Happy Holidays from Memphis! I don’t need a calendar to remind me of the season. On the Saturday after Thanksgiving, my neighbor, Mrs. Anderson, trims her yellow house in countless lights. When her home on the hill twinkles like a galaxy of stars, that is my cue. Christmas is near.
Mrs. Anderson started her tradition of dazzling decorations more than 30 years ago when her two children were arm babies. Over time, not only did she hang lights on her ranch-style home, but her lawn shined at night with a full display of Santa in his sleigh, eight reindeer, and a six-foot snowman, waving at passing cars. The first sign of Mrs. Anderson’s holiday whimsy would motivate neighbors up and down the street to follow her lead. Mothers and fathers would take to their yards to decorate their houses with an assortment of plastic snowflakes, candy canes, and silver bells, with shrubbery wrapped in endless strings of colorful lights. As more neighbors joined Mrs. Anderson’s grand display of decorations, the magic attracted a constant trail of visitors. Cars filled with families would crawl slowly along the street to marvel at winter’s wonderment.
It was a good run. With Mrs. Anderson leading the charge, my neighbors in the southwest corner of Memphis served multitudes, marvelous visions of holiday cheer for three decades. But the saying is true. “Nothing good lasts forever.” When her inflatable snowman burst at the seams, Mrs. Anderson pulled back on her Christmas designs. Then Santa and his deer were swiftly disposed.
I asked, “What happened?” Mrs. Anderson said the winter winds had a habit of toppling the reindeer. And after she reached a “certain age,” she was not willing to wrestle the weighty decorations back to their feet. She replied, “They had to go.”
That was just the beginning. Amid the dearth and death of Covid-19, I noticed that a great number of my neighbors did not follow in Mrs. Anderson’s steps during Christmas 2020. While she had ditched Santa and his crew, her house on the hill still shined with big red ribbons and dazzling lights. Sadly, Mrs. Anderson’s holiday mojo did not move the neighbors. Few joined her Christmas whimsy that year.
I remember that quiet Christmas very well. Dull porch lights were the status quo in my neighborhood. Here and there, I saw a wreath or two, garland, bells, a few straggly lights, and one baby Jesus in a faded manger. That year, no cars filled with giddy children had any reason to visit my community. As for me and my personal celebrations? My jolly Black Santa figurine, cheap laser lights, and three-foot tree remained boxed-up for Christmas ’20, ’21, and ’22. The isolation and alienation of the pandemic had robbed many of us of our collective merriment. Inflation and national unrest buoyed our blues and put many Americans in a holiday funk. But not Mrs. Anderson. While there is breath in her being, I don’t think my neighbor would ever cancel Christmas in her yellow house on the hill. And for that, I am privileged to be her friend. We need people in our circle who show us how to persist in joy and celebration when the world turns turbulent, grave, or “grinchy.”
This year, on the Sunday after Thanksgiving, I passed Mrs. Anderson’s home. It was early evening and the sun had set. True to form, a sparkling Christmas tree was posted in her living room window and red ribbons were wrapped around her porch lamps. In years past, Mrs. Anderson has been known to climb ladders and drape her roof and gables with bedazzling ropes of lights. But this year she abandoned rooftop lights and surrounded the base of her home in copious LED candles with pretty red flames. The candles conjured warm enchanting memories from when my neighbors would deck their shrubs in lights and give their hearts freely to the hope of the season.
God is a wonder. Mrs. Anderson’s copious candles rooted-up old, buried feelings of Christmas joy. And like the return of a favorite friend, I received those feelings with open arms. To make matters even better, it wasn’t too late for me in 2023. December had not arrived. I still had time to unbox my lights, my tree, and my jolly Black Santa. That night I called Mrs. Anderson to acknowledge her inspiring decorations.
I said, “You changed your lights!”
She told me it is not wise to climb tall ladders after a “certain age” and the Christmas candles circling the base of her home were the “safest option.”
I own an AARP card. I understood her point. But I also wondered: Does Mrs. Anderson understand? Her persistent refusal to let the world’s trouble steal her joy is a superpower. I tried to explain what I perceive to be her extraordinary fortitude.
Mrs. Anderson replied, “I hear you.” But did she? People full of light seldom see the light that we find in them. And that’s okay. Our task is to take their light and pass it on.
Alice Faye Duncan is a National Board Educator in Memphis who writes books for children. She is the author of Coretta’s Journey, This Train is Bound for Glory, and Yellow Dog Blues — a NYT/NYPL Best Illustrated Book selection in 2022. Visit alicefayeduncan.com.
