Me and my war on icicle lights
- Melissa Herrera: Not Waiting for Friday
- December 15, 2024
- 811
The house is cozy this morning, and my thrifted Laurel Birch coffee cup covered in kitties is holding my second cup. Coffee is sloshing around in my belly, and Christmas lights are twinkling around me. That means our decorating is done.
Last Saturday it was 54 F, and we drug the lights outside to survey the situation. I feel on edge until we’ve finished decorating, almost like I can’t enjoy the season until my porch is lit. I know that’s silly, but if you take your job seriously in life, you’ll get it.
The night before, I ran down to Walmart to get more lights. Trips like this are usually quick but full of intensity. There aren’t just “lights” anymore. There’s cool, warm, clear, incandescent, bright and many more I could just make up because that’s how it feels.
I just want lights; I don’t want a whole scenario. What if I get the cool lights and they don’t match the warm ones I have and the whole thing is ruined?
But my friends, I made an executive decision right there in the garden department that I never thought I’d make. I bought icicle lights for my front porch.
Let’s tell a story about icicle lights. They became popular in the ‘90s, and every single person had them on their house. (There’s a great article about their invention that is riveting. Look up “story of icicle lights.”)
Any time every person has something, I don’t want it. My mom had icicle lights, but she was always ahead of the game and put them up early. But me? Never. I didn’t want to look like every other house in town. So I turned my nose up and never bought any.
I liken it to the Joanna Gaines effect. I loved her, the show and how she decorated, but every house in America (even ones that shouldn’t have) were transformed into a white and black version of her farmhouse look. In the long run, she was the winner, just like the big companies were that stole the icicle light design. (Again, read “story of icicle lights.”)
But I digress. My little bungalow here in town was screaming for charming icicle lights. I calculated in my mind how long it had been since I disdained those lights the first time and realized they came out around 1996. Twenty-eight years seemed long enough, so I picked up two boxes and went home.
I told George what I’d done, and he stared at me and laughed, then nodded his head. We strung those babies up and hung some giant gold Christmas balls we had scored for free at a garage sale last summer and voila — a Christmas miracle. The icicles have been twinkling directly at me and are cute as heck.
All new and old things must be considered. If I can turn my opinion on icicle lights, I could probably help us attain world peace. Except for the Joanna Gaines look, which for me will be at least another 28 years.
Melissa Herrera is a reflective writer who captures the beauty and sorrow of change. With a career spanning 14 years as an opinion columnist and the publication of two books, she resides in Stark County with her husband and four cats. She writes to preserve memories. You can reach her at junkbabe68@gmail.com.