It happens every year and is both
exciting and painful for me and countless others.
If you guessed The Oscars, you’re
right. But the first paragraph also
applies to Christmas.
I love Christmas and always
have. I have expectations that are well
beyond those of mortal humans. The tree
must be perfect, tablecloths pressed, poinsettias bright red or white, and
illumination devices operational.
For Canadians, illumination
devices are Christmas lights.
I’m certain my family tree has
Rhesus monkeys somewhere therein because I simply adore shiny things and
colorful lights.
Christmas is that special time of
year when I can decorate my house to closely resemble Liberace on acid.
 |
| Clearly not enough lights, but a good start |
In fact, a few years ago, a
stick-in-the-mud used to reside across the street from me. It was immediately after Thanksgiving Day
when I began decorating our house, both inside and out.
After hours of work, I took a
moment to step back and admire my efforts.
This prude ambled across the road, and while standing beside me uttered
the words, “Sometimes less is more.”
Of course she was wrong. She was not making my mortgage payments, and
thus had little say as to how, and with what, I adorned my humble abode. Amen.
I ignored her and silently walked
away to add even more twinkling lights and candy canes and a plastic Santa.
This year, though, I needed more
lights for my exterior illumination effort.
I purchased a modest several sets of lights that appear to be
old-fashioned C6 bulb fixtures, but have innerds that contain modern LED bulbs.
According to the package, LED
bulbs are supposed to last 10,000 hours – the equivalent of standing in line at
the grocery store to purchase a box of macaroni.
After arriving home, my sainted
wife and I carefully removed these new treasures from their packages. We didn’t say much to each other because we
were carefully listening for the phone to ring.
I was expecting a call from Mrs.
Trump for decorating hints, alas, she didn’t phone. But I digress.
In any case, we dutifully plugged
these leads in to ensure they were in fine working order; they were.
Out came the folding ladder, eave
clips, and extension cords, all to assist with the tasteful application
process.
A tape measure helped with
keeping this lighting masterpiece centered.
The process went like this: eave
clip, light, light, eave clip, light, light, move the ladder. Repeat.
This procedure continued for
nearly 45-minutes. Then a completed
product was unveiled.
There were no smoldering wires or
broken shingles, no broken windows or bones, either. The smell in the air was that of success.
Hours later when darkness fell,
we wound our way outdoors to better examine our latest creation. The ta-das! were deflated by one non-working
string of the long-lasting LED light strings.
Yes, the new ones.
Out came the ladder again, along
with a flashlight and an attitude.
Neighbors peered through
curtained windows to see what the clamor was about. My sainted wife and I were whispering as
though we were on the 18th hole of the Masters Tournament; I’m not
sure why.
After 20-minutes of this
surgical-like examination, we decided to opt for a decades-old set of icicle
lights as a replacement.
Oddly enough, the icicle lights
worked – both before and after they were hung on the house.
We celebrated with smiles and a
tender hug. And now we finally can
irritate the neighbors with aplomb.
