I was delighted – delighted, I tell you – to find that my new neighbors all decorate their houses for Christmas wholeheartedly.

Candles flicker in every windowpane; oversized wreaths are hung precisely centered on each window, from long sturdy strands of red velvet ribbon. Light-wrapped garland hangs in careful swags across handrails, and well-lit Christmas trees are stood perfectly in front of the largest windows for all to see.

Directly across the street, there is a party every night where large inflatable characters gather and wave to oncoming drivers. I tried to capture it with my camera, but it came out looking like this:

You can’t see it well, but there on the right is a friendly polar bear with a top hat. Seemingly unafraid of said polar bear and ignorant of the vast number of deaths-by-polar-bear reported each year, two different snowmen stand jolly and welcoming nearby, waving, oblivious to the recent 50-degree weather. Just beyond them, to the left, stands inflatable Santa Claus, red hat pointed straight to the sky.

I noticed them when I arrived home after dark recently, and was pleasantly surprised to find this serendipitous gathering of wacky inflatable Christmas friends! I even commented to Andy on this sudden appearance of Christmas decorations all across the neighborhood, and especially of the growing cast of characters across the street. How festive!

Sadly, my Christmas spirit was dampened the next morning, when I woke to find a silent graveyard of once-happy, lively friends:

It appeared they had succumbed to some fast-acting infectious disease, or perhaps a drive-by shooting. There they all lay, deflated, lifeless. Here, the remains of the once-fun-filled snowman:
I could only hope that whatever had afflicted them had taken them quickly to the Great Christmas Party in the Sky, sparing them pain and suffering.

But then! – a Christmas miracle! Within hours, as soon as night fell, they were resurrected! Life flowed into them; smiles warmed their faces; their Christmas spirit – and mine – was renewed!

And so it has gone, night after night: a Christmas miracle right here on our street, as they rise again, light-filled, beaming. And morning after morning: a somber vision, a crime scene. Lately I’ve learned not to mourn their passing, but to wait with hope for evening to come, when surely they shall rise again.