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The Gift of Light Ralph looked at me. “Chris,” he said, “there are all different kinds of lights.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I like those old-fashioned Christmas lights—the ones when we were kids that were big and fat and glowed nicely on a string—those red, green, and blue ones?”
“Yeah, but something else,” Ralph said. “When I got home from work yesterday before dark, I dragged out the ladder and I outlined my entire house with my Christmas lights: around the windows, along the roofline, up the sides. By the time I finished, the house looked perfect, something almost out of Las Vegas, but a nice Las Vegas, you know, Christmas.”
Ralph looked at me and smiled. “When it was dark, I plugged in the lights and stood back onto the street to admire my work. In less than a minute one of my new neighbors stepped out of his house, smiled, shook my hand, introduced himself, and complimented my work. Suddenly another neighbor from the next house joined us, and he also shook my hand, welcomed me to the neighborhood, and said ‘Great floodlights.’”
Read the rest of the story: “Ralph’s Christmas Lights” |
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