Imagine living in a town where the local paper reports crimes such as these: A bird was stuck in some wiring, which officers freed in twelve minutes. Police and fire department responded to a call about a dishwasher with smoke billowing from it. Turned out to be steam. A driver created an unsafe situation by driving without their headlights illuminated.

It began as a harmless discussion between my two oldest grandsons, who were teens: “What’s the best way to kill zombies?” A chainsaw? A bat with nails? An AR-15? Their debate quickly escalated into a verbal Gettysburg. They locked onto their opinions like … well, zombies on meat, and it was game on.

Mathieu Boya was practicing his golf swing in a pasture adjacent to Benin Air Base in Africa. With one swing of his club, Boya set off a string of events that destroyed his country’s entire air force. Described as an “inglorious slice” the ball hit a low-flying seagull, which fell into the open cockpit of a jet, as it was taxiing for takeoff. Losing control of the plane, the pilot plowed into four Phantom III fighters, which demolished the entire air force of Benin.

After being bitten by a dog, a man learned he had rabies. He immediately began making a list. His doctor informed him he had no need to make out a will; that rabies was curable. “I’m not writing a will,” he replied. “I’m making a list of people I want to bite.”

It’s over. Christmas has come and gone. Shopping, cheesy TV shows, the trip to Grandma’s, candy canes, giving and receiving gifts. But there’s a sense in which Christmas has only begun.

In 1919 a massive wave of molasses swept through Boston, killing 21 people and injuring 150 others. In the “dancing plague” of 1518, dozens of residents of Strasbourg, France danced uncontrollably for days. Many collapsed from exhaustion or died. In 897 a deceased pope was put on trial where his corpse was propped up in court. Bizarre events. But they pale in comparison to three simple words.

Two men were standing on the corner of 5th Avenue and 57th Street in New York City, observing the Christmas rush. One man complained, “I hate Christmas. I’m sick of this traffic and all these crowds.” The other replied. “I find it astounding. A baby was born to two peasants in an obscure village halfway around the world. The parents had no money, yet two thousand years later, that baby creates a traffic jam on 5th Avenue, one of the most sophisticated streets on earth. This irritates you? It ought to fascinate you!”

Our first exposure comes while walking through a department store. A familiar Christmas song wafts through the air like auditory perfume. Then we find ourselves humming the tune. Without any effort, Christmas spirit seizes our hearts. But that gentle nudge doesn’t last long.

In 1956, a Navy F11 Tiger jet was struck by several rounds of ammunition and crashed. Later the pilot learned he had shot himself down. He was traveling so fast; he outran the ammo he was firing. It’s easy to do. Moving through life at breakneck speed, we can shoot ourselves down.