Over the Hills
It’s a wonderful fall morning. The air is clear and cold. There’s a scattering of clouds where the morning sun can play. The day feels filled with promise. Somewhere out there, children are gathering with their parents. Eventually, this evening, they will ride four-wheeled steel sleighs over the hills to grandfather’s house, with the GPS leading the way, or if they’ve been here before they’ll just come. There’s a party and we’re going to see the lights.
The house is decorated as well as I know how, based on a long life of practice, first as a child myself, then as a husband and father. This year I stopped worrying about where things went and just put them where I felt they belonged. And I’m probably violating every design principle known because every empty space cries out to be filled, and when you have 74 Christmases under your belt, I have stuff to fill them.
When it’s all said I done the house will probably look a lot like a child dressed in every odd piece of cool apparel they have. Think a tutu with leggings, and maybe a big furry coat with no colors matching because all colors match, they’re colors. Let the viewer pick what they want to see. And it feels good to let my inner child out for a romp, to walk around the house turning on lights until light and color fills the rooms and darkness surrenders, skulking off to a corner to pout, because it has no answer to light, laughter and the love of a child.
John W. Wilson is the author of The Long Goodbye: A Caregiver’s Tale