Yes. Those are cat stockings. We have lost our minds, but we don’t want to disappoint the cats, after all.

Contrary to Daughter’s Christmas Day post, no one gave up on the holiday this year.  Just look at the stinking photo at the top of this blog. 

Could anyone seriously label us as active non-participants when we hang up tiny little stockings for the cats, for crying out loud?

True, we didn’t get the tree up until three days before the event, and Yours Truly simply could not get motivated to drape the lights outside this one time.  I know that Baby Jesus will surely exact his revenge on me at some later point (known only to him) for this transgression.  It will happen when I least expect it, probably in August, while I’m digging around for yet another misplaced tool in the Clutter Zone known officially as our Garage (which has never, ever had a car parked inside of it). 

I’m okay with that, as many of our neighbors have more than made up for our darkened yard.

What does that mean, you ask?

For context, this year our traditional post-Christmas-meal walk around the ‘hood with the dandy dog revealed that multiple other families in our semi-tidy suburban enclave (like me) completely blew off outside decorations.  In their defense (and mine), this past month has been somewhat wetter than normal — “I see a few clouds over there this afternoon.  Probably not a good idea to hang up the lights today.” 

Yep.  That kind of thing qualifies for an 80% chance of rain in SoCal.

But I also noticed that the hardy few who did manage to get things done — really, really got things done.  This year’s contest revolved around not the amount of wattage you plastered all over the house and grounds, it was how much crap you could cram into the front yard, side yard, roof, entrance way, driveway, etc. 

Now for us, when I’m on a roll, I usually set up the standard Nativity Scene, a couple of (slightly rusty) lighted deer, some rope lights, and if I’m feeling really ambitious, a lighted spiral tree.  I generally am able to assemble and place everything during the course of an entire Saturday, and then I spend the balance of the next 45 days re-anchoring various bits and pieces about a thousand times since even the vibrations from the dog walking in the yard tend to knock most of the stuff  down. 

And you read that right.  Once everything is semi-firmly planted, it stays there through most of Februrary January.  I figure if I’m going to devote eight hours to rig it, the expected return on investment is about six weeks. 

Comments from passers-by turn from, “My, they certainly keep the Christmas spirit alive,” to, “Do these freaks have no shame?  Why hasn’t the HOA sent them a letter?  For God’s sakes, it’s February.  But I do like the Baby Jesus algae halo.” 

But back to the reality of this season and our afore-mentioned neighborly displays.  I’m generally fine with a few Costco/Target/Wal-Mart inspired inflatables/animals/trees/Santa’s/Anime Nativity scenes/candy canes/snowmen/etc., but not all piled together, desperately vying for attention as they sway to and fro, blinking on and off, with the faint danger you might lapse into a synaptic fit if you stare too long.  

It can be nauseous. 

These yards are the artistic equivalent of those empty gas station lot sales filled with Velvet Elvis portraits/carpets/shawls/flags/etc.  Actually, that gives me an idea . . . . 

So, I suppose in some respects we did celebrate the holiday in an understated way this time around.  But we didn’t mail it in, as Daughter suggests.  It was just different this year, because of circumstances beyond our control.  Though I have missed one or two Christmases over the years because I was overseas somewhere, this was the first year one of the kids was not able to make it home.  That was the real change this time around. 

Everyone is also growing up — which means that almost everyone in the family can legitimately drink alcohol at dinner, instead of Martinelli’s Cider! (I had both.)  

And we did have lights. 

Early one evening last week as darkness fell, Mom crept outside in her bathrobe (it was a pajama day for her — I never have pajama days, BTW) and carefully wove a small string of solar-powered lights into the branches of our half-dead dwarf apple tree in the front yard.  It was quite appropriate, because this pathetic little string of bulbs was about as half-dead as the tree they adorned. 

Most nights they light up for about twenty minutes, if we’re lucky.

I was ashamed for us initially, but only momentarily.  The more I thought about it, I became convinced these lights were somehow fitting for the tenor of our celebration this season.  And it was kind of funny, too, but not in a Home Alone sort of way.  Home Alone was a lot funnier.

I also dutifully placed the luminarias on the sidewalk on Christmas Eve, and most of them dutifully extinguished themselves within an hour of lighting (while many, many others up and down the street lasted all night).  Note to self:  buy longer candles or go electric. 

But I still counted the whole luminaria thing as a success for us, since none of our bags caught fire this time around as they had in years past.   

And that Little Nativity Scene I mentioned in the title?  It’s from an old episode of M*A*S*H, where Radar is performing an examination of Colonel Blake’s ear during a physical.  As he peers into the murky depths of the Colonel’s ear, he exclaims, “Wow.  It’s a little Nativity Scene.”  It’s the second funniest line of the entire series.

The first?  Colonel Flagg (the CIA agent) sits down next to Klinger, looks at him, and says, “Hey, up close you’re a guy.”

Klinger responds, “Far away, too.”

So, Daughter, take a break from your post-apocalyptic Bauhausian sculptured perspective of Christmas at home.  It’s all around you; it’s just not the same. 

And don’t forget to clean your ears before New Year’s. 

– Dad