I’m not sure which was my dominant emotion--despair or mischievous irony--when I glimpsed the deflated heap of nylon in the yard across the street. White, with red and blue accents? It is, unquestionably, an inflatable snowman waiting for air stuffing.
I’m pretty sure that in the 22 years we’ve lived on this street, this will be our street’s first incursion into the area of holiday inflatables. And this is not because we’re one of those pristine neighborhoods where everyone’s very-similar house is surrounded by neatly trimmed topiaries and a flawless lawn. Nope. Some yards are scratchy, patchy and otherwise in perfect syncopated kilter with the eclectic dwellings they surround. We ourselves decorated with a sizable dumpster for 6 or so months last decade, and I know our neighbors were deeply appreciative, at least insofar as they never got out the torches and pitchforks.
As for me, well...you can see that I am making a stab at festive, and got both lights and a wreath installed today. The tree is soaking in a bucket out back, and the lights--as far as I can discern--work.
And now...for the next 2 or so hours...I will endeavor to stay alert enough to pick Gabe up from his after-school, service-hours-earning stint at the Baltimore Ronald McDonald House, where he ostensibly assisted in preparing the evening meal for families of sick children. I am not aware that he brought a deck of cards with him today, though sleight of hand is a good gig for Gabe on these missions. Perhaps he will like seeing the lights on the house when he gets home. And perhaps the neighbors will have their snowman inflated. And I will thank them. Because if our neighborhood becomes too tasteful, we may just have to bring back the dumpster.
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