I’ve seen my own Christmas lights on the back porch from the living room since I put them up last week.  But I never saw them from the street until last night.  I drove home from work last night, plugged them in, changed into casual clothes and cross trainers, and went to St. Catherine’s for the blessing of the creche, the tree lighting and the caroling in the schoolyard.  Deliberately took the slower way so  I could drive West Napoleon that runs past my back porch so I could see the lights at street level.  Well, I was astounded because they are absolutely beautiful.  I couldn’t believe it.  The way they’re placed, and this was not planned, makes them look almost like the top of a carousel, mostly white lights, with the threads of red running through, glowing in the darkness, reflecting in the glass door, with curves that looked like treble clefs, all just flowing in sparkling, vivid color.  It looked like something out of Disney almost.  I can’t believe the way they turned out and couldn’t have been more pleased because they’re enchanting.  I can’t take any credit for this because I just followed instincts, left it at that, but did dedicate them to, and specifically put them up, for my father.

Last night after the blessing of the creche, and it was funny how this little towheaded girl who couldn’t have been more than four or five, with a purple and gold grosgrain ribbon in her hair, kept running into the creche scene to pet one of the donkeys nestled in the straw, we went to the schoolyard, filled with parents and grammar school kids for the tree lighting and caroling.  It was chilly, and when the middle school choir began singing, “Winter Wonderland,” suddenly there came a hissing sound from the roof of the school.  Snow began to fall.  It was so pretty, the kids went wild, and indeed young Fr. Tim went sailing through the snow with his arms outstretched like a schoolboy.  It was a sweet, simple celebration and it was apparent to me the pastor and Fr. Tim are very committed to their parishioners in a most genuine way.

Came home, settled down with an ice cold glass of Pinot Grigio to watch something I taped, “Solomon and Sheba,” a movie I had seen at the Poplar as a little girl, and all I remember coming away with it was that Gina Lollobrigida kept feeding Yul Brynner grapes. Last night, found it to be rather boring, didn’t like Yul with hair and it wasn’t even campy like The Ten Commandments.

But all in all, a very sweet evening.

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