Lights...

Thus begins the holiday season...

I have sipped my first creamy glass of egg nog topped with nutmeg and cinnamon.

I have turned my radio dial to stations that play Nat, Frank, Burl, and Bing.

I have unearthed the huge containers that house the ornaments, knick knacks, and village pieces.

And, this weekend, I engaged in the ritual of hanging lights.

That ritual immediately brings to mind National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation. The huge untangleable balls of little lights. Some that twinkle. Others that blink. Broken ones. And bad strands. Plugging, unplugging, plugging again. Ah, the joyous monotony.

We hang all white lights. Icicle white lights, to be exact. Along the entire front of the house. I'll be sure to take pictures for all of you to see. Well, I discovered that we had 4 strands of twinkle lights, 3 strands of blinking lights, and 2 strands of plain old stay-on-all-the-time lights.

Next is the part about which Joseph isn't altogether keen. Time to get up on the roof. I traipse across the shingles considering the fact that we're not far away from needing a new roof. But I don't linger on that thought - too depressing - and make for the edge of the southeast corner of the house. I begin my slow ascent to the peak of the house, securing and untangling lights as I go. All working up to the peak.

We decide to hang a star we have hung two years ago. And so, at the peak, I hammer a nail into the wood and hang the star. A nice little addition.

I descend, continuing to secure the lights. Joseph brings me more strands. I continue stringing them along. Onto the gutter. They need cleaning, I notice. But no, I have to keep my eye on the prize; I need to get the lights up. I continue. I reach the end after sustaining scrapes to my hands and uncomfortable positions for my back, legs, and butt.

I go down the ladder. We turn on the lights. And, wouldn't you know it, a section of lights has died. Great, I say. Up the ladder I go. Wiggling each of the lights in the section, I come to one that, when wiggled, causes all the lights to go on. Success.

It's getting dark by now. The fog is rolling in on such an unseasonably warm day. I'm happy to be done.

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.

The light nearly gone, I emerge from the small path and looke to the house's peak. Another section out. You've got to be kidding me.

Joseph tells me I should just wait. I think about it and tell him that I want to get it done. And so, I ascend the ladder and make my way to the lights. One by one I check them. Until I come to the the 3oth or so bulb in the section. Success again.

But it's only a matter of time before another bulb blows. And another. And another.

And I have to buy gifts. And set up the tree. And the village. And the party. And all the other parties.

And the roof. And the gutters.

There's no place like home for the holidays...