It is time for my annual post about an inglorious day for Christmas celebration. It revolves around a Christmas sign i made and hoisted years ago and continues as our only outdoor Christmas decoration.

i thought about that tonight. i grilled Italian Sausage for supper. Maureen did the hard work of preparing the mashed potatoes, the peas, the bread with olive oil, and another of her exquisite salads.

It was cool for most of the country, cold we would call it. i started the charcoal in the low 50’s, sipped on my martini as i watched the grill heat up. My potpourri of music was playing on my bluetooth speaker as sunset fell below our slope. i had on a zippered sweatshirt. Saturn sparkled above the western horizon over my right shoulder. The silver dollar of a moon collaborated with Jupiter to the east on my left shoulder. The music played on.

It wasn’t Christmas songs, but i thought of Noel. Our neighborhood has become an amusement park of decorations. Lights dominate the night. Yesterday, as Maureen rode with me to the Bonita Golf Club so i could have their un-gussied up bowl of chili with a beer. i pointed out that there had been several mass executions in our neighborhoods. Santas, Grinches, Rudolphs, and other sundry Christmas characters had been drained and were flat on the ground. Miraculously, they will rise when the homeowner pumps air into them again before the brutal slayings occur again at daybreak, over and over.

My “NOEL” sign seems sadly lacking, but in a way, satisfying because i made it, did not buy it from Walmart, Home Depot, Lowes, Costco, or Amazon. You see, i really am a curmudgeon and Christmases past with a holly wreath on the door and a cedar tree decorated in the corner of the living room, both installed about a week before and removed the day after Christmas seemed…well, more reverent to me.

As i tended the grill closely, i saw this wonderful woman employing her many skills in the light of the kitchen. Maureen is a beautiful woman. Her beauty changes with age but does not diminish. Her caring for others goes beyond that beauty. It remains amazing to me she loves me. i am a lucky man.

This brings me back to my “NOEL” sign. When i originally made it to honor one of my previous fathers-in-law, it was heavy, one by two wood sign with holes drilled for the lights to push through. This is the one in the story. Then, i made a lighter one. But i did not drill holes, i simply strung lights on the letters.

i was not pleased with my efforts and consulted Maureen about taking it down and redoing it to make the letters more legible in the night. Maureen, considering the amount of work i had put in, told me it looked neat, artsy. She’s the expert in that kind of thing.

After i hung it up this year, i was complaining about the lights not conforming to the letters again, this time she agreed. i realized she had been yanking my chain to reduce my work and make me feel good. This year’s results;

Next year should be interesting.

It is time to return to the Christmas season day of infamy story:

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Have you ever had one of those days when everything turned into an embarrassment? I had a champion day like that several years ago.

It started innocently while I hung our outdoor decoration, a home-made “NOEL” sign, from the eave of our garage, hoping to get it up before my wife’s friends arrived for their Christmas dinner.

Maureen and her six friends have been meeting monthly for dinners for 15-plus years. They had this December dinner catered, did it up right. It was Maureen’s turn to be hostess.

It was dark when I began. I was at the top of my step ladder attaching the second of two wires from the sign to hooks secured to the eave when the ladder lurched and toppled. I grabbed a metal ornamental grating above the garage door.

There I hung, my arm intertwined with the “O” of the sign. If I tried to drop, the sign could catch my arm and do some pretty bad stuff.

I yelled, but Maureen had Christmas carols at top volume and didn’t hear. I tried to think of what to do while simultaneously wondering how long I could hold on. The dog wandered underneath, occasionally looking up as if I was a very strange person hanging there.

After several minutes, a neighbor’s son and friend pulled into the driveway several houses away. As they emerged, I swallowed my pride and yelled “Help.”

At first, they could not discern who was calling. Then they spotted me and came to help. The dog decided to protect me and began barking threateningly. The boys hesitated. I assured them the only danger was being licked to death. They finally righted the ladder and helped me down.

I thanked them profusely and then studied whether I should tell Maureen or not. Now that I was back on solid ground, I decided it was too funny not to tell her. She was incredulous and not particularly amused.

I did not realize my embarrassment for the night was just beginning.

While Maureen made final arrangements for her dinner, our daughter, Sarah, and I went to a local spot for supper. The little place was an oasis of sorts in Bonita, where there were only Mexican, Italian, and fast food restaurants. The attraction was different, having an interesting variety on the menu and wide-range of ales and beers for golfers finishing a round across the street.

When we arrived, two couples were at tables and three guys sat at the bar. As we neared the end of our meal, the largest of the guys at the bar walked to the door and then turned back. I noticed his eyes seemed glazed. Then, he walked back to the bar.

Suddenly, this guy and the one on the other side grabbed the guy in the middle off his stool, slammed him into the wall and started pummeling him with their fists. The three male diners, me (instinctively) included, approached from one side and two cooks approached from the back. Sarah had retreated to the door with the two lady diners. I grabbed the big guy. He spun and fell backward, slamming us into our table, knocking it over with shattering glass. It gave me some leverage, and we spun to the floor with me on top and knocking the wind out of the big guy. The other two diners helped me hold him until he calmed down. The cooks had quelled the other assailant. The two left quietly followed by the guy they had pounded.

Even though the waitress wanted us to not pay our bill, we paid and left for home. On the way, I talked to my daughter about what I should have done (directed her outside before joining the fray) and what she should do the next time if she were ever in a place where a fight broke out (get out and away and not come back until she was sure it was over). i admonished her not to spoil her mother’s dinner party, adding i would tell her mother after the guests had departed. Sarah nodded.

I was feeling pretty good as we arrived home. Then Sarah dashed out of the car, ran into the house and yelled to her mother in front of the caterer and her six friends dressed to the nines amidst fine china, Christmas decorations, and haut cuisine, “Mom, Dad got in a fight in a bar.”

Some days, I just can’t get a break.

May your holiday season be embarrassment free.

May all of you have a most wonderful and amazing Christmas Season, and “Please, Please, Please (as James Brown once sang) remember the reason for the season,