I'm safe and sound back in Okiehomie town. I love being back in my stompin grounds, my roots. And I've been reminded of what is so great about Oklahoma and being an Oklahoman. First was the sunset as my plane was landing. It was like a welcome home banner in the sky and I just had to take note of it as I wrote furiously in my leatherbound. Amidst all the scrawling rigamarole on the page, was a simple "I love Oklahoma sunsets, I'm home." Then this morning I ran to the post office to buy some holiday stamps for some Christmas greetings. And I knew by all the hellos and Merry Christmases and jolly chit chat happening in the very crowded, very near closing post office, that I was home. Bless this darling outcast of all regions state (oh no, it's true. The midwest won't claim us because we're too much in the middle, the south pretends we don't exist because we're too far north even though some of our boys fought with the Confederates during The War, and we're not the west .Anyway) and the kind dear hearted people that live here. We may be an interesting breed, but at least we're a polite one. A breed where everyone's your neighbor, especially at Christmas. (was that sufficiently Hallmark Christmas movie enough? Yeah, I thought so too, but it doesn't make it any less true).

It is the most wonderful time of the year and nowhere is it more evident than on the BYU campus. Every building has decked its halls and the trees are all lit and ready for you to wonder at how the grounds crew wraps the lights around each little branch. Well, there is another place on campus that wants to be part of the festiviti

es. The L. Monte Bean museum. Have you ever been? In three words: taxidermied animals . . .I fail to find a third word sufficient for the fascinating horror that this building with maroon and green carpet with the smell of old fur coats in the air thick and stale with the indignant spirits of decapitated giraffes and more kinds of antelope than I care to mention. Basically, I'm not a huge fan. I think it's supposed to be a learning e

nvironment, an indoor zoo of sorts where you can go and get up close and personal with animals sans fear of bodily harm. Only instead of learning when I go there, all I can think about is what it took to decapitate that poor giraffe and if the person who did it can sleep at night and then I think about the custodians of the building. Every time I think about the horrors they must encounter as they vacuum past the stuffed wild boar I shiver and thank my lucky stars all I have to deal with is twenty desks drenched in Martinellis because the honors kids got a little rowdy at their end of the semester party.I generally try not to think about the Bean museum. But The Reason for the Season has made it imposs

ible to ignore. You see, it has recently come to my attention that the creepy Bean has followed in the great tradition of the creche. The nativity. Yup. They put up a nativity scene. But don't worry, it's not any regular old nativity scene.

It's this:

Please just note the wombat thing that looks like it's about to eat the Baby Jesus. Or maybe the dead-but-looking-alive-for-eternity kangaroo that looks like she'd like to steal the Baby Jesus as her very own joey. Just a second, there's a stork. I fear for the Baby Jesus's eyes, that stork (who, I guess if you believe in that sort of thing, is just

taking a rest after peacefully dropping the Baby Jesus into the manger in front of Mary). Is the array of semi-exotic dead animals huddled

around the Baby Jesus not enough for you? I understand. Well then I'll leave you with this bit of cheer:

How about the Holy Virgin Mary in the likeness of a freaky fashion mannequin ca.1975. Or maybe Baby Jesus in the form of a Baby So Real Doll? They reached for the reverent creche and whether they reached it or not is in the eye of the beholder. So I suppose there's only one thing left to say:

Merry Christmas from the Bean Museum, y'all.

Merry taxidermy Christmas