WACKY WEDNESDAY WISDOM- Getting in Full Christmas Mode

     I have fantasies. There, I admit it. Before you report me to the proper authorities and I am subjected to public humiliation and frivolous lawsuits, please know that my fantasies are neither illegal nor immoral, at least not in my mind. One of those aspirations was partially fulfilled a few days ago while I was driving in our family car. I wasn't alone- our dog Flash was in the back seat. Before the writing of this column, only Flash and I were aware of the events that took place that day in the Honda. Brace yourself for the revelation.
     First you must know I have a Bucket List of things I want to do in my lifetime, and some of them are way out there. And some I have aged out of such as performing with a rock and roll band in a concert, dunking a basketball in a game (real or pickup), and parachuting from an airplane. Come to think of it, deep down I haven't given up on any of those yet.
     Much to the chagrin of my wife and three boys, I do stuff other 54 year-old men don't do. I still watch cartoon Christmas specials- Charlie Brown Christmas, Frosty the Snowman, and of course, How the Grinch Stole Christmas. Since 2001, it has been a family tradition to watch the movie version (Jim Carrey as the Grinch) sometime before Christmas Day, as well as all of the aforementioned cartoon classics. I'm proud and embarrassed to say I know most of the lines to the Grinch movie version and can recite them on command, which is highly annoying to my family members. 
     Things haven't gone well for me lately in the "Let's watch the Christmas specials" family tradition department. The boys have aged out and the wife has lost interest. I have been forced to carry the torch all by my lonesome. This year I offered to pay the boys to watch but they preferred empty pockets. I tried shaming them but to no avail. Exasperated, I finally declared, "Someday, you bunch of Scrooges, when you bring your kids to visit, I'm going to make them watch Christmas specials and they're going to love it!" No reaction.
     My wife came downstairs, saw I was watching The Grinch, and felt sorry for me. But not sorry enough to join me. Instead she praised Flash for watching with me. She is, however, partially in the spirit. She yelled to me from upstairs later and informed me that Charlie Brown was on. I immediately switched channels and caught the last few minutes. When it's on, I can't not watch it.
     All that being said, the thing my family dreads most is my singing in the car, especially during the Christmas season. It's a beast they can't stand in the least, but I can't contain myself when the good tidings of great joy crank up. I sing. I play the drums a lot, too. My middle son had his wisdom teeth yanked out recently, smack dab in the middle of the Yuletide season. On the ride to the dentist, he made it clear that on the return trip home there would be no singing, no humming, and no drumming on the steering wheel. I don't think he was talking to Mom when he said it.
     Which brings me to my recent ordeal in the Honda with Flash. One of my Christmas fantasies is to conduct the Trans Siberian Orchestra in the performance of Carol of the Bells. I'm certain I've been hypnotized somewhere along the way because every time it is played, my body leaps from its current state and lands in an alternate reality, one in which I am the conductor of the orchestra in question. I have discovered that my routine (Yes, I actually have an established routine) works better for me when I'm not driving because it not only takes two arms, it requires full body engagement.
     So when it came on the radio that recent day, I sprang into full conductor mode, with Flash serving as my audience. Okay, I will probably be stripped of my Man Card by admitting to all this, but I care not anymore. The world must know. I am a closet psycho with strange unfulfilled childlike fantasies (Reminder: they're all rated G) and one of them is to conduct this particular orchestra playing this particular song. So I feel the need to practice every chance I get in case I'm ever afforded the opportunity. Especially when I'm alone and there's no Grinches there to chastise me. 
     The song started casually then built to the crescendo. Despite the distraction of piloting an automobile, I was still able to perform most of the movements by trading the steering wheel back and forth between hands. I realize this won't win me the Driver of the Year Safety Award, but at that moment I was locked into full conductor mode.
     During the crescendo part, I got carried away and, on an upward arm swing near the sun visor, my right hand collided with the garage door opener, flinging it into the backseat where my audience of one was enduring the performance. I snuck a quick glance in the rear view mirror to see her reaction. Flash didn't yelp when the controls hit her. No bark, no whimper, no complaint. She simply glared . . . at the most deranged human being she had ever encountered- which is saying a lot because she has major issues with delivery men and Jehovah's Witnesses when they come in our driveway. (Not that she considers them deranged, she just doesn't like them).
     The absurdity of the situation struck me and I laughed out loud for a brief moment then quickly returned to the business of orchestrating and conducting. The show must go on. Flash agreed and chided me to fear not about the controls. She then ate them while we completed the drive home. Okay, she merely sniffed them a few times, but it would have made for a better story had she eaten them.
     Psalm 98:4 tells us to "make a joyful noise to the Lord" and then gives us permission to do it at high volumes, regardless of the quality of it- even using trumpets and horns if we wish, like the ones they play in the Trans Siberian Orchestra. And Isaiah 44:23 says to sing and shout praises to celebrate the redemption accomplished by the Lord. Therefore, as long as I have a workable tongue, I'm going to take the Lord up on all that and sing my fool head off in the car, shower, and everywhere else. And as long as my arms work, I shall conduct fantasy Christmas orchestras when the right song comes on. And as long as my eyes are operable and my TV produces Christmas cartoon specials on its screen, I shall watch.
     Someday I may even be blessed enough to have a grandchild sitting next to me during one of those specials. And when the child requests that I refrain from singing, conducting, and drumming during the songs, I'll try to contain myself. But don't count on it. I'll  probably be in full Christmas mode.