Well it's that time of year. We made the trek to Connecticut to get the fresh Christmas tree this past weekend, and under the inspired leadership of my wife — and with nary a discouraging word between us — got the lights up.
Now Christmas tree lights in our house are both an art and a finely honed craft. There are systems that must be adhered to; traditions that must be carried out — a sea of white lights with a perfect spiral of red thrown in — in a manner that amazes everyone who beholds the festive bush.
The tree really is a big deal in our house. No tree under ten feet is acceptable, so decorating is a time consuming project. We dust off the Christmas CDs and yes they must be played in a certain order. Actually it matters not what is played second or third, but what is played first. And that is Nat King Cole? No. Rosemary Clooney? No. Vince Guaraldi, Charley Brown? No. It's Jimmy Buffet we play first. Amy Grant comes soon there after, but we start silly and smiling and usually it carries all the way through the holiday.
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By Harry Smith