DING DING DING!

There's a contest going on here in the best local weeky paper to find the Gaudiest Holiday Yard Display.

Those of you who know me IRL can probably imagine the joy I've had trying to find them a few good contenders. We wouldn't want to leave any qualified people out, now would we? NO. We most certainly would not; especially after all the time and trouble (and electric bills) they've channeled into entertaining the public. Which I suppose also could possibly be perceived as wanking off for that slim minority who might find overindulgent yard displays uhm, overindulgent. But I digress. Thus far I haven't seen many entries (other than my own, I mean) but I think we may have our winner right here.

Subjective decision, of course, but hey I found it, I claim it. Isn't how that goes?

HO HO HO HAHAHA HO HO HO HAHAHA HO HO HO

HO HO HO HAHAHA HO HO HO HAHAHA HO HO HO

Though I must say the kid-mcbeth would have loved her own personal candy factory had her parents been more of the over-the-top yard decorator types. When I was very young (1st grade through 3rd grade, if wobbly memory serves me right) I used to walk to the house at the bottom of Davenport Avenue all by myself at night. That was still back at a time when parents had not yet been overwarned to never NEVER let their pre-25 year old children out of the house alone without a harness, a bell, a bottle of pepper spray, a cellphone, and a grownup with a concealed weapon. Ah well, that's what a girl gets for being born to Lutherans I guess.

At any rate, I meandered down to the house on the corner because the four or five times those neighbors acknowledged my child presence they didn't yell at me. They didn't frown. They didn't tell my parents I was doing something wrong. They just saw me, smiled a quick grownup smile, then went along with whatever they were doing. That was enough to endear them to me really, but what I truly appreciated about them was their Christmas display.

First of all, we were able to openly call it a Christmas display. Because geez, that's what it was: Their yard, Biblical carol and seasonal hymns piped through outdoor speakers, high cost Jesus junk scattered all over = Christmas display. Those were clearer times. Not necessarily better times, but clearer at any rate.

They never minded me standing on their sidewalk, just staring like a complete mini dope at the creche for nearly an hour at a time, singing along with the piped-out tunes. I've always preferred thinking that they actually saw me there and chose not to mind me rather than the alternative (ie: they never even knew a little kid was freezing out there in the cold in their yard, but was singing her heart out to their 'O Come, All Ye Faithful' until she took her last little breath and then broke into a million icicled pieces).

I liked those private moments alone. They made me feel so mah-tour. Funny isn't it? I don't nearly feel the need to show my adultness now, but I still crave those private moments. Candy factories and alone time ... I guess I'm a lot less complicated than I sometimes think I am.

Delicious

baked brie, bread and bruit. Fruit. by McBeth.

Sometimes I have a gut feeling that I should bring my camera along for odd trips or errands around town. Sometimes I listen; I'll slog my camera bag along with me even if I don't end up taking the little beaut out. Other times, like today, I ignore the feeling and end up kicking myself for second-guessing myself.

For example, had I paid attention to that little feeling today I would have been able to show you some really great examples of what I suspect was drunken collegiate snowperson building. One huge snowman had a traffic cone stuck atop his head (I unofficially named him 'conehead', which was followed immediately by a strong yen for the old SNL). A couple of downtown yards later there was another snow person - again with the fancy head decor seemingly considered extra-specially when final touches were considered. But instead of a cone on top, this fellow had a broom shoved into the top of his (her?) head and straight down what would be its snow spine, giving him that loveliest of hairstyles, the broommohawk effect.

I mentioned to KD (who was passengering in Scarletta at this time while I drove) after the second funky snow person that I had considered bringing my camera bag earlier and was now regretting the fact that I hadn't.

Not 20 seconds after saying this, we reached an intersection at which I had the red light. The cross street was a one-way heading right and to the right was a large delivery/cartage truck stuck in a very very wrong position across the right lane, pointed toward the left lane, with its hazard lights flashing.

Seemed a very strange thing for a truck to be parked right there on the side of an intersection and we quickly realized why it wasn't moving anywhere: however it happened to GET there in the first place, the truck apparently backed up into a fire hydrant and had hooked a large metal piece on its rear around a sticky-outy piece of the hydrant. I swear, the driver couldn't have tried to aim that big monster of vehicle onto that relatively teeny target if his life had depended on it.

Me without my camera. Argh.

So instead of sharing today's street scenes, I hope your taste buds can, instead, be tempted with the brie, bread and fruit that friends Barney & Goldy prepared for a recent party at KD's place. B & G both work other jobs but they're true foodies at heart and they try to land catering gigs whenever possible ... and they gig quite well I must say.

If your gut tells you something today - pay attention. Listen. Maybe you decide not to follow through this time, but it won't kill any of us to pause long enough to catch the message. That's the first step, right?

Never enough.

red and blue fence by McBeth.

Some folks like decorating the ol' homestead for the holidays. I've been watching to see if the current spike in heating and electricity costs would have a cause/effect dent in the number of people who do up their yards into freakish seasonal spectacles that they are. Don't get me wrong, I really DO enjoy a light display. There's something that draws me to a lit up yard like a two year old to an electrical outlet; like a moth to a flame, like Homer to a box of doughnuts.

There is a small 'bah humbug'ish chunk of coal inside me - and perhaps inside you too. If nothing else, maybe the joy we can take during this time of year is how fantastically over the top people can, and do, go. I mean... TIPPY top.

There's something quite respectable in their almost desperate and yet deeply committed yearning for more more more and in their indiscriminating decision to never stop until they've overdone it.