Harold Gates slowed the snow-topped yellow taxi and edged it along the slushy curb to a stop where she stood, shivering in a tattered wool coat in a January blizzard on the steps of her unlit ... [+]
A cornucopia of color. A litany of light. That's what I could count on come December. It had even spiraled into a competition amongst my neighbors, each house trying to one-up the next. But as far as I was concerned, Jim Cawley's house was always the center of attention.
Back then, my kids and I would throw on our coats every evening in December, and we'd make our way around the festive houses on foot. Of course, we'd save the best for last, so our final stop would always be Jim Cawley's front yard. Inflatable elves and a jolly Santa covered his frost-filled lawn. The LEDs that adorned hi