Let There Be Light!

Let there be light!

Okay, so apparently my God complex needs a little work. No matter how many times I command it, nothing happens.

Up and down the block, gorgeous, festive Christmas lights adorn garland trimmed houses. And then there is my humble abode.

Several years ago when there was still a husband and money to pay someone to hang the darn things, there was light! (You thought I was going to say a husband to hang them? Hmmm...not so much. But the professionals he paid did a good job.) In my attic I still have the boxes and boxes and boxes of strands and strands and strands of bulbs. The little clips to help making hanging easier are even still attached. Awesome. No problem. I can do this.

First, however, I have to borrow a ladder. That went with the husband. So I call my wonderful neighbor who frequently takes pity on me. Then I need need a detangler. I call my wonderful son who also frequently takes pity on me. Neighbor provides the ladder. Son detangles the strands and makes sure they work. And he also reminds me of how I threw a big 3-year-old fit and stomped to death the strand that wouldn't light for me last year right there on the front porch for everyone to see. He shakes his head, still embarrassed. I straighten up and announce that it is moments like those, when witnessed by pitying neighbors, that help us obtain things like ladders. He doesn't get it.

So I'm up on the ladder, still having to reach on tip-toe having my son hand me clips and keep the light cord from wrapping itself around the ladder or me or the landscaping. He's a good little helper. Every few feet, we have to move the ladder. We get to the overgrown Rose-of- Sharon bush at the corner of the garage--the one that has harassed everyone for the last 6 months by extending its branches and grabbing hold of any person who dared try to use the sidewalk leading up to the house. Its a very territorial shrub. The ladder can't reach the garage. Rose-of-Sharon forbids it. I call my quite, yet secretly cunning and vengeful daughter. I hand her the pruning shears. She smiles!

In a mere 2 hours we finish our Christmas lighting project. My son and I have successfully strung two strands of lights across the sides and front of the garage. It's the only part of the roof low enough for us to reach, even with the ladder. We are very proud. There is light!

For 3 days.

Not sure what happened. Maybe its karma for the violent slaughtering of Rose-of-Sharon.

I have to laugh. I HAVE to! In such a short time I've gone from a professional holiday gala illuminating the night, complete with a giant nativity scene, shining candy canes lining the path, perfectly placed colorful bulbs blinking a Merry Christmas greeting to two burnt out strand of twinkle lights and a butchered bush. No wonder my neighbors take pity on me.

But I am laughing, which means I'm smiling. And that's the point of it after all, isn't it.

And if you are reading this and it brings to mind your own holiday disaster, please post it here so we know we aren't alone!

Merry Christmas!

--D