My 5:00 drive home in the dark is cheered by an increasing array of Christmas lights. Interestingly, my bah-humbug toward early Christmas music does not apply to the visuals of the season. Bring on the garland, the lights, the shining stars! One roadside business lit their frontage trees with a moving cascade of lights that are dangerously mesmerizing; I have to pay extra attention to my driving in that block.
Attachment to Chrismas decor harks back to when I was small and would scootch behind our luscious fake Christmas tree into a me-sized corner formed by the wall and the large wooden stereo turntable cabinet. I'd hunker in there for what seemed like hours, happily listening to the weekend sounds of my family bustling about the house. It's amazing what you learn when no one knows you're listening. Eventually, of course, someone would realize I wasn't dusting, and I'd hear the first strains of, "Where's Cinderelly?". That was my cue to carefully ease unobserved back into the room, preserving my hidey place for future reconnaissance, and commence dusting as if I'd never stopped. But, after a few false starts, my prince did eventually come and sweep me away to a life of love and happily twittering songbirds.
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