Challenge of the Christmas Lights
My earlier email on the Festival of
Lights was designed to spark action around the neighborhood. While I did get
some replies, the biggest fire (unfortunately for me) was at my own house. My
daughter made the decision that "we launch Friday." I’ve searched my dictionary,
and I can’t find an appropriate verb for this ordeal. Somehow, "putting up" the
Christmas lights doesn’t capture the amount of energy expended and level of
frustration reached.
For the most part, I’m organized: each set of lights had the label from where
it hung last year, including the position within a string (e.g. "second of
three, begin left"); the strands are wound nicely around cardboard to minimize
the tangle; and my two grandchildren are trained to test each bulb and perform
the necessary replacements. With my son and I following the directions that my
daughter fired at the two of us with machine gun pace, we made a fine, efficient
team. No sooner had a strand been plugged in, we were handed another with very
specific instructions from this little Drill Sergeant. I was pleased she didn’t
use the bullhorn this year and also surprised that my son and I were granted a
brief lunch break.
This year’s project was not without some tense moments that would strain
relationships of other families. No, I won’t lie. They strained the
relationships within our family. After hanging the lights on the upper
roof, we discovered no less than five dead bulbs that somehow blew past
grandkids. As you can guess, they both were shot with punishing looks, but none
worse than from their father who had to climb back up for the repair. To make
matters worse, one of the bad bulbs burnt a fuse, killing the entire line just
as he was hanging upside down from the peak. Then, after 90 minutes of drilling
and clamping rope lights to my fence, I discovered that half of the first "u" in
"humbug" doesn’t light. Lastly, we had to shift about thirty feet of decorations
four feet to the right.
All in all, things went well. I judge this by The Jar. My daughter (the Drill
Sergeant) has a jar that cost anyone $0.25 for saying words that we might not
want our mother to hear. While it’s an open tax, I seem to be the only one who
has to empty pockets. So, projects at 81 Tennant are rated by The Jar. For
instance, hanging wallpaper is easily a $3 or $4 project. I was doing well on
this Friday. I spent 75 cents and I still had a roll of quarters upstairs in
reserve, just in case. After the "u" in "humbug," I was only out a buck and a
quarter. Not bad. Christmas 2003 broke a family record.
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