I don't have a picture of Oven Park's Christmas decorations, so this silly shot of my own sparkly stuff will have to do.
Mom recently told me a really charming story about my seven-year-old nephew, Jake:
Last week she took him to Oven Park to see the venerable old camellia gardens lit up with Christmas lights. "Well, he was just delighted," Mom said. "We walked around together for about half an hour just looking at everything, and he was just enchanted."
Jake kept asking Mom, "Hum, why do I feel like I will cry because it so beautiful? Why do I feel like that, Hummy?"
And Mom said, "Oh, I don't know. Sometimes I get a little teary when they sing patriotic songs in church."
I asked Mom how Jake responded.
"Well, he thought that was just plain stupid," she said.
But still, he couldn't get over the beauty of the Christmas lights, no matter how long he looked.
"As we walked," Mom said, "he wanted to come up with other words to describe them. Better words, you know, than just beautiful. So we came up with a whole list."
"Oh, that was good idea," I said.
"But he was never quite satisfied," Mom went on. "Nothing on our list was quite right."
"Of course not," I said.
I liked Mom's story so much, I told it to Rob. "Ah," Rob said when I was done, "maybe Jake will be a writer."
"Maybe so," I said, nodding. "Maybe he will." Then he'll spend his whole life struggling to find the perfect words.