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I'm dreaming of a Bright Christmas.

I have newfound respect for those who take on the job of wrapping a house in tiny lights each and every December.

As per tradition, when my husband begins his assent up the neighbor's borrowed ladder, my M-O is to get in my car and drive far away.

Michael's cursing is one of the things that make me hightail it to the shopping mall. Ralphie, the cute kid from "A Christmas Story" has nothing on my husband. (Only I didn't say "Fudge.") I said the word, the big one, the queen mother of dirty words, the dash-dash-dash word!)

There's no place for profanities at Christmas time, but you can't tell that to a 46-year-old man who is cajoled into wrapping twinkly lights around a palm tree when he'd much sooner watch his Saints lose yet another football game.

Sorry, but I call 'em as I see 'em.

Years ago when we lived in our first two-story house, Michael relished his decorating duties. He liked climbing to the top of the house, often without a ladder, a la Spiderman, and take in the view from the summit.

I, on the other hand, couldn't handle the acrobatics. I'm not afraid of heights, mind you, I just dont want to stick around and watch as others tempt fate. After a few anxiety-ridden seasons with the job of holding the ladder, we both decided it was best if I left while he turned our home into a neon Gingerbread House.

For some reason, over the years, scaling the house sans ladder became less fun and holiday decorating became more work.

This year, I was in charge of the lights. Two back-to-back trips to Hawaii for work rendered my engineer husband unavailable to cuss and climb.

Apparently, launching test missiles into the air above Kauai is much more important to Michael than ushering in the holiday season with three dusty bins packed with Christmas color and warmth.

So, it was up to me. How hard could it be to hook up a few silly strings of lights? Very.

Lacking upper body strength, I could barely move our new ladder from the garage to the driveway. After that feat, I found that I was on my own, with one son suddenly having to study for finals and the other one (smart boy) far away at a friend's house.

I began by first cursing silently to myself, and then out loud to anyone who dared approach the crazed woman. Forty-five minutes into it, I decided the lights were way too tangly. Utilizing time management skills, I figured that at my rate I'd be hanging lights until Jan. 12.

Instead, I focused my efforts on the palm tree and the bush. No ladder needed, no pesky hooks or extensions. Just the simplicity of winding lights around a palm tree and draping the pretty evergreen near the front porch.

All was calm the first night. All was not bright on the second night. That was the evening it rained for hours and the lights went out forever on the palm tree.

So, this year, we offer our neighbors (with their fancy blow-up Santas and sparkly icicles that sway from the highest peaks of their two-story glory) our Christmas Bush.

Conveniently close to the front door where we can plug and unplug with ease, this outdoor symbol of Christmas will have to do. Besides, we leave for New Mexico in a few days - where the luminarias rule the night!

Merry Christmas!