The year the lights went out

I’ve had it with standing on my roof every December, looking down on Dora Street traffic while holding strings of lights in my hands, a little cold, a little confused, and so next year I won’t.

This is it: Last of the lights, end of an era, over and out. I’m so done with it and somebody else can do it and I don’t care if there is no somebody else. Me decorating the house with Christmas lights is O-V-E-R.

This year was worse than others but it would have ended soon anyway.

My holiday house decorating stretches back to the winter of ’83 when I was thumbtacking strands of those dinky little candy- colored lights above the porch, up on the roof peak and around the door. Festive as all get- out. Daughter Emily, age 3 ½, thought those lights looked so darn seasonal that we must be at the North Pole or over in Bethlehem.

Back then I could do the lights on the North Oak Street house with nothing but a ladder and a couple beers. This Dora Street place is two stories tall and I’d need the fire department to loan me a 30-footer to get up to the peaks, so instead I clamber up on the roof like a goat, but a goat trailing along several yards of light strands. If I’m lucky I’ll only step on a few bulbs rather than get snarled up in the cords, fall 16 feet and make for a sad Daily Journal obituary.

So I’ve definitely had it. This year was the worst. I’m reluctant to reveal how stupid I’m getting to be to the whole world but when you’re standing on a roof like you’ve done all those other years but can’t quite remember what you’re supposed to do, it gets worrisome. And this is stringing Christmas lights; it ain’t rocket surgery.

The procedure is simple but for a minute or five I couldn’t figure it out. You plug that end into the other end and hoist strands up over those little hooks and then keep going with more strands. Sound confusing? It isn’t. If you’re 20 feet up in the air and don’t know why, it’s time to get back to bed. Or a nursing home. But there I stood, December 2020, looking at strings of lights like they were parts of an elongated Rubik’s Cube, not clear on how to proceed. I turned a few circles, stepped on a few more (instantly broken) bulbs, tangled myself loosely in light strands and thought “This must be what it’s like to be Joe Biden!” and I meant it in a most kind and understanding way.

I think if me and Joe were up on that roof we’d understand each other very well. But that wouldn’t get the lights strung up, and even if I weren’t without Joe I wasn’t any more lost not than if I’d hadn’t been with him or confused at all.

See what I mean? Eventually, and maybe taking no more than twice as long as it did most years, I plugged plugs into sockets, strands into other strands, stepped on a few more lights and the job was over. But well before the job was done I knew I was done too, and that I wasn’t coming back for Season XXXVIII: Holiday Decorations 2021.

Maybe I’ll feel different in 11 months or maybe the Ukiah Fire Department will come by with a nice big ladder. I expect Joe Biden to be unemployed by then and looking for less challenging work, and free beer.

A menu to frighten the dainties

My New Year’s party is a few days off and the annual quest to fill the house with fun people is hampered by that Covid thing, plus Ukiah’s ever-growing population of tedious sorts who, if they think they’re invited, will ruin everything. You can’t just sneak around and cross anyone owning a Subaru off the guest list, but without an effective screening strategy the party’s already over. So the past few years my tactic has been to include a party menu with the invitation. The 2020 New Year’s Menu: --Wuhan Chinese Gumbo --Catawba Wines from the higher elevations in the lower Sandusky region of north-central Ohio

--Farm-raised salmon lightly dusted in MSG, in a reduced mint-ketchup sauce.

--Shrimp (previously frozen) from Vietnam ponds in a robust Pabst Blue Ribbon & Polysorbate- 60 brine, coated in crushed ranch-flavor Doritos and deep fried. Served in a warm hot dog bun.

--Small Plates: Cage-to-table Catlets from the Mendocino Animal Shelter, and locallysourced Spotted Owl, boiled.

Also: Rocky Mountain Oysters in a warm Marshmallow — Velveeta cream sauce.

Also: Sides of Spam and OlivePimento Loaf, toothpicks provided.

--Desserts by Hostess Bakery. --Appertif: Pepto Bismol on the rocks

(In reality, Tex-mex BBQ and cold Coors quarts again this year.)