Last year our house lights were on until the very end of January - probably the longest we'd ever left them up. I'd been very proud of the job I had done putting those lights up. I'd spent hours up on a ladder, wrapping the trees and bushes in lights while my hands froze. I wasn't about to tear them all down in a hurry.
I remember standing in front of our house in late January last year, staring blissfully at the lighted splendor of our home. I felt like our house was a shining beacon on a street that otherwise plunges into a deep darkness after sunset. The other night as I drove home from dropping Ella off at Girl Scouts I could see our house long before I'd reached it, lights burning brightly in the distance.
I think it's genetic. When I was growing up our Christmas tree stayed up long past the holidays. I seem to recall one year when our tree was up well into March. I'm not kidding. I'm sure by then it had turned into a brittle fire hazard - but oh, how beautiful it looked with those lights shining! I loved it.
Our outdoor lights stayed up for a long time too. My dad loved those lights and he didn't care what the neighbors thought. Maybe this is where I get my penchant for holding fast to those twinkling bits of light. Perhaps it reminds me of a time long gone, when everything seemed safe and the world was not a big, scary place.
I told Ella that we would be taking the tree down soon. She was horrified and pleaded with me to leave it up. The Christmas light gene has apparently been passed down to her as well.
Each shining light
Each silver bell
No one alive spreads cheer so well
Each silver bell
No one alive spreads cheer so well
Oh Christmas tree, Oh Christmas tree,
You'll ever be unchanging
You'll ever be unchanging
Except when I take you down later today. Sorry, dear tree, but I don't want my house to go up in flames. See you next year.
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