Christmas Countdown

It is night. I just went outside to see how the lights on our house look. Nuria did the decorating. The lights look, well, colorful. We have lights in each of our front windows, lights in a wreath on our front door. and lights in the yard. I took a photo but it was just very ordinary looking. There are some things that the human eye is so much better able to see than a camera can capture—especially a cellphone camera at night.

My neighbors are keeping up with me. The Egyptians next door have strings of flashing lights entwined within the shrubs in front of their house. Most Egyptians are Muslim, but maybe these are Christian or atheist, or just Muslims who want to blend into the neighborhood. I don't know them well. I've tried talking to the man of the house, but, frankly, I can understand only about half of his words, at best. I don't do well with foreign accents. I once had a co-worker who was Vietnamese, and I never understood a single word that he spoke to me. Not one. Guess what he did while he was in the refugee camp waiting to come to America. He taught English. Seriously.

One of the houses across the street has no lights yet, and that surprises me. The family is Guatemalan, and I thought that most Central Americans are Catholic. Maybe they're simply late getting their lights on display, or maybe they're just like I was before Nuria moved in with me. Before Nuria, I didn't decorate or celebrate Christmas. For me, it was a day for other people to celebrate—people who had families. 

I live in a neighborhood that is becoming international. Egyptians neighbors, Guatamalan neigbors, and of course, my Costa Rican housemate. Come to think of it, my last pet was a German Shepherd. I feel so cosmopolitan.

Nuria just came home. The Christmas lights are lit, inside and outside, and a fire is burnng in the fireplace insert. The insert's fan is blowing out heated air, and there is a faint but distinctive scent of burning wood in the air. I took a photo but you cannot get the full effect from a photo. You can't feel the stove's warm air, you can't hear the hum of the fan that blows that air through the hollow spaces inside the walls of the stove. 

Oh, where did I get the firewood, you ask? My neighbor had two trees (note I said had) in his backyard and the branches overhung my yard. In autumn the trees would drop their huge leaves into my backyard, and due to wind currents, the leaves would always end up in my basement stairwell and block the drain at the bottom. I spent half of the fall sweeping and bagging leaves blown into my basement stairwell. One day I grabbed my chainsaw and walked over to a tree and cut it down. Then I cut down the other tree. I cut the limbs into short pieces to fit in my stove. Nuria and I cleaned up the small limbs and the leaves. My neighbor hasn't said anything about it. 

By the time the fire goes out, it will be time to go to bed. Winter is cold and somewhat forbidding with its bare trees and its animals in hibernation. But there are some upsides to winter. Snow is pretty to watch when it's falling, there is no lawn mowing, and we have some things to look forward to: colorful leaves, sweater weather, apple pies, pumpkin pies, pecan pies, mulled wine, Thanksgiving, Halloween, Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, New Year's Eve, New Year's Day, and of course, the promise of Spring.