games, guessing games and any other sort of game that stimulates his mind when we're driving. He loves to have Mackey join in, and it does beat listening to the radio.

We were on our way home from an evening of Christmas shopping last night and near the dump, Charley shouted out from the back seat, "Let's play 'Read My Mind', Mackey. What number am I thinking of between one and ten?"

"Six!" I shouted back at him.

"No, eight," he yelled.

"That was my second choice," I told him. "Do it again."

"I'm ready. Guess," Charley said.

"Three!"

"You're right, Mackey! It was three. That's what I was thinking of!" (I'm only right about a third of the time. I don't want you readers thinking I'm good at this, mind you.)

"I want to play!" Sage announced, not wanting to be left out.

"Okay, Sage," I instructed. "Think of a number between one and ten and Charley and I will guess what it is."

"Okay!" He was excited to be included. "I'm weady. Three!"

"No, no, Sage!" Charley groaned. "You can't say it. You have to think it and Mackey and I will read your mind."

"Okay." Mr Agreeable.

"Now, think of a number between one and ten," Charley patiently instructed again. "And now Mackey and I will think what it is."

"Okay." There was silence from the back seat.

"Have you thought of the number yet, Sage?" I asked. I couldn't feel what number he was thinking of. All I could read from him was blankness.

"No!" he announced. "I'm thinking. Oh, okay, I got one."

"Okay," Charley and I chimed in together. We started to concentrate.

"It seven!" Sage announced proudly.

Charley groaned and I laughed. Sometimes it was hard to play with five year olds. Once again, Charley patiently explained the particular 'rules' of this game.

"Now, Sage," he repeated. "You gotta think of a number between one and ten. AND DON'T SAY IT OUT LOUD! Mackey and I will guess what it is. Now... think of a number. Okay, now don't say it out loud. We will guess."

"All wight," Sage sounded subdued.

"Now, my turn," Charley announced. "I'm thinking of six."

"Okay, Sage," I concentrated, well as hard as you can while you're driving a dark country road with two mind readers in the back seat. "I think you're thinking of one."

"Wong!" Sage chortled. "You both wong! It eleven!"

May you enjoy this season of children and games and maybe even win a few!