Let There Be Light

I was looking for our Christmas lights earlier this week. Eventually I found two sets. Not the ones I was looking for, however. I was looking for the lights that are encased in clear plastic and look a bit like theater stair lights or floor lights in an airplane.

Hubby found a box of Christmas lights in the attic and brought them down for me. There were nine sets of lights in that box, but not the ones I was looking for.

I have no memory of the last time we used any of those nine sets of lights. I don’t remember buying them. I don’t remember packing them up or moving them to the attic.

It’s silly to think that those aren’t our lights; of course they are. I just can’t figure out how or when they got to be our lights. Which Christmas was it, then, that required all these lights?

The lights are not in their original boxes, so I don’t know if they are indoor only lights or outdoor lights. (Christmas lights are like sewing patterns, this way. You can never return them to their original state. You just get a larger bag or box to put them in. You try to fold them in some structured manner, but in the end, you just stuff them in.) I am a little leary of putting up all those lights outside, anyway. We live fairly close to the airport and I’d hate to have our house mistaken for a runway. Unless it’s Santa Claus. I wonder what kind of lights I need for a sled’s runway. Probably those lights encased in clear plastic, the ones I can’t find.


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