Tuesday

5 December 2017

— a new glow in the back yard!

Good Morning All,

Our outdoor Christmas lights are up, and it took only two hours. First, I knew right where I had stored them behind two bags, our old rotary phone, a plastic trashcan full of preserved Christmas wrapping paper, and two of our ten watering cans. I brought the lights into the living, plugged them into an outlet in the dining room, and all 100  lit up.

Next, I poked around behind the clematis stalks on the patio and found an outdoor outlet. Did I plug the lights in there, just to make sure that outlet actually worked? Well, if you know me at all, you will know of course I did no such thing. That would take a lot of the fun out of it. 

I have always been a believer in outdoor Christmas lights being put on bushes and trees, as opposed to man-made objects, such as railings, window frames, plastic pink flamingoes, and whatever. But the nearest object to the outdoor outlet was the rose trellis built into the fence that divides the back yard. After asking myself if I was afraid of change (school administrators often accused me of that whenever they wanted to diminish our school in one way or another), I decided to give it a try.

It took me well over an hour to thread the lights through the fence wires and up and around the trellis, but I knew it would be worth the effort. As it turned out, I had just enough of the plain lead wire left to make it all the way to within a foot of that outdoor plug. Peachy. God, I thought, is amusing himself with me again. 

Back into the house went I for the sixty foot orange extension cord, one end of which I connected to the plug for the lights, and the other end I inserted into the outdoor outlet.

Guess what happened? Two surprising things, actually. 1. The lights on the trellis lit up brilliantly in the gathering dusk. 2. They looked terrible on that trellis! Why, I wondered, would anyone in his or her right mind want to drape Christmas lights around a man-made object?

Unthreading the lights took another half hour, after which I moved the lights over to our small magnolia tree, which is closer to the road, such that more of my neighbors will be able to see our cheery lights as they go off to work and come home, no doubt saying as they go by, “Well, thank God the American didn’t put up any of those trashy colored lights and/or Rudolph with a flashing red nose.”

Maybe next year.

Anyway, I must say, they look terrific. Also, the distance of the magnolia tree from the patio outlet meant I had to unwind ten more feet of the orange extension cord. (Yes, I know that is a preposterous statement. In either case, I had to use all sixty feet. But it still felt better I had to unwind those ten feet, and I will bet you a buck you are sometimes given to the same absurd satisfactions.)

I took a few dozen snaps. If I can remember how to get them from my iPhone to my computer, I’ll send you living proof of how breathtaking they are.

By the way, Walt Disney, who was born today in 1901, offers us one of the most remarkable sentences I have ever heard: I love Mickey Mouse more than any woman I have ever known.

Two questions come immediately to mind:

1. Is that possible? Could an artist love his own creation more than, for example, his wife of 41 years? Not to mention earlier loves? I mean, I will confess I feel a great deal of affection for the heroines of my only two halfway decent novels, but they are, after all, only shadows of my own mind.

2. Even if good old Uncle Walt was telling the truth, why would he (or anyone) be stupid enough to say something so guaranteed to hurt other people and land him in the soup?

So, I looked up Walt on Wikipedia. There is no mention of any woman in his life before—at age 24—he meets  Lillian Bounds, who worked as a pen-and-ink artist in his studio. There is no mention of any other woman in his life from the time they are married in 1925, until Walt’s death in 1966. (Well, there was, of course, Bambi and all the soft-core porn in that movie.) 

Walt and Lillian had two daughters and ten grandchildren. Lillian’s read on the marriage was this: “We shared a wonderful, exciting life, and we loved every minute of it. He was a wonderful husband to me, and wonderful and joyful father and grandfather.”

One cannot help but like Lillian Disney. She must have heard his crack about loving Mickey more, but assigned it to just being another manifestation of his immature—even to say, childlike--personality. 

Plus one more tidbit: She and Walt are on a train. Walt makes a sketch of a new character, shows it to her, and says he is going to name him Mortimer Mouse. She says to him, “That’s too depressing, Walt. What about Mickey?” Thanks again, Lillian.

Go Well and Stay Well,

Bhekaron

P.S. Our outdoor Christmas lights: