Nearly all my neighbors have put chicken-wire balls of Christmas lights up in their oaks. As the last procrastinators light their lights — like last year — it looks as if we’ll be the lone holdouts. 
Photo from: http://historymarker.typepad.com
Just call me Scrooge. Last year as Christmas neared, I hoisted a Moravian Star as high in out tallest tree as my surf rod with a three-ounce weight on it could get it.
If I say so myself, it was a beacon of good taste and restraint — until the star filled with water and kept drooping lower and lower. I also had second thoughts about plugging it in, but decided the bulb was up in the neck of the top point of the star. And it certainly wasn’t going to catch on fire with all the points that pointed downward filled with water. Finally, a wind storm brought my gesture of the spirit of Christmas tumbling down — in pieces.
The neighborhood does look fabulous, and balls-up-in-the-trees-world does heighten the holiday cheer as long as you don’t mind a constant stream of rubberneckers clogging the streets, throwing their beer cans out on the sidewalk, walking around and looking in your windows, not the mention the constant stream of the Little Drummer Boy droning on into the wee hours of the morning when one neighbor forgets to turn off his outdoor speakers.
The neighbors have been pretty good about not pressuring us. They had a big block party last weekend and when we finally emerged on Saturday morning to walk the dog, they’d all been up for at least an hour, putting their balls up in the trees. Last year they at least had beer. We made an appearance and ate a cookie and no one asked me why I don’t put my balls up into the air.
But that’s probably because they already know.
