HERE I SIT TONIGHT – STEAMED AND ABOUT TO BLOW A “FUSE”

Today, just three mere weeks from another long anticipated Christmas, I sit in the middle of the living room with a tree in place. You think this should be a happy time right? Well, think again. This cursed box of Christmas tree lights that are piled up around me, over me and in everyplace I move, are surely to be the death of me. I started this decorating, as is usually the case, under protest and a little grumpily. First of all, I have not one decorative bone in my body and further I also do not have one decorative urge in my body.

I have been bullied into doing it and I must say I might have been a bit surly as I pulled stuff down from the farthest reaches of the highest nooks in the garage, and then humped them one by one up three flights of stairs. I’m 71 years old, with a heart condition so why am I still packing this stuff around like a mule. I guess that paints a little picture of the scene and prevailing mood to start off this festive decorating venture. Feeling properly sorry for myself I dump everything into one pile in the middle of the floor and start with the pieces on the bottom of the heap.

This time I am going to approach this task scientifically. I measure out the placement of the tree, check it twice, lay out the drop mat, and prepare the lifting equipment to hoist this magnificent beast into place. Now here’s where the science comes in. While this tree is still on its side, I attach the Angel to the top, centre it and secure it in place. Too many years I erected the tree first and then had to climb it to attach the Angel, which never, ever, seemed to stand upright for the rest of the season. I’m now thinking, my god that is good work Jimbo, you are almost done. Not so fast, put on the lights and the you can claim almost.

I look at my trusty pile of lights. I have big old fashioned ones or little bitty modern ones. This year I’m choosing the big ones. After all, if I receive no help, then I don’t feel obligated to consult in either choice of lights, or the gewgaws to attach afterward. With great confidence I select the first string of lights and give it a tug from the pile. Of course it is twisted and tangled around each and every other light cord in the pile. I spend 5 minutes extricating it. During this time I holler out to ol” Bubblaoo and ask if she packed these last year, and if so would she be a bit more careful next year. “No dear” she says, “you did it so you would be sure they were packed properly, remember?”

Success, I have spent about 30 minutes putting up my first string of lights. I step back to look at my handy work. It’s no Rembrandt, but it’s not bad either. Next string, same issue, untangle it from this coil of snakes, check it out and hang it. Third one out of the pile, plug it in and it doesn’t work. Geezus! Oh well set it aside, I should have plenty of spares. And so it goes, a couple more on and I encounter another dead string but I’m still making progress. I now have about 60% of the tree covered and am quite pleased with myself, albeit still a bit grouchy about what I’m doing here in the first place. I just know all of my buds are out playing golf on this beautiful day.

Untangle another one, dud. Another, dud. Now that, oh-too familiar burn starts deep in my pit. I squeeze out a minor golly gee, and think there is no way my luck can possibly be this bad. Yup it can! Numbers 4, 5, 6, and 7 are all duds. I stifle a major cuss, and calmly check them again. Nooooo, this cannot be. My lights are inextricably intwined through the tree and the end is now hanging down about halfway to the floor waiting for me to attach the next one. I’m standing there like a Griswald, looking like I have been kidney punched. I now let a string of bad words loose, some of which, would do a mule skinner proud. I curse that tree, those lights, the cat and whoever bullied me into doing this job.

Now I have three choices, take my work apart and use the little ones, go buy some more lights, or try to figure out how to fix the ones that don’t work. So I pick the one most likely not to succeed and spend the next two hours trying to fix one string of lights. With no success. I now have a righteous rage on. I’m hyperventilating, cussing and suffering major self pity. I stomp off to bed, slam my door and will pout until morning. I’ll see if that changes anything. Another year another 7 strings of lights down the hole, I expect. Baaahhhh Huuummmbbuuggg!