
I got into the Christmas spirit on my third visit to CVS this year. I’d dragged the overflowing tub of holiday decorations out of the attic earlier in the week, sighing and grumbling as I sifted through the same old wrinkly red placemats and disturbingly cheery snowman pillows. It felt as if I had tucked them away just weeks ago.
The idea of filling our living space with sparkles and whimsical Santas yet again nearly led me to tears. I had so many other, more practical things that needed doing. Alas, we’d decided to have our annual “Festivus” party, so I grabbed the ribbons and bells and began to arrange them around the house hurriedly.
By the end of the week, the neighborhood had sporting twinkly white lights that peeked through curtains onto icy sidewalks. Bold colors in the shapes of stockings and reindeer popped on across the street. With five nails and a hammer I marched up the attic stairs. Ten, then twenty minutes later, after numerous trips to the basement for further tools, I stood in a sea of wires and lights and felt like I had been reborn as Clark Griswold in National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation. I’d broken rule #1: check the lights before stringing them. I ripped the partially-lit star off the window pane and cursed the moment of inspiration I’d had.
The week wore on in a montage of cranky, stressed out scenes of shoppers frantically stock piling gifts, standing tensely in lines, and strapping quickly-selected trees onto their cars. My first trip to CVS bore a new string of lights, which I carefully plugged in and strung between the nails, a small smile growing on my face. As I placed the end of the string on the last nail, the row of lights flickered and went out. My smile turned over and I shoved the broken lights back into the box sourly.
Weekend shoppers’ plans were covered in ten inches of snow. Two days later, more slippery weather sent everyone home without gifts again. The optimistic among us ventured to predict: “At least we’ll have a white Christmas!”
I walked to CVS for the second time, trying to hum carols in my head. I fetched another package of lights from the back of the shelf. Back in the attic, I plugged them in and stared, shocked, at the colors that filled the attic like a circus show. I know one thing to be true: stars are white. Back into the box went the colored bulbs. By now I was starting to feel a tiny bit amused by the situation, a sure sign of insanity.
Giggling quietly, I put on my boots and headed back to the store, following my footsteps from only a few hours before. I was on a mission, dedicated to brightening our neighborhood as if it were an act of patriotism or thick-headed team spirit. Dishes had piled up, emails needed to be answered, but I was not to be deterred. I grabbed some white lights, plopped the colored lights back on the Returns counter, and flew home. As I stuck the last piece of wire on the nail and stood back to admire the glob of lights that somewhat resembled a star, I felt a spark of something like holiday spirit.
That night I watched an older Dr. Who Christmas Special; as the camera panned along the set of a nineteenth century English Christmas, the narrator reminded us that this season happens as we are fumbling through the shortest days of the year, in order to make us stop, light candles, gather, eat, and say “congratulations, we’ve made it halfway through the darkness!”
I liked the reminder that instead of being cold and grumpy, we can focus on buying random objects and fixing broken strings of lights, and then come together for a few moments to admire the effort we all put in.
The next week, after cold rain had ruined the lovely heaps of white snow and replaced it with gray globs of muck, we filled our home with friends and food. One man, arriving late from work, came over as he took off his coat, eyes shining. “It’s so nice to be here – it really feels like the holidays,” he said, looking around at the crowd. “And I love the tree or whatever it is in your attic window!” I smiled, and knew it had all been worth it.
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