THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1994, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, December 18, 1994 TAG: 9412150181
SECTION: CAROLINA COAST PAGE: 08 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Column
SOURCE: Ron Speer
LENGTH: Medium: 73 lines
Over the years I've always wanted to string hundreds of outdoor lights around the front yard to let the neighbors know that the Christmas season is special to me. But something always came up, and my best effort usually was a handful of lights wrapped around the porch.
This year I vowed to do better in our new digs on Roanoke Island.
And by golly, I did.
Neat little white lights went on sale at the neighborhood hardware store, and I figured this was the time to live up to my vows.
I bought six packages, 100 lights to a package. That many blazing electric candles, I figured, would light up the neighborhood and draw ``oooooohs'' and ``aaaaaahs'' from everyone passing by.
I could imagine the neighbors looking out their windows with envy and admiration, saying, ``Wow! That new guy in the neighborhood really likes Christmas - must have a thousand lights strung out there. What a great show. What a great neighbor!''
I arranged the lights over some bushes in what I thought was a fair representation of the three wise men riding up on camels to the crib. And I quickly discovered that 600 little white lights don't make all that many camels and wise men.
Back to the hardware store, for another 420 lights. I finished off the wise men, and wrapped the rest of the lights around the front porch in a clever design that most folks probably recognize and shout out, ``It's two school crossing signs and a keyhole!''
I concede committing the cardinal sin of pride when I flicked the switch and 1,020 little lights broke the darkness, although my wife said the three wise men on their camels should be called ``a bunch of lights over bushes.''
And proud as I was, I had to admit that 1,020 lights didn't make quite as big a statement as I thought they would. They didn't exactly turn night into day on our block. But I was filled with good will about the colorful contribution I was making to the neighborhood - until half a block away, on Mother Vineyard Road, Wayne Westcott flicked HIS switch.
The whole world lit up.
His lions and sheep and wise men and camels and the baby Jesus looked exactly like lions and sheep and wise men and camels and the baby Jesus.
Also blazing in the darkness was a spouting whale, dolphins diving through a waterfall, octopus, squid, scallops, sailfish, crabs and a red-nosed reindeer running through the sky above a sailboat. I thought I was in an electrified version of Noah's Ark, or in Oz heading down the Yellow Brick Road.
It was marvelous. I hated it.
There is one redeeming quality about Mr. Westcott's display, which unbeknownst to me has been thrilling thousands for years. Multitudes have driven past my lights as they turn around in our cul-de-sac so they can go back for another look at the Westcotts' yard.
They all must have had their car windows up as they passed my wise men on their camels, because I haven't heard a single ``Ooooooh'' or ``Aaaaaah.''
One night, tired of taking in the contrast, I suggested that if I started now with a plan and thousands and thousands of lights, maybe next Christmas our yard . . .
``Don't even think about it,'' my wife said. ``Let's go for a ride.''
We drove off down Highway 64. Not half a mile away was the second-best collection of Christmas lights I'd ever seen.
We admired them, and on the way home stopped with a dozen other cars for a close look at Mr. Westcott's wonderful work.
Then we drove on to our house.
``From the street, your lights DO look a bit like three wise men on camels come to see the baby Jesus,'' Joanne said.
I needed that. by CNB