In truth, it's a little pathetic.

Our Christmas lights seem to go up later and later every year. And there were less, this year.

And still, ours is the third brightest house on our street.

All the more sad, I guess.

Considered not putting any extra up at all (the whites on the porch were there all year long for the nearly-blind heeler), but youngest son liked the idea of surprising his mom with a little color when she came home from work.

So for the second time in a week, he and I worked together out in the bitter cold. (We were all the way up to eight degrees.)

It was fun.

Even with frost from the trees dropping down our necks.

And, meager or not, the lights looked good up close, with their glow reflecting off the hoar frost lining the branches.

Prehaps best of all was the red glow coming off the whitened branches of the elms far above.

Joyeux Noel to all!