Challenge of the Lights (Part 2)

On Monday, my long day at work went well. That is, it went well until I came home. I say this for two reasons. As I drove down Tennant past the various courts, I could see dozens of homes brightly lit for the SLNA Festival of Lights. I should be excited about the neighborhood looking so festive, but I wasn’t. Instead, I was worried! My chest began to pound as I passed home after home as brightly lit as mine. OH NO!! Just to see how far the competitive spirit has spread, I drove down Silver Leaf. More lights. Then I hit Flintwell to head back. EVEN MORE!

The pressure on my chest was increasing. I worried that my blood pressure medication that I dutifully swallowed at 5:15 that morning wasn’t going to hold up. Little voices in my ear whispered: "Dave, don’t blow it. More lights. You need more lights."

I was worried. I worried that my new grandchild (to be born sometime in April) will one day be bouncing on my knee. He (or she) will giggle and say, "Tell me the story of when you and Auntie Sarah lost the battle of the Christmas lights, Grandad."

That vision raced through my mind. I was intent on implementing Phase 2 and Phase 3 of our decorations that night! As I parked on the driveway, the second catastrophic event had occurred. The right half of my yard was dark! Out. Nothing. Nada. No "Humbug" rope lights. No brightly lit flower box. No tacky candy canes.

I raced into the house to trouble shoot. As I passed my daughter, I said, "If Santa loves me, he’d bring me an electrician for Christmas."

Daughters are supportive of their distraught fathers, and mine nodded eagerly.

"Yes, and if he brings you an electrician, I hope he looks like Justin Timberlake."

My glare (the look) bounced easily off her as she shrugged her shoulders in a "why not?" gesture.
For the next 45 minutes, we traced the problem to a popped circuit breaker. Of course, adding to the challenge of the evening, the circuit breaker was one on an obscure plug in the garage behind a freezer. However, daughter to the rescue. Her brother and I constantly kid her about being tiny, but she is the only one in the family small enough to be hoisted up on the freezer to reach down behind and reset the breaker. I don’t think I’m a bad father, but I should admit to you that I was making her reach through two feet of cobwebs! Like her mother, she has a far superior glare than I can ever achieve. As she imagined many creepy-crawlies hanging around the plug, she fired an "only for the Festival of Lights" look with laser accuracy, so the sting was immediate.

"But the lights look soooooo cool," I reminded her, trying to sound like Justin Timberlake.

Whether she agreed or not, we were both rewarded by the soft ting of the breaker. Ah, the joy of Christmas lights.