Sound familiar? You can read all about it here.
For about ten days, the lights twinkled, blinked, and otherwise glittered beautifully for all to see. The outward show of our preparedness for the holidays.
On that tenth day - last Wednesday to be exact - Joseph and I decided that we wanted to spice it up a bit. We decided to purchase one of those ribbons of lights that we would hang along the water table. Blue would compliment the white and would match the few blue lights within the star at the roof's apex.
We ventured to Lowe's. No dice. Then on to Home Depot. Nothing of the sort. Target? Nope. Although we did decide to purchase one of those huge inflatable snowmen. It stands eight feet tall and scares me a little. Finally, we journeyed to Fred Meyer. Our last shot. And no. But, there were blue icicle lights. Good enough. We came home.
Next day, Joseph helped to build a house for Habitat for Humanity. I worked. Joseph got home and decided to surprise me by setting up the snowman and by stapling the blue lights to the water table. It really did look good.
Until... all the white lights went out. One of the voices in my head screamed in utter terror as I glimpsed the darkness spewed across the eaves and gutters. And there, mocking me across the length of the water table, were the damnable blue icicle lights. Not to mention the oddly waving monstrosity of an inflatable snowman hovering over me. I hurried into the house dejectedly.
My obsession with perfection began to rear its ugly head. Joseph soon tuned me out, leaving me muttering to myself about the inconceivability of all the lights ceasing to function. It just didn't make sense. It hadn't happened last year, I kept saying to myself. What was different?
I finally got tired of my own muttering and began to think. What in the name of all the tea in China could it be, I wondered. I knew we had a working strand of lights that we could use. And so, I decided that it was time to climb atop the roof again.
I didn't wait long. Fast forward to Saturday. I donned my rooftop clothing - which did NOT consist of anything red with white cotton borders - and climbed the ladder. I tried to unplug and then replug the green extension cord into the first strand of white icicle lights. And then I did it again.
They say the definition of stupidity is doing the exact same thing in the same way multiple times and expecting different outcomes. Well, there I was on the roof awash in stupidity.
Joseph then made a suggestion, i.e. try to plug the green extension cord into the next strand of lights. I did. And... it worked. So, I could just plug in the strand that worked and remove the strand that didn't. Easy. I felt some relief, not to mention a bit of joy. We would be prepared for the holidays after all. And none too soon, as we were expected to endure a significant cold front that promised some snow and frigid - teens and twenties - temperatures.
Ha!
That evening, we had a wedding to attend. Friends from softball. A straight couple that had met playing in the gay league. Ah, irony. Joseph plugged the lights into the side of the house at my request. He then continued getting ready. As he passed by me in the front hall, I looked outside and said, 'I thought you turned on the lights.' He replied that he had. I walked out through the front door and stepped out onto the driveway. There along the eaves and on the gutters, darkness lingered like mold on rotten chicken. The blue lights chuckled and Frosty bounced back and forth guffawing in the windy gusts.
I stormed into the house and sputtered with rage. Joseph looked at me with pity in his eyes. 'We don't have to go to the wedding,' he said. I said that the wedding was more important. I knew it in my heart, but my mind wanted to pore over the vexing darkness.
I enjoyed the wedding. And I even forgot about the lights. Well, almost. When we exited the building that housed the reception, Jack Frost nipped at our nose. We witnessed the first of the flakes falling from the night sky. The first snowfall we had witnessed this year.
And all I could think about... damn, when am I going to be able to fix the lights...
On Sunday, I worked. Later in the day, I shopped. We started by picking up yet another set of icicle lights at Home Depot. Joseph looked at two different brands of icicle lights. I said that we should stick with name brand; we purchased GE. I then asked if he had found twinkle lights to replace the strand of twinkle lights that died. He looked all over the box but couldn't find anything that indicated the type of lights. He did comment that there shouldn't be more than six strands strung together, according to the box, but nothing about twinkling or blinking or whatever.
And then we proceeded to a nearly empty mall. A nice change of pace, to be honest. But still, the lights. Beating in my mind like some tell tale heart.
I wanted to fix the lights that night. But by the time we arrived at home, I knew it wouldn't work. I was tired. And it was friggin cold. With a wind chill.
Defeated.
Because I knew that I needed Joseph to help. And I knew that he had class on Monday night. And I knew that the weather people were predicting another significant snow event on Tuesday night.
Today came. Sometime during the day, Joseph informed me that his teacher had canceled class. A small window, I thought. An opportunity. So, I began searching google for answers, my hope renewed. And what did I find.
What!? I didn't know the lights even had that secret compartment. But I had always wondered what the hell those little cylindrical looking doohickies were. You know, the ones that come in the bags with the replacement bulbs. Again, awash in stupidity...
Then I recalled a comment Joseph had made at Home Depot. No more than six strands strung together. And that's what was different. I wrote it in that November 30th blog entry:
Except Joseph wants to string some lights along the inner facade of the roof that covers the path leading to our front door. With the staple gun and a lot of balance, I climb the ladder and make it so.
A seventh strand of lights that we hadn't strung last year.
Ugh!
We loaded ourselves into the car at approximately 5:15 p.m. and came home.
I readied myself. T-shirt. Long sleeve shirt. Hoodie. Flannel pajamas under workout pants. Two pairs of socks. My 'climbing' shoes from L.L. Bean. I donned my puke green corduroy coat. Over that I struggled to pull my waterproof spring jacket. I pulled the hood up over my head and then slid my hands into leather gloves.
I would have been a shoe-in as some icicle light wielding mass murdering glow-in-the-dark white gangster.
We leaned the ladder against the gutter on the side of the house. I climbed onto the roof and crawled over the apex. I slid down the other side and extracted the flashlight.
Hands were numb by then.
I unplugged the seventh strand.
Then I made my way up and over the apex again to the first strand. Having no ability to be dextrous in any way shape or form, I just about had to unplug the first strand with my teeth. I lowered the plug end to Joseph in the driveway and waited for him to replace the fuse. I then pulled up the strand and plugged it into the green extension cord.
And the lights shone.
I was wet. I was cold. And I was on top of my roof sitting in the snow.
But the lights worked.
And, as of now, they're continuing to glitter in the darkness.
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