Thanksgiving weekend in these parts - especially when the temperature is predicted to spend at least a portion of the day staring down at the fifty-degree mark - is traditionally when those of us who celebrate Christmas start decorating our homes. For those of allergic to pine, it is the weekend when the Cal-a-dor Tree descends from its lofty perch in the garage and, thanks to the handy chart Rob made almost thirty years ago, takes its rightful spot in the living room just as Santa - and the workers at the artificial tree factory - intended.
However, if you live on the same block as my daughter, son-in-law, and their three kids and today was the day you set aside to bound out of bed and up the ladder stringing lights from your home's every external orifice...hit the snooze button. Roll over and go back to sleep. There is nothing for you to do here.
Ryan has won...
...which his wife properly recognized.
It is pitch perfect. Better than anything I would ever think of doing, even if I live to be 100, which I assure you no one (including Yours truly) has asked of Santa.
Even Max's master would approve...
-AK
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