Skip to main content

Hello In There



Driving home the other night I realized something about Christmas (pardon me, Holiday) lights. Sure I like to see them appear this time of year and even look forward to the first sighting. It's usually sometime before Thanksgiving. Some folks have the "contest winner" mentality and go for amount, volume or stunning effects. Growing up in La La land, the yearly cruise to neighborhoods to view these competitions was always a part of the celebration. But that's not what gets me. I question the motivation of many of those folk. Some are religious, some wealthy, some driven, and many are drifting progressively away from any holiday at all. What I especially like are the houses that suddenly sport a simple string of lights. Sometimes it's a small tree or electric wreath, or perhaps just a colorful star or silvery icicle display. Somebody has taken the time to light the dark. Rolling through the neighborhood I traverse on late Wednesday evenings, the houses are usually so dim and sullen. This week, with the addition of a few lights, and I really mean just a few, they had a very different appearance. The lights were calling out, "Hey, someone's livin' here." These modest decorations say much more than I'm celebrating the holiday now. They remind me that I'm not just passing houses in the night, I'm passing people, families, households.
One year I went for a walk alone on Christmas Eve in the neighborhood I knew from childhood. I must have been about 15 years old and just wanted to walk up and down the street while my parents entertained some folks. It was a particularly cold winter and even in the San Fernando Valley there was frost and visible breath. By the time I got to the end of the street I turned and looked over my shoulder and noticed that every home on Bonner Ave. was colorfully lit. I squinted. The colors bled in the cold night air. I promised to lock that image in my mind forever. So far I have. I've locked all the folks within those homes there as well.

Comments

Kalirati said…
indelible entry, Bruce. Keep them coming
Lois said…
LOVED this post. I feel the same way. The Christmas (and I will say Christmas) lights are my favorite part of the holiday. They look so pretty, especially when they're shining through snow.

You're right, the few lights are so much better than the Holiday Extravaganzas that some people have (the weirdest one my husband and I saw was "Merry Christmas from Mars" complete with aliens and space ships along with Santa and the reindeer).

I, too, grew up in LA-LA Land and we would drive through the neighborhoods to see the lights (though that tradition ended the year my dad ran over someone's dog).

Popular posts from this blog

Mr. Greene v. Mr. Brown

I want to tell you about something. Something I've carried inside myself for a number of years now. Perhaps if I were a different kind of person I wouldn't need to talk about it. I'm not. My need to tell it is stronger than your need to hear it. Because, however, there are a number of teachers and former students of mine who may read these meanderings from time to time, I need to tell this story all the more. About 7 or 8 years ago I was asked if I would allow a university PhD. candidate to observe an English class. At first I decided against it because I was scheduled to have a student teacher placed with me the second half of the semester in question. After some urging, however, at the request of a respected colleague, I agreed. Soon I was committing to extra meetings, signing documents and explaining to the class in question who the young woman who thoughtfully pounded away on a laptop in the rear of the classroom three times a week was. I knew that the topic of ...

Illusory

What does it take to enrage you?  That moment when your words fly on pure emotion because enough is enough.  Is it a driver that cuts you off at high speed?  What about being an eyewitness to blatant racism or on the receiving end of some obvious injustice? I know some people who never express rage.  I admire them but know full well I am not capable of such distance from that which would bring about such a strong response. Another senseless shooting and 7 people die at the hands of a mentally ill gun owner.  The father of the 20 year old college student lets it fly and somehow millions feel a new sense of relief.  He calls the politicians bastards who do nothing, he wears his pain in public.  The news media responds but we all know that nothing is going to change.  We are the gun country.  We are the place where anybody, anytime, can be cut down just for being there when somebody else snaps. Usually the perpetrators are delusional. ...

Body Language

I'm sitting there in a hospital gown, waiting for my doctor to complete my yearly physical.  This is when I look at everything on the walls, read the medical posters, the instructions on any equipment in the room, look in every corner and behind every chair.  I study the paper on the examination table, laugh out loud at the picture of a smiling child holding a bouquet of broccoli, and the note the placement of the computer in the room. Finally, wondering if the gown I'm wearing is on correctly, I focus on myself.  At this point in my life I'm fairly comfortable in a doctor's office.  But it always seems to take so long when waiting for the doc to enter.  So I fidget.  Then I begin a tour of myself.  Scars are tattoos.  I look at the one on my knee and see myself at 12.  Whittling a piece of wood with my Boy Scout jack knife.  The blade slips and I cut a crescent slash through my jeans and into my flesh for life.  50 years later ...