Yule-Tide Exterior Illumination

As a child, nothing brought more joy to my heart than the gentle glow of Christmas lights outside my bedroom window. My dad would tuck me in, kiss me on the forehead and turn off the light leaving me snuggled in my blue blanket while the hues of red, green, blue and yellow filled my room. The cold wind would gust against the glass panes, but the shadows of the tree branches would dance across my wall keeping me entertained until I surrendered to the warmness of my bed. To me, this is Christmas.

In the Lessly household, Christmas lights are an important part of the holiday season. The house is lit before the tree goes up and is a month-long source of pride for my father (even if he chumps out and doesn't outline the roof like he did on the old house). Last night, the crew took the 'ole 4 wheel drive sled out for the annual Christmas light looking/my sisters doing everything we can in our power to annoy our parents trip. For the record, I could be 80 and this will never get old. We typically end up critiquing, and by that I mean criticizing, the lights we see in the neighborhoods around North Texas. It is from these trips that I have formed a rather strong opinion about Christmas lights: they should be white, straight, C7s that outline the roof and other defining characteristics of the house.

Now I realize that this might be a bit extreme, but if you are going to display your holiday cheer to the whole neighborhood, why not do it with a little class and a hit if dignity? I've never understood why people think that crooked lights are socially acceptable, or moreover, why icicle lights are appropriate in places like Phoenix. It's 60 degrees outside, the jig is up, we know they are not real. And since when did icicles light up anyway?

Once upon a time, a friend of mine decided to put lights up on the residence hall we both worked and lived in. After a long, and unnecessarily intense discussion about what said lights would look like, I was under the impression that we had come to a compromise and though the lights would be multi-colored, they would at least be straight and function free. One evening while I was passing by his door, this friend of mine called me into his apartment. As soon as I walked in, he closed the door, grabbed my hand and turned off the lights. Being that this now friend was my boss at the time, I was a little confused and a bit nervous as to what he was up to. He led me into the kitchen and fiddled around until it was illuminated with a prism of colors. I was impressed by his selection. "Wait, there's more," he slyly said. Uh oh. Just the white lit up. Acceptable. Then the red, then blue, then they began to flash, then travel, then go in reverse. 24 functions later, the lights in the kitchen came on to reveal a very proud man and his disapproving employee.

Much to my dismay, the lights soon found their very caddiewomper way onto the roof. 24-hours a day for the next two weeks, the lights haunted and mocked me. When I would come home, I would readjust the lights so that they would look clean and crisp. The next morning, I would rise to the gentle flashing of green and red bulbs outside my window. Each day revealed a new function, each evening would provoke my animosity.

The morning after the students checked out, I headed out to do some last minute Christmas shopping. On my way out the door, I found myself sidestepping little pieces of colored glass on the sidewalk. I looked over to find my friend reaching up with his and and pulling the lights off of the gutter, allowing the twinkle lights shatter on the concrete. "What are you doing?!? We could have used those for next year," I exclaimed. "What," he relpied. "You never liked them anyway." And another strand hit the ground.