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At first glance it looks like nothing more than a plastic nativity scene, available at any discount store for under $30. But what's that shiny object above Baby Jesus' head? Is that the star that led the three wisemen to Bethleham? The reflection of the sun off the archangel Michael's halo?

No. It's a "Protected by Brinks Home Security" sign.

Yeah, I know. You can't read the sign. You'll just have to take my word for it. When dealing with Brinks Home Security and Jesus, I'm not exactly keen on doing a drawn-out, high-quality photo shoot. Can you imagine the possible ramifications that could come from any misunderstandings in this situation? Going down in a hail of bullets and eternal damnation. You're lucky I even bothered to slow the truck down when I shot the picture out the window with my zoom lens.

And yet, for all the times I make fun of the people in my neighborhood, every now and then something cool happens here. Today, B. and Clara Jane had gone to the library and to pick up the dogs at the groomers. Around the time I was expecting them to come home, a fire truck roared down my street, lights and sirens blazing. Keep in my mind street is one block long. If there's a firetruck roaring down my street, it means one of two things: 1)there's a one in ten chance my house is on fire, or 2) someone I know is splattered at the blind turn at the bottom of the hill. Since I didn't smell smoke, I went with option #2. And since I'm still adjusting to the increased brain medications, I figured the splatterees were B., Clara Jane, and my dogs.

I grabbed the phone and bolted out the door while I dialed. And what should my panicking eyes should appear, but a fire department SUV and ... well, not eight tiny reindeer, but instead a flatbed trailer carrying a red sleigh with Mr. and Mrs. Claus.

"Get my baby home NOW. Santa just drove down the damn side street!"

And lo, Christmas miracle of miracles, B., Clara Jane and the dogs got home before the Claus' made it to our street. We had time to hustle the kiddo to the corner so she could see their grand entrance.

She was a bit stunned by it all, especially when her father picked her up and flung her over the edge of the sleigh onto Santa's lap. If she'd gotten upset, I would have snatched her away in a heartbeat. I'm not a fan of the forced meet and greets with Santa when the poor kid is absolutely terrified. Luckily, that didn't happen. She just looked ... dazed. I don't think she blinked the entire time, just blindly accepted her little teddy bear and candy cane before oozing off Santa's lap.

The second they were out of sight, she commenced talking about Santa and Mrs. Claus, and how she talked to them, and it was a special holiday meeting of the Algonquin Round Table, where they swapped witty quips over candy canes and absinthe.

That was ten hours ago, and she hasn't stopped. In fact, I think she's in her bed, talking about her enlightened conversation with Santa and Mrs. Claus while she sleeps.

Either that or she's singing "God Gave Rock and Roll to You" in her sleep. Again.