Fuck.
That's almost all I have to say about that. Almost. Because if I didn't have much to say, why would we be here?
But, seriously.
I love the lights. They are a must have. It's just such a bitch to get them up. And take them back down.
My dad was pretty obsessive about them. And, I am too. I won't deny it. I love them but they have to be just so. Just so.
I would help dad get the lights out, they were perfectly coiled and put away from the year before. Stored in the box the garage door opener came in. His left-handed print across the box in several locations: CHRISTMAS LIGHTS. He would test them - big, glass, multi-colored. If an orange bulb was out, it was replaced with an orange one. We would do inventory and then drive over to Fred Meyer and buy the appropriate bulbs. Orange, green, blue, white, red. C9.
I drive by so many houses and just want to get out and help them. They have, in what must be a mistake, a horrible mistake, not replaced their bulbs properly. You can't have primary colors and then put a pink one in because a bulb is out and pink is what you had on hand. You can't have four pink, then a green, then a clear, then a yellow. I'm looking at you little cottage on Verboort Road. Looking at you.
One time on Golden Lane, I was holding the light string while testing was occurring. Perfect coil of lights in my hand. Standing there on the front porch, bit of a rain that day, when I was, for lack of a better term, electrocuted. A glass bulb was cracked, the wire exposed, touching my bare wet hands. Me standing there, shaking in pain while dad shouted from the garage, "Damn it! Why won't these light up?"
That was probably the beginning of my love/hate relationship with the lights.
Many, many years later... I was home alone at our first house.
The house was brand new. The neighborhood was gearing up for Christmas and it appeared to be getting competitive. Our first Christmas there. This is when you have to set the tone. Make the neighbors understand that you mean business. Christmas light business.
Went to Fred Meyer. Bought one million feet of lights. Clear. Big. Glass. C9.
Started with the bushes in the front flower bed. Small lights for that. Carefully wrapped each bush. Felt very successful to see them all lit up.
Moved on to the house. Got the ladder out. Started clipping lights around the garage door. Then moved up to the gutters. Using gutter clips and keeping them tightly lined up... snap, clip, move, snap, click, move. This is a change from my dad's approach. He was a staple gun man. I find that permanent hooks and plastic clips work better for me. I never told him that while he as alive. He would have been crushed.
During all this time, PacoDog was wandering around in the front yard. He was very interested in my technique and form. He sat for a moment in the drive way and watched me progress across the front of the house. Surely calculating how far I could go without adding another extension cord... wondering why I wasn't smarter.
And, then out of the corner of my eye I saw him get up, stretch, sniff, go to the first bush in the line and... now this next part happened in slow motion. I swear. His leg went up as I dove off the ladder.
But it was too late.
A whiff of smoke, and a yip followed by a loud boom.
Then the house went dark.
Paco bolted.
In good news, the dog didn't die. That night. The only death that night was my dream. My dream of having the best lit house on the block. Oh, and also that Rhody.
That Rhododendron died.
Why am I dredging up past Christmas light horror stories now... well... I just spent several hours updating C9 lightbulbs on LED strings. They are not indestructible old school glass lights. They are persnickety. They take care and feeding. They are a pain in the ass. Changed fuses, went Clark Griswald style and checked each bulb. Sat on the living room floor trying to will them to work properly. Gave up. Went to Freddies. Bought more. Added in some old school glass C9's to our front porch decor.
Light man came and put up lights. Well, the parts that require a ladder. This house has a habit of flinging people off the roof. Normally I'd be up for the challenge but I think it's better to pay a guy money and not cheat death at Christmas.
And in January they'll be taken down. Coiled up properly and put away. In their red Christmas totes. And yet, 11 months from now, the light fight will be back. I'll likely be making a mad dash to Freddies to buy more of something.
Worth it.
 |
| Dad would approve. Even without the staples. |
No comments:
Post a Comment