Tis the season to be ticked off, fa la la la.
I like holiday preparations for the most part, but probably that is because I let most of the insanity blow right by me. The mall is no longer my scene. One click on Amazon delivers plenty of joy. Each year though, it does seem that there is a single sticking point. Outdoor lights.
There are some skills in life I will never possess. These include how to read a road map, walk in high-heels or do arithmetic in my head. Irrelevant. I get by thanks to a GPS, nice flats and a calculator. Why do a few stupid trees and bushes that need lights always seem to cause friction between my beloved and I? It’s simple. I do not understand electrical plugs, extension cords, timers, switches or any of that crap and I never will.
According to Albert Einstein, insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. I must be certifiable. Somehow I always expect this will be the year I do a better job with the lights and I won’t be so bitchy. Yeah, right.
While I was fuming over a set of net lights that were half burned out, it occurred to me that last year at this time I was lost in a sea of confusing decisions related to the BRCA surgeries. I had little interest in the holidays. Jim’s Dad was close to the end. He passed away just before Christmas. There was not much to celebrate.
This year, I’m nearly recovered from the last of those surgeries and feel pretty good. Not perfect, but well enough that crawling around a fountain to plug in some stupid cords for the lights was no big deal.
The lights look great. Jim says I look great too. So much for our annual Christmas spat.