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.