The Thought Instigator

The Thought Instigator

I’m happy with “Happy Holidays.” 

I’m also happy with “Merry Christmas.” With “Happy Hannukah.” And how about, “Have a cool yule?”

Sound conflicting, in this day of judgmental disdain for political correctness? Well, a couple things…

I’m okay with expressions of joy, of guiltless communication of our boundless spirit and appreciation of our celebrations.

I’m not okay, however, with others’ rules that dictate why we should or shouldn’t express ourselves as we see fit as opposed to how they see fit.

How many times have we heard: “Hey, it’s merry Christmas! It’s not happy holidays! That’s politically correct, and I won’t be politically correct!” In other words, the real holiday is Christmas. The others are irrelevant. So don’t make them something more than irrelevant by lumping them in with Christmas. At least, that seems to be the logic. 

Um, memo. There’s a bunch of holidays that occur during “the holidays.” Holidays, plural. And, to those who celebrate them, they’re meaningful. They’re relevant. Even as much as Christmas! 

What they are, and aren’t

Okay, a quick primer. (And apologies for leaving anything/anyone out; I’m bound to miss something!)

A lot of people think “The Holidays” start with Thanksgiving and end with New Year’s Day. Others will tag on the Chinese New Year, but to my small mind, that’s so next year. Even New Year’s is next year, except that it’s attached to New Year’s Eve (my anniversary, by the way), so it qualifies in my book as a holidays bookend. 

I get the Thanksgiving aspect of “The Holidays,” although this period smacks of December to me. If we’re going to agree for the moment – and I didn’t hear anyone object – to Thanksgiving being a cast member of “The Holidays,” then I’ll listen to the argument that Diwali should be too. Diwali is that cool Hindu holiday celebrating life, and good over evil. It can take place in October or November, depending on the year’s lunisolar calendar placement. The Hindu calendar follows the moon and is 354 days long, so every three years they toss in a month or so. So you can see why it falls in October or November. It was in late October this year. 

I said I’d listen to the argument, but I’m not buying into it being among the holidays meant when we say “Happy Holidays!” October? No. For that matter, I think Thanksgiving stands on its own as a superb holiday – I don’t think “the holidays” when Thanksgiving pops up. Finishing the last bowl of turkey soup feels like a door opener to “The Holidays.” No, I’m ducking back behind my thought that “The Holidays” take place in December. And New Year’s. What ev! 

The lineup

1. Okay, so we have Hanukkah. According to the interesting website “Her Campus” (a medium designed for women in college, new to me), found here: https://www.hercampus.com/school/minnesota/6-holidays-holiday-season-besides-christmas, “Hanukkah is a Jewish holiday that’s celebrated for eight days and nights, beginning on the 25th day of the Jewish month of Kislev. The Jewish calendar is based on the lunar cycle, so Hanukkah can fall anywhere from November 28th to December 26th. … People celebrate Hanukkah by lighting their menorahs, spinning dreidels and eating delicious foods!”

I can testify that dreidel spinning is fun, from my one experience spinning them. 

Hanukkah certainly qualifies as a holiday season holiday. It runs from December 18 to December 26 this year. 

2. Then there’s Kwanzaa. “In the United States, roughly five million people celebrate Kwanzaa each year! Kwanzaa is a seven day holiday that celebrates African culture. It begins on December 26th and ends on January 1st. On the sixth day of Kwanzaa (my anniversary…hint, hint), there’s a Kwanzaa Karamu, which is a big feast. Gifts of Kuumba (creativity) are given to loved ones. Kwanzaa’s also celebrated through lighting the Kinara, performing and listening to traditional music and discussing African principles and history.” Her Campus

Five million people are not the definition of irrelevant.

3. I think we’re on a roll! Now, some would say winter solstice falls into the holiday season definition. “For Pagans, December means the holiday of Yule is coming! It falls on December 21st, which marks the winter solstice; which is the shortest day and longest night of the year. The winter solstice celebrates the rebirth of the sun, because days get longer from then on out.” More Her Campus

I know pagans who celebrate winter solstice, so that’s on the list.

4. Next on my list is Los Posados. “From December 16th through December 24th, Las Posadas is celebrated by some Hispanic families in the United States. It’s a nine-day celebration before Christmas, beginning with a procession with candles, songs and sometimes even people playing the parts of Mary and Joseph who lead the parade. Every night of Las Posadas is celebrated with gifts, piñatas, song, parties, tamales and prayer.” Yup, Her Campus

Okay, I’m buyin’ it. 

5. And, of course, Christmas. I do celebrate Christmas. 

6. And, finally, New Year’s (and my anniversary – I definitely celebrate that :).

And for the truly open-minded, if you want, toss in Festivus – Festivus for the Rest of Us – on December 23. Thank you crazy man Jerry Stiller for espousing it on “Seinfeld!” 

Political correctness?

You know, saying happy holidays probably is being politically correct. For that matter, I don’t see anything wrong with expressing sentiment that is inclusive of other cultures, beyond my limited scope of being Christmas-minded. Fact is, I am Christmas-minded. I don’t observe Hannukah, Kwanzaa, winter solstice, or Los Posados. But I’m aware that others do, and that these traditions fall during “The Holidays.” 

I’m grateful to realize that. For a long time I didn’t. And then people started saying happy holidays. Holidays, plural. Opened my eyes. And my mind. Which is a good thing. Therefore, my simple logic holds, there’s nothing wrong with saying happy holidays. Nor is there saying merry Christmas. But there is something weird telling others what’s okay to say and what isn’t – judge, judge. 

What do you think?

How about you? What’s your favorite holiday season greeting? What do you like, not like, etc.? Why, for polite conversation’s sake? It’s okay to have an opinion about it. No harm believing in something – unless, of course, you’re evil. I’m going to be welcoming of all cultures celebrating holidays during this season of the calendar. I’m going to say happy holidays when it feels appropriate, or merry Christmas, or happy Hannukah, or whatever works in the moment. And not worry about it.  

Don’t want to say happy holidays? Then don’t; I don’t care. Just don’t cast a crappy light on me for choosing to be polite and accepting of others. 

Happy holidays!

The Thought Instigator

Other than jagged holes filling dying, bark-ravaged trees, I don’t think I was ever knowingly aware of woodpeckers until we bought our house in 2018.

I never knew they possessed the power to turn me to the dark side.

Until then, woodpeckers drilled that distant cadence from the woods, lofting echoey staccato percussion beats to complement the warblers nearby. But then I learned so much more.

Woodpecker setup

Everything checked off the inspection list pretty much okay, except for the jerky holes in a few shingles covering our chimney. I looked at our new neighbor’s chimney across the yard – same construction, but no holes. Hmm. Maybe the holes had been there a while, ignored, out of sight, out of mind. Whatever – the house was what we wanted, where we wanted, and we weren’t going to let a few fixable holes in the shingles thwart us.

What did we know?

We had the shingles replaced shortly after moving in, and the carpenter said no woodpecker would go at it with the synthetic ones he used. Sounded sensible. But who said woodpeckers were sensible?

The bad news

According to birdwatchingpro.com (https://birdwatchingpro.com/how-do-woodpeckers-peck-so-fast) a woodpecker can peck 20 times a second. Huh?

Wait a minute, what? Twenty times – a second? Yup! All sorts of writeups explain the bird’s anatomy, which allows it to peck up to 12,000 times a day and up to 1,400 times the force of gravity. That’s 1,400 g’s! Fewer than 100 g’s will concuss a human, our bird watching pro says. Macho astronauts face about 3 g’s during liftoff (and they’re wearing g-suits!), and most people will go unconscious at 9 g’s as blood struggles to get to the brain. Thanks to spaceanswers.com for these goodies.

I’m not going into the physiological marvel that the woodpecker is – partly because it’s pages of information long, but mainly because I don’t care. The short answer you really want to know is that because of its beak configuration, 99.7% of the force transfers into the bird’s body, not its head – see Audubon’s explanation – and its neck muscles rival Igor the weightlifter. Nature is a marvel, and I’m satisfied to call this one of those. All I care about is that the damn birds stop drilling holes in my chimney.

But, oh no. There was a force at play I didn’t realize. It seems the birds drilling my chimney aren’t merely hungry, they’re, well, horny. Um…

The first thing we learn when reading the various sources of info out there is that woodpeckers rip off bark and penetrate trees to get at those yummy insects crawling around inside. Okay, I get that some species like to eat live bugs. I prefer mine dried and chocolate coated. I digress.

But we also learn that these destroyers of private property also whack away at wood to communicate – especially to lure a mate. If only I knew years ago to try slamming my face into a tree a hundred miles an hour. There I go digressing again.

It seems some wood resonates in just the right way for boy woodpeckers to send throaty coos to innocent girl woodpeckers. Apparently, it works – they keep on doing it. And doing it. And doing it. And, as apparently, certain shingle-covered chimneys send a perfect pitch into the mating ritual madness.

At least, ours does. Just not our neighbors’.

So, it wasn’t long before the rat-a-tat-tat resumed and more shingles were decimated. OMG, this was our house! Our home! Our home, which I’m sworn to protect and defend!

So, what to do?

wikiHow to the rescue – not

A visit to our buddies at wikiHow gives us a list of 10 ways to get rid of woodpeckers. Now, this is probably a good place to note that someone’s wife, who shall remain nameless, informed her husband how much she loves woodpeckers, how beautiful they are, etc., etc. Now, her husband could respond with wikiHow’s opening statement in their article titled “How to Get Rid of Woodpeckers” – which strikes even this writer as being ever so cold.

WikiHow says: “As cute as woodpeckers can be, you certainly don’t appreciate it when they drill away loudly against some nearby surface. At best, the sounds they make can be a rude awakening. At worst, a woodpecker can cause expensive damage to your home’s siding. Fortunately, there are things you can do to keep them away from your property.”

Finally, a voice of reason – and someone to blame for a lone husband taking action.

Thing you can do #1 says to make loud noises. Like blare a boom box, and yell a lot while flailing around. You know.

Thing 2 says to place a fake bird of prey on the property, such as mounting a plastic owl or hawk on the roof. Then, A, we’d have a permanent plastic bird of prey on the roof, and B, wikiHow says the woodpeckers might figure out the scam and return anyway.

Number 3 calls for hanging wind chimes near the pecking place. Well, not sure how to hang wind chimes at the top of the chimney, and, also, that would call for a very tall ladder, and, worse, the lone husband climbing way up the very tall ladder. Nuh uh.

Equally nonsensical suggestions round out the list. But there had to be a way to stop this savagery. Hadn’t there?

And then the light went on. And with it the image of a pump action long barrel and scope. Oh, yes, the dark side. It was calling me by my given name.

Daisy to the rescue

Yep, a trip to Walmart and soon home with a Daisy Powerline 880 with a 4×15 scope. Yessir, me and my Daisy, we were going do the trick, a team of roughriders if ever there was. Now, this was my first BB gun since I was 12 or 13, but I’d proven myself a pretty good marksman as a kid, so I was confident of my adult proficiency.

Now, the wait. But not for long, the little bugger. Rat-a-tat-tat!

I’d loaded a handful of BBs into the trusty Daisy, and had practiced opening the cartridge, pumping the handle up to 10 times, and then injecting a little steel ball into the chamber. The fun part, at the outset, was setting the scope, which magnified just fine. I fiddled with the windage and elevation adjustments but found the factory setting seemed right. It’s not like there’s much windage behind my house, and how much elevation shift might there be from my deck to the chimney?

I’d also found that 10 pumps was overkill for my mission; five was plenty adequate. Hell, two would probably get there.

I pumped the handle five times, filled the chamber, and slowly, quietly, opened the slider to the deck. I tiptoed across to where I could see past the roof edge, and there, there, hanging onto my chimney shingles and rat-a-tatting away, was the cutest little red-headed woodpecker ever. Cute he may be, I thought, but I was on mission.

I pulled Daisy up and squinted into the scope. No glasses necessary to get a bead eye on this varmint. I aimed the scope right at his center, took a slow breath, and then shifted the barrel up and to the right a nudge and squeezed. The sharp retort barely preceded the sound of BB smacking wood, and the love-bent birdie leaped up, turned in mid-air, and shot away into the woods.

Now – you didn’t really think I’d actually shoot the little critter, did you? OMG, I’d never shoot a bird! I had no intention of maiming him – or killing him, which I knew Daisy was capable of doing. I just wanted to scare him away. Make him think about it next time.

And even more!

And there were next times. And over them I could detect a growing pattern of awareness by the culprit. That hesitation, mid-peck, the head swinging back and forth in the brief silence. And then, finally, the day came. The day I knew I had him.

I repeated my steps onto the deck, my tiptoes to the far side. Daisy was loaded. I raised the rifle, took aim – and suddenly the little guy stopped mid-rat-a-tat. He slowly turned toward me. His spidey sense was right on. He saw me and Daisy. His eyes bulged open like Wile E. Coyote about to drop from the cliff. His head jerked back, his face a look of terror, and he shot off into the woods. 

I fired into the air behind him, to not let him off easy. But my mission was done. He didn’t return. Until the next year. Or perhaps, no, he never returned, but rather, I decided, it was his offspring, his reward from his mating rat-a-tats.

I like to think so.

Of course, we had to go through the exercise again that next year. And again the following year. And again this year. But Daisy’s at the ready, in a cranny by the slider. And we have lots of BB’s. Oh, lots of BB’s. Come on, little buddy. Bring it on! 

So – what do you think? Makings of a new novel? 

What has driven you to step face to face with the dark side? I’d love to know. Drop it into the comments!