By Jacki Michels, for the Redoubt Reporter
Naughty or nice. Hm. Naughty or nice. …
It started with the lights this Christmas. Every cotton-pickin’ year I vow, I swear, I’ll wrap those little suckers up neatly so that the following year I will be able to launch the season by neatly unfurling skeins of flowing artificial illumination. This year I hoped to star in my extreme lighting fantasy. The plan — staple and drape the festive wattage over every available surface until we have so doggone much holiday spirit we are blind. As a final touch, I would anonymously nominate my own home for the annual lighting competition, and possibly even win some cash.
After my second trip from the attic I was scratching at insulation particles burrowing into my flesh as I untangled miles of (throat-clearing noise, *censor* censor*) something that can only be described while the musical score to a horror movie plays in the background.
Armed with a 10 percent-off coupon, I headed out to Freddie’s for more lights. I am normally what I’d classify as a Jamaican driver. That’s right mon, just takin’ it easy, no need to worry.
Then I got behind her. Ms. Driving 35 in a 45-mile-per-hour zone. I can get with that on a snowy, icy day and in Slowdotna. I admit there are few opportunities locally that warrant actually driving 55, but come on lady! Continue reading