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Sunday, December 2, 2012
'Twas the Month Before Christmas
The six-foot-tall, live (well, live once) Christmas tree—outside, near the archway to the front gate!—is strung with little bulbs and hung with multicolored balls. Our neighbors' balconies, too.
Me, my back hurts; and every other muscle and joint in my body is screaming for prescription painkillers with every move they make. I am way out of ladder-scrambling practice.
Bobby seems pleased, although I believe in a day or two, he will decide it's still not enough. But for now, I'm grateful for the opportunity to rest.
He's taken to standing outside the gate after dark, luring tourists and passersby inside to get a closer look. He even has special glasses he passes out that make the lights look like snowflakes.
Last night, he managed to get an accordion play, a banjo picker, and a girl who plays the pan pipes to come inside and serenade the night with carols. He never dreamed they'd demand money. Cost me sixty bucks.
Now he wants me to learn to make hot buttered rum that he can serve to his "guests."
The holiday season has descended upon Decatur Street.