For some, the day after Thanksgiving is a day to spend in stores, shopping, shopping, shopping. Not this family. We don't refer to today as Black Friday, we refer to it as Bright Friday. For tonight, the dark, gloomy hilltop will be awash in bright lights. Motorists will be able to see what lies ahead around the turn and up the hill. The walkers will have their dangerous path lit. And the critters, well, now I'll be able to see what exactly has emerged from the rustling in the woods.
My husband lucked out. It's supposed to be in the 60's today and tomorrow. Usually his task is a three-day affair. With the possibility of a cold rain looming on Sunday I am urging him to take advantage of today and tomorrow. Every year we add a little something, and this year there will be a birth announcement. I'll wait until I can post a pic to elaborate.
While he's working on the outside, I'll be working inside. I already started yesterday with the cleaning and making the Goodwill box. After everything is dusted and polished I can begin the transformation. My son brought up the wooden Advent calendar yesterday. It's heavy, awkward, and needs to be put together. He is the master of the two screws. That is his contribution to Christmas decorating. Still, he says, "I feel like I just took this apart."
The girl always helps with the inside. But this year she might vary from the routine. She is helping, but it's by editing together a NYC Christmas Pic video over Sinatra's "New York, New York." "I wish I had video, and not just photos," she says. They're our photos, and hopefully she will feel creative and produce a piece in time for the "NYC...Live in Roanoke" event.
In my travels, I'll probably find gifts that I had bought last year and hid so well that I forgot to hand them out. I'll find the Memory Box and read through cards and notes of Christmas past by loved ones who are no longer with us. I will tear up and hold some of them to my heart, and just when I think I can't take it any more, I'll spy a letter from Santa Claus written in 1986 to my first baby, Alex. I'll read it aloud to him, as I stroke the golden Welsh Corgi ornament that sits in the special place on my tree, the front top.
Behind that letter, lies another one from Santa Claus to the replacement baby, Max.
Written when he was just a pup it's a funny letter telling him not to herd the boy, chew boots, or eat his own poo. Ten years later, he still does two out of those three things. My boots are safe.
This year, thanks to a mega clearance at Sears last year, I will be replacing my regular indoor lights with lcd's. I will give them a shot, but if they don't give me the warm, cozy, golden light that says Christmas, I'm taking them down.
Got a lot to do, so I'll catchya later.