There is nothing like trying to hang long (snarled) strings of wire and bulbs from the eves of the house ... and then trying to find the one bulb that is burned out ... to suck the Christmas Spirit from the heart of a teenage boy.
About the time I moved on to College I realized it was a lot warmer in the house, so I unsnarled the wires and tested all the bulbs in the living room. (I recall my father's paternal pride when he remarked: I was wondering how old you would be when you figured that out.)
The next year, we built a new set of light strings ... wired in parallel. My father was disappointed when I did that; I think he enjoyed my annual outrage. If nothing else, he kept track of what new curse words I had learned since the previous year; because I kept coming home for Christmas, and the box 'o bulbs was always waiting in the attic. (Pop claimed his rheumatism made it too hard for him to climb the ladder ... it always seemed to kick in toward the END of Elk Season.)
Now I live in an apartment, and if anyone is going to climb a ladder to decorate the place it won't be me. My landlord went out of town to visit his kids for the rest of the month, so even HE won't be bugging me to "lend him a hand".
My afternoon has been spent watching my neighbors hang out their lights. It went so fast, I almost missed it. They didn't seem to have any problems.
Probably just "new technology".
2 comments:
It isn't officially Christmas season until the lights are up!
This from the fall-down-the-stairs family? Who will climb the ladder?
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