Every year I feel the Ghost of Christmas Past looking over my shoulder in the form of Clark Griswold as I prepare to put up our outdoor Christmas light display. There’s always the hidden panic that, as good old Clark found out, all that effort may be wasted due to one lousy bad strand. Or in my case, no matter how politically correct it may be, two male plugs face to face with each other is definitely not a good thing, if you get my drift.
So this year, in the hopes of having a stress and incident-free outing, I did a little advance planning. First, I checked all the bulbs for “life” while still indoors. Now, you may say “duh” to this seemingly obvious idea. But, let me tell you, I have been known to string a strand with less than half the boys blinking and on the coldest afternoon of the year to boot. One year when the kids were young I spent all day on the cold metal ladder. I had so many layers on I looked like a homeless guy. What kept me going was those three wet little noses pressed against the window panes, and the muffled voices saying “pwitty, daddy……vewwy pwitty.” It took hours to thaw out, but it was well worth it.
And this year I went high tech (for me, at least) and invested in one of those auto-timers, so the feet didn’t freeze off at bedtime, running out to pull the plug. Now, I felt ready to take on the Griswold curse.
More good news is that with the mild weather I was even able to do a little Zen-like roof sitting, gazing at the geese honking by in search of water, waving at a neighbor or two, and sipping on a locally brewed product. Somehow, you say, roof work and imbibing may not be a good idea? True, but one couldn’t hurt. After all, ’tis the season to be jolly, right?
As I enjoyed this moment, I wondered…just how did this Christmas lights thing get started. Some say that lights hark back to the pagan rituals of staving off the cold and darkness of winter. Or do we brighten our homes to symbolize the Star of Bethlehem, you know, the one those Wise Guys couldn’t take their eyes off way back when? Maybe it is because of the proximity in time with Hanukkah, the Jewish Festival of Lights. Or is it all just a cruel plot arranged by foreign countries to boost their gross national product by foisting products guaranteed to blow out at least one fuse every 10 days or so, forcing this consumer to revisit the gutter display, testing for the elusive burnt out bugger.
I think I prefer the idea that stems from the real reason for this season.
Maybe, the grand illumination is simply our way of welcoming the Light of the World into our households.
Whatever the origin, there is somebody who appreciated my effort, at least for the most part. This past holiday, little Emma was in town. We were looking at the blow-up Santa with his arm around his favorite reindeer. She turned to me and smiled. Then came that quizzical look she does so well, crinkling her brow and turning up her lower lip.
“Hey, Pawpaw….where’s his swed? On the wuuf? At the Norf Poe? I think we need a swed, Pawpaw,” said the small critic, with great authority.
So. Anybody know where I can find a good blow-up “swed?”
My Christmas Lights
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