(Traditional/Mitch Miller & the Gang)
Well! Six days until Christmas, seven yesterday, I think, and we finally got the lights up, my son and me. Quite an accomplishment. Getting over inertia about the whole deal, getting my son pumped up about it at the same time I was. We did well, if I must say so myself.
There WERE issues. Prior to this year, I have insisted on having lights, you know, those ones that look like icicles allegedly, all around the house. Not just in the front, not just in the front and on the sides, but all around the house. My thinking was that it was putting on a false front (:)) not to go all the way around.
I did not consider electricity, of course, and stilll do not, but it did finally dawn on me that no one is really gazing at the lights on the back of your house unless you are having a pool party or some such, which is unlikely at the end of December, at least around here, unless your pool is heated, which mine is not, and so, I finally had to agree with my son that I was being an idiot.
He did not put it that way, of course, trust me. But he was right. Hundreds of dollars spent on lights, therefore, was about to stay in a blue storage box.
We DID do both sides and the front of the house. It looks nice.
It got interesting when I told my son we were no longer going to hang fishing line (filament, to the discerning) around wreaths in order to hang them around the shutters. Up until now, we have always used the filament, to keep from putting holes into the shutters, into the structure of the house.
One of the benefits of cancer survivorship is that you begin to think out of your original boxes. Screw the shutters, I thought. We are not using filament anymore. We are going to get this set up so that it is not a problem in the future. We are going to make this so that it is there for posterity!
Well, it was not that serious, actually. I was just tired of the fishing line. I mean filament.
I said, Ry, I have some long screws, and we are going to put them here and here and here.
And he said, this adult son of mine, “Does mom know you are doing this?”
That sort of puts me in my place, you know?
Truth is, he thought I was crazy, the cancer and all, don’t you know. He thought I was being my now usual wild self. I am not wild, and I don’t have a life. I do not know what he was thinking.
I said, (roughly translated), “This is MY house, and on MY house, we will do things MY way.”
No, I didn’t really say that.
That is an old joke in my family, stemming from a poker game we played at my house one night, where things got out of hand eventually, and you don’t want to know that story unless you are a refrigerator repairman, so let’s leave that alone.
I said, to my son, “This is MY house, and on MY house, we will do things MY way.” But I didn’t mean it like I did during the poker game. Can you read the nuance?
Then I said, “Do you see your mom out here?” I tend to get like that.
I now have wreaths hanging that will be able to hang every year without much effort on our part, other than climbing up into the attic to bring them down (and putting them back up in the attic some time around the first of July, so that they do not interfere with July Fourth decorations).
I wonder what we will do, frankly, when Ryan is gone, since I hate going up there into the attic and am probably not up to bringing some of the HUGE boxes down. Maybe we should package after Christmas with more wisdom? In other words, if it doesn’t fit into a 12-pack beer carton, we should probably throw it away :).
I will have to ask my wife of course :).
Since these surgeries and treatments, I am not the same. I was MUCH lazier before. Now, I am not lazy. I am a supervisor.
Merry Christmas, friends!