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Posted December 2024Halloween and Christmas—my favorite holidays: mostly because they give grownups a chance to act like children. Silly, giddy children, with bad taste in decorating. All my life, I've celebrated these holidays like trashy people with new money. My philosophy for Halloween is that, if I don't make at least one child wet the bed that night, I haven't done my job.
That was easier in Fondren, where I lived in a house with a squeaky gate to the front yard and a winding path that kept kids from seeing the front porch until they were there. By that time, they were confronted with two strangers in black sitting in front of a blazing fire pit. Many parents—especially Dads—compelled their kids to take that walk alone. “If you want some candy, boy, you better get yourself on up there.” One poor kid got to the end of the walk, saw the fire, dropped his bag, and ran. We had to chase him down to apologize and give him extra candy.
It's hard to replicate that experience in a suburban yard in Madison, and, truthfully, that level of effort is excessive for the five or six trick-or-treaters who actually make it down our cul-de-sac. Nonetheless, the Halloween tire (a turned tire planter painted orange, with teeth and eyes cut out like a Halloween pumpkin) goes out, as well as the costumed skeletons and the graveyard. We're doing our best here.
At Christmas, I'm going for a look somewhere between a Mexican restaurant and a used car lot. That look involves lots of colored lights, and I've been known to blow out the front yard by turning on a hair dryer. Again, in Fondren, a tacky light display, crudely hung from one random yard fixture to another, seemed right at home.
It was a shock to move to Madison and find myself on a street full of tasteful white lights. As Madeline Kahn might say, “How ordinawy!” As the newbie on the street, I was somewhat cautious the first year, with just a couple of strands of color. The next year, however, “the City” got into a brouhaha over lighted peacocks on a lady's roof, which apparently upset the nighbors. That got my dander up, and I responded by lighting every structure I could—the porch, the mailbox, the eaves that wrapped around the front porch, windows, bushes, a picket fence, and a crepe myrtle tree-with the brightest colored lights I could find. The peacocks were ultimately ok'd by Mayor Mary, and I strung some more lights in celebration.
In those days, I dragged out every box of decorations I had, and it seemed that, every year, there were more lights. For Halloween, I filled the yard with bags of jack-o-lantern bags stuffed with leaves. There were eyeball lights, ghost lights, and cemetery lights. For Christmas, there was a huge fake tree (I can't haul a real one) and the inflatable one. And, every year, more lights. Poor Thanksgiving, on the other hand, got an autumnal wreath and a Beanie Baby turkey.
As I've aged, however, I've realized that I was the only person in the family who cared that much about holiday decorating. I get them out; I put them up; I take them down. The kids have moved out (not that they were that much help, anyway), and my husband doesn't really see that point. And I've fallen off enough ladders to have a permanent back injury. (The kids have tried to take away my ladder privileges—and my ladders—but I told them they'd have to pry them out of my cold, dead fingers. Now they rely on Tom to keep me no higher than four feet off the ground, and he's a pretty enthusiastic enforcer.)
So, decorating has been scaled back. Instead of getting everything out, putting it all up, and then maybe removing whatever is truly excessive (“truly excessive” being a term of art), I put up one thing at a time, and then judge whether it's enough. So, the tree got put up right after the Egg Bowl (we have our priorities around here, after all), and the lights went on it the next week. No ornaments yet; I'm deciding whether they are essential. No tinsel; I'm never sweeping that up again, if I can help it. There's a lighted garland around the door and a wreath, but nothing hanging from the eaves. The jury's still out on the net lights on the bushes. All of the Santas are displayed inside, but the presents aren't yet wrapped. One thing at a time!
Does this year's lack of effort presage a slow decline into Scroogeville? Nah, I think not. A lot of energy has gone into a bathroom remodel that started before Halloween. (It was going to be a simple job until the dry wall came off with the old tile.) It might be finished by Valentine's Day. In the meantime, the net lights keep calling my name, so they'll likely go up this weekend. And some “carefully curated” (sounds tasteful, huh?) ornaments will eventually get on the tree, along with a tinsel garland (but no tinsel). Trust me, I have lots of tacky ornaments.
And just in case my future roomie at the nursing home is reading this and thinks I'll be arriving with just a box of Depends, beware. I might not be able to bring my stepladder, but the inflatable Christmas tree is coming with me, along with some spiced eggnog. ¡¡Feliz Navidad!!
