Christmas In August

He thought he was in the clear ... and then the rains came, and it brought it's friend, the wind, along with it. And that wind is what ruined everything.

A few weeks ago, I was walking the morning after a rainstorm. As is often the case the day after a storm, it was calm and beautiful and sunny, a perfect day for a walk ... and for at least one local homeowner, it marked the day he was compelled to finally take down his Christmas lights.

He was emerging from his modest ranch home as I approached, and I saw the lights before he did. They had blown off (or maybe had been washed off) the gutters that had been their "temporary" home since probably just after Thanksgiving 2024. When he saw them drooping across the front of the house, now conspicuous given the time of year (actually, conspicuous any time of year since they hung in positions that no one would plan when decorating one's home for the holidays), his shoulders slumped, and I heard him utter a single, defeated word ...

... "Shit."

Now, in the aftermath of a heavy rain, having one's holiday lights blow off their house is minor and fixable. And as far I could tell (without being conspicuous myself or even breaking stride), it was the only "damage" his home had endured. No flooded yard, no downed branches. No sagging gutters or loose shingles.

Yet, I could almost read this guy's mind when he saw the lights.

Immediately, his thoughts went back to that mild, sunny Sunday in January, when he knew he had a window to take them down. His wife, Gale (not her real name), even suggested it. But that was the day of a big NFL playoff game. "You know what, honey, I'll do it next Saturday ... I promise," he'd told her.

Unfortunately, "next Saturday" brought six inches of snow, and, "I'll be damned if I'm going out there in this crap to take down those lights," he thought. Oh, and there was another NFL playoff game that day as well.

The next few weeks found our guy (and Gale) engaged in other activities: a niece's bridal shower, a birthday party for Gale's dad (which they hosted), an unplanned trip to the vet to extract a sock (or two) from the dog's gastrointestinal tract, and various to-do list items that took precedence.

By late March/early April, spring had sprung, and weekends found our guy out fishing, picking up a few weekend work hours, and of course, some excursions with Gale . Meanwhile, the lights waited patiently, bothering only those neighbors and passers-by that get bothered by things like people waiting too long to take down their holiday decorations.

Every once in a while, our guy thought about it, or maybe Gale mentioned it in passing ("Hon, are you ever going to tackle those Christmas lights?"), but soon, they became an afterthought. And by summer, it was like they were never hung in the first place.

Then, the August rains came, reminding our guy all over again what he should have taken care of on that beautiful January Sunday, the day of the NFL playoff game; a day when he could have easily knocked out the job before the opening kickoff.

But he didn't. And now, in mid-August, standing in his sodden yard just as the mosquitos hatched, hungry and aggressive, and without any holiday spirit whatsover, our guy's one job was to finally take down those damn lights.

I would say that under better circumstances, he would have been out of the woods, and three months from that day, as he and Gale and their family (the niece, now married, Gale's dad and all the rest) gathered for Thanksgiving dinner, he could jokingly say, "Well, at least I don't have to put up the Christmas lights this year, heh-heh." And they'd all have a good laugh.

Yes, he was almost out of the woods ... almost.

"Shit."

(C) 2025 David R. Haznaw