(Bernie here, it’s my turn to talk about the Holiday season.)
Over the past few weeks, you have probably taken note of Debb’s total obsession with the Christmas spirit – her touching stories of family getting together in warmly decorated homes sharing messages of peace and love, etc, etc. Puts you in the holiday mood, right? Me, not so much.
Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy the holidays as much as the next guy. But I’ll bet the next guy hasn’t endured Hallmark Christmas Movies for weeks on end. Or the almost obsessive tick tick tick countdown from Halloween through Thanksgiving, which officially marks the start of the marathon.
First, there is the endless procession of Christmas lights dragged out of storage – about half still work. (For some reason, storing perfectly good lights for a year seems to break them.) Then the treacherous ladder climb in the wind and cold to attach lights that will be taken down again in a few weeks. It’s all powered by a convoluted connection of timers, plug-ins, and extension cords that would make Clark Griswold proud. And send a building inspector into apoplectic shock.
Next up is the The Annual Hunt for The Perfect Christmas Tree in which we trudge around in the rain, sometimes ice and snow, sizing up every tree in the woods. After a two hours of chill and debate we usually go back to cut the first one we spied. (I have learned to never say “I told you so.”)
At this point, I turn most of the tree decorating responsibilities over to Debb, and indulge in some libations. At some point, I will hang my prized gold Elvis ornament in some prominent spot. After it’s in place, my work is done.
When Christmas Eve finally rolls around I’ve forgotten most of my misery and catch myself enjoying the festivities. So remember when you’re in the thick of it, and ready to book a ticket for one to a deserted island – where there is noholiday season – hang in there. It’s worth it, just ask Debb.