Deck the Halls (and bruise the outdoors)

"Tacky? Mom, what does tacky mean?" she asked.

I don't remember exactly what the mother's answer was, something like "gaudy" or "too showy" or "lacking good taste." But, as I watched the 7-year-old absorb this information and correlate it with the surroundings I got the sense that this was not how the girl had, until this moment, perceived the lights. Like most young children, she had seen all of the Christmas light displays in her town as beautiful, colorful celebrations of a magical season. But, as we drove through the streets, she clutched her commuter cup of hot chocolate, and as she waited for her beverage to cool to a drinkable temperature, she began to become a good critic of what was lovely and refined versus what was, well... for lack of a better word, tacky, when it came to Christmas light displays.

"Look at this one! It's beautiful!"

"This is a little bit tacky," she snickered, all-knowing.

We were driving through the streets of Richmond, Virginia. When it comes to "tacky lights," the mayor of Richmond proudly proclaims, "We own it!" The local newspaper features a "tacky light tour guide." (To be included in the prestigious guide a household must use a minimum of 40,000 lights.) Richmond is a stately, grand city, steeped in U.S. history and like a grande dame, she says, "We still know how to let our hair down on occasion and have a good time."

There were a couple houses on the river that allowed for a mirror reflection of the lights that made you forgive any tackiness.

And there were elements of tacky displays that had some simple beauty.

And then, there were the tackiest of all:

pah-rum-pum-pum-pum

Come they told me

pah rum pum pum pum

A new born King to see

pah rum pum pum pum

Our finest gifts we bring

pah rum pum pum pum...

rum pum pum pum

rum pum pum pum, brrmmm brrmmm brrmmm...

It's a touching song, a long-time favorite of mine. The message is simple. A little boy sees everyone reacting to the birth of a "king." He witnesses that "they," the others, bring wondrous gifts of frankincense, myrrh and gold and such. He has nothing of monetary value to offer, but he has the seemingly preternatural maturity to be able to discern that his drum-playing is pretty doggone good given his age. (Although I find nothing unusual about this as I feel most kids under the age of puberty have this wisdom and ability.)

The point being the little drummer boy does the best he can, which is drumming, and is satisfied that this is as just as good as any old tangible gift. And who, including a baby king, wouldn't be wowed by a choice drum riff? Like the one in the Surfari's "Wipeout?" Or the one in "Ina Gada Da Vida?"

Me, myself, being a plain old, average, middle-income American, who oft-times wishes she were a billionaire who could bestow grandiose gifts upon her children and grandchildren, also recognizes that sometimes it's my "unique talents" that are most welcome.

I'm pretty good at baking cookies. I've also been gifted, later in my years, with an unusual patience with, and affinity toward, infants and young children. These abilities make me a pretty doggone good grandparent. Not that being a good grandparent is an unusual gift, because by nature grandparents and grandchildren are an almost perfect fit and thus there is a plethora of good grandparents around.

Some of us have done well financially and will have tons of money to share with loved ones and some of us have only our talents to offer. I will purchase tactile gifts, because I "have the means", but sometimes my most appreciated gifts are gifts of my time and talents. Whatever gifts you have this season, do your best. And be generous and cheerful in your giving.