Until just now, each day has been growing shorter and the nights longer—and darker, as one by one the street lamps on my street flicker and die. For reasons that elude me, no one can seem to fix them; as a result, the yard lamp I planted in front of my house forty years ago is the neighborhood’s only bright spot. How is it that a non-electrician like me is the only person who can keep a night light lit?
Time was when my neighbors strung up outdoor Christmas lights, but no more. I have no idea why. Many have grown old and too fragile to climb ladders; others no longer have young children at home, which no doubt also explains the absence of snowmen.
For several years I made it a point to decorate our front yard evergreen; however, each year as the tree grew ever taller, the job grew increasingly treacherous. Finally, as the treetop became unreachable by electric star, we decided to cut it down. Not an easy decision as the tree had served as a measuring stick, an annual reminder of just how long we’ve resided at this address.
This year we have joined our neighbors and opted not to hang outdoor lights, and as penance for chopping down a perfectly healthy evergreen, we have invested in an artificial tree, which came with pre-wired lights. I feel good about it, knowing I have saved the life of a living tree by patronizing an overseas sweatshop.
Only problem is, after the holiday season winds down, I must try to stuff the Costco tree back into the box it came in—which in fact is impossible. So, now I’m going to have to buy some lumber (read: more deforestation) and build a container for it Tune in next year for what I predict will be a post akin to a Richard Paul Evans tearjerker: THE CHRISTMAS TREE BOX.
