'Cause nothing says "class" like a multicolored cross in your front yard... in March

We went to a really nice birthday party for a friend of ours late this afternoon and didn't get home until after dark. Now, it's rare for me to be out in the car after dark, especially now that the days are getting longer and coupled with the fact that we currently don't have any good babysitters except for my parents.

As I drove the long and pot-holed road to our neighborhood, I was reminded that we truly do live in the sticks. There may be yuppy neighborhoods popping up all over this former farmland, but it's still the sticks. There are houses along the main road that fondly remember back when the main road was dirt, plowed only after heavy rains and by nice, retired Mr. Jones who hooked up the right equipment to the back of his Ford F350 and pulled it out of his barn. While the road is paved (well, mostly), few cows remain and Mr. Jones has sold his barn for condo at the coast, there are still a few habits that seem to die hard out here in the sticks. There are no fewer than three houses who still have their Christmas lights up. And on. In March.

There's the mobil home that has lights around the door in all white, which is actually the most tasteful of the bunch. Then there's the house set back from the road a bit with the multicolored cross in the front yard. The multicolored lights give it away as Christmas decoration rather than just a poorly executed act of religious zealousness. Not to be out done, a large and lovely home much closer to the road also has a six-foot white cross - lit every night, J reports to me - just to the side of the house. In front of the house is another structure. A sleigh trimmed in white lights. In South Texas. Lit up. Every night. In March.

Labels: Christmas, house, sticks