Danny McMeekin was perched on his icy porch roof adjusting one of his Christmas displays, securing a large, red and green sleigh driven by Santa Claus. Two elves were along for the ride. He was fiddling with a reindeer head that wasn’t moving properly. One of his neighbors, a recent retiree named Earl, walked across the street and said, “Hi Danny, nice display this year.” Tall and thin, Earl covered his balding pate with a plaid Stormy Kromer hat.

“Yeah, Earl, it looks pretty good, thanks.”

“What does all this do to your electric bill, I wonder.”

“Why? You want to help me pay for it?” Danny was not from the Midwest. He came from New Jersey. He knew exactly what Earl Motzen was going say as soon as the preliminaries were over.  That the noise and the traffic on Devlin Place, their long, but narrow side street, were simply too much. And, as the president of the homeowner’s association, Earl would be listening to complaints about it from many homeowners. 

“Oh, no, I doubt I could afford it,” Earl said. “Danny, last year our street got busier than bees building a beehive. People drive past your house, heck, they crawl by, taking pictures, or videos, with their smartphones.” He paused for a moment, reconsidering his strategy. Already, this talk wasn’t going well. “Pretty as your holiday displays are, they tie up traffic for several blocks.”

“I know. Gonna be even better this year, Earl. Devlin Place is going to be jumping. On Christmas Eve, I’m dressing up like Santa Claus and Annemarie is baking cookies to hand out.” He patted his stomach. “Don’t even need padding, right?” He laughed and pointed to the manger. “We wanted to rent a couple of live animals this year, but they’re a lot of work.” He wasn’t serious, but Earl wasn’t sure about that. 

Danny and Annemarie McMeekin’s front lawn was jam-packed with Christmas displays, celebrating both the religious and secular aspects of the holiday. Danny’s father had done something similar in their neighborhood in New Jersey for many years. When he and Annemarie moved into his parents’ home after they passed on, Danny followed suit, making very few changes to the way his father did it. Annemarie thought it charming, especially under the circumstances, that her husband was so filled with the Christmas spirit.

When they moved to St. Girard, Minnesota, they took their decorations with them. Their new home was on a larger lot which pleased the couple. That’s when Danny decided to add to their display. This year, they had the usual combination of white and colored holiday lights wrapped around their trees and bushes, Except for the colored lights, this was not unusual for the neighborhood. Most of the residents preferred white lights only. One of the association’s board members actually proposed white lights only should be the rule.

Regardless, the McMeekin’s display went well beyond what the development’s residents thought was tasteful.  Frosty the Snowman, made of real snow this year, thanks to an early winter in St. Gerard, sat next to the manger. The baby Jesus was life size as were the Blessed Virgin, St. Joseph, the wise men and the shepherds. On the other side of the front walk there were rows of candy canes, a couple of outsized Santa’s and two angels Danny had carefully arranged to hover over three reindeer. Earl noticed that this year, for good measure, Danny added an eight-foot-tall blow up Menorah, a nod to Hanukkah.

Their front windows and door frames were completely decked out with twinkling lights and window candles, including real and fake garland. There were also two well-lit Christmas trees on the porch. This garish display on a 75’ by 125’ lot drove Earl crazy. Last year, beginning on the first Sunday of Advent, Danny played holiday music loud enough for passersby to hear it through their tightly closed vehicle windows. That was when the homeowner’s association stepped in. They threatened to take Mr. McMeekin to court, claiming he was in violation of the homeowner covenants regarding tasteful holiday decorations. The parties agreed to compromise, considering that the McMeekins had already erected their display. The association agreed that the display and music would be permitted for ten days.

“Danny, I’m afraid you don’t understand. I know we probably should have clarified our agreement last year, that allowing all of this was a one-time thing.” Earl swept his arm from left to right as he spoke. Danny put the finishing touches on the reindeer. He called Annemarie’s cell and told her to flip the switch. Everything was in working order. The reindeer’s head was moving properly and its red nose was lit.

He looked at Earl and smiled. “Well, Earl, as you said, it wasn’t clarified and here we are again. Christmas is in six days. We’re going to turn the display on tonight and every night until New Year’s Night.”

“Oh, I’m afraid we’ll take you to court. There won’t be a compromise this year. The neighbors won’t stand for it. You’re clearly in violation of Covenant Code Three B, Part Four.”

Danny laughed. “Three B Part Four, huh? Wow. See you in court, Earl.”

“Be reasonable, Danny. Even if you refuse to take anything down, a private security force can be arranged to block non-residents unless we’ve received prior notice from a homeowner that they’re expected.”

“Thanks for telling me, Earl. I really appreciate the heads up. Gives me time to get Channel 4 out here to report on your campaign against Christmas; how you’re blocking little kids from seeing Santa.”

Earl had no idea what to say. For just an instant, he wanted nothing more than to push Frosty the Snowman into the manger. He took a deep breath and exhaled watching the vapor escape from his nose and mouth. It was barely eighteen degrees out there and his ears were burning both from the cold and his frustration. “Well, you and Annemarie have a Merry Christmas,” It was all he could think of to say. As he walked across the street to his house, he decided his wife, Lorraine was right. Maybe it was time to move to Florida, the gulf coast, of course, where other Midwesterners liked to settle. 

Earl climbed his three porch steps, stamping his boots to remove the snow. He was looking forward to a cup of hot tea. But he wasn’t looking forward to Lorraine’s I told you so look. She was a vivacious, if not mischievous woman, who took good care of her husband.

As much as he hated to admit it, the neighborhood’s residents weren’t entirely unified in their opposition to the McMeekin’s Christmas display. Younger homeowners who had children rather liked it. The little ones especially were enthralled by the lights. And, the fact that people came from miles around to see the display was the subject of a couple of positive local news reports last year. 

But older residents, like Earl Motzen were not pleased. He felt that such a garish display and all the hoopla surrounding it, did nothing to improve, or even maintain, property values. “I hate the traffic, I hate the noise. I hate Danny McMeekin,” Earl said to Lorraine as he took his coat and scarf off. “I don’t think we can stop them, though. We’ll have to put up with it for another year.”

That night there weren’t many cars, not enough to create a traffic jam. “Word will get out,” Earl said to Lorraine. “You’ll see. By Christmas Eve, we won’t be able to get out of our driveway.”

“Lillian called. She isn’t able to get here until Christmas Eve, now that you mention it,” Lorraine said.  Lillian was their only child. She would be visiting with her husband Don and their two children, a boy and a girl.

“Oh? I thought she was coming on the 23rd. Why the delay?” Earl asked.

“Something about Don’s job, she said. “You know he hates coming here.”

“Is it us or the weather?” His son-in-law was from Orlando. He had a good job with the Walt Disney Company. Earl knew being closer to their daughter and grandchildren was the reason behind Lorraine’s desire to move to Florida.

Lorraine walked into the living room and looked out the bay window. The light coming from the McMeekin house was so bright, the Motzen front lawn was illuminated. Since some of the red, white and green lights flashed, it almost seemed as though fire engines and emergency medical crews were parked in front of their home.

“Did I tell you that Annemarie is baking cookies this year to hand out to the gawkers?” Earl shook his head as he said this.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Lorraine said. “Where will this end? How long before they turn their front yard into an amusement park and charge admission?” She smiled. 

“Mention it to Don when he gets here,” Earl said softly. “He can advise them, I’m sure.”

 

The weather turned colder still over the next few days and another ten inches of snow fell, making the roads and the sidewalks treacherous. That didn’t stop carloads of people from driving by, but it wasn’t as hectic as it was the year before when the weather was unexpectedly mild. This year’s weather report wasn’t promising. Lillian called to say she was worried about getting there in time for Christmas. Lorraine said, “That’s it Earl. Next year we’re spending the holidays in Florida.” He ignored her. He had other plans that would keep them in St. Girard for a while at least.

Not that Lorraine’s idea wasn’t tempting. Getting out of town was particularly appealing at the moment. He had just taken his seventh call of the day from yet another neighbor, demanding that, as the president of the homeowner’s association, he must do something about Danny McMeekin. Carl Frederick, an opinionated fellow, said, “Earl, get a cease and desist order. Your street is so bright it looks like you have a Walmart grand opening searchlight thing going on.”

“It’s not that bad, Carl, but I do get your point.”

“Not that bad? We can hear that damn music a block and a half away,” Carl said.

Earl was tired. He knew the association’s management company could get a lawyer, or even the St. Girard police to put a stop to all this, yet he felt powerless to take action. He wasn’t entirely sure the police chief would do anything. St. Girard had only three policemen and they all had kids. Two nights ago, he saw one of the officers, Mary Ellen Flynn, drive by with her family.    And, he was sure he would take the brunt of the criticism if he forced Danny and Annemarie to turn off the music and the lights. He understood being the association’s president, it came with the territory. But he was equally certain that in the end, he would be labeled the Grinch by the whole darn town. Thank goodness, his term would end after Christmas next year. His cell rang again. He didn’t answer it. He turned it off and went to bed early. 

That night it snowed yet again, but only two inches. When he woke up Christmas Eve morning, he heard the snow plows going down his block. He peaked through the living room curtains just in time to see Danny hand the snow plow driver an envelope. All of Devlin Place was particularly clean. He had no doubt about why.    

 That afternoon he shoveled his walk and a space in his driveway for Lillian. He heard a noise across the street and saw Danny up on his porch roof fiddling with the reindeer again. Earl was freezing, so he hustled into the house and called Lorraine. “Honey, come here for a minute. McMeekin is back on his roof.” They stood in front of their bay window and watched. “I can’t decide whether he’s a brave, or foolhardy man,” Earl said.

“Oh, he’s insane, I think,” Lorraine said. “And Annemarie is even nuttier than he is.”

“No need to be unkind, dear,” Earl said, surprising himself. He knew they were both on edge waiting for Lillian to arrive.  

“Earl, the woman is in our book club. When we meet at her house she makes these odd dishes I never heard of, some sort of exotic Italian foods.”

“That doesn’t make her nutty, does it?”

“I suppose not.” At that moment Danny slipped on the ice. Luckily, he was able to wrap his arms around the head of one of the reindeer. As he was steadying himself though, the head broke and he went down with it, hitting his front walk hard. He screamed in pain.

“Call an ambulance,” Earl shouted. He ran outside without a coat or hat and crossed the street to Danny’s house. Danny was struggling, trying to get up, but he couldn’t put any weight on his right leg. “Sit down, Danny, you may have a broken bone,” Earl said. He rang Danny’s doorbell and waited for Annemarie. The still petite, dark haired woman opened her door and said, “Danny’s on the roof. Didn’t you see him?”  

“I’m afraid he fell. An ambulance is on the way.”

The woman screeched. She pushed Earl aside and went to her husband. “Danny, Danny! What happened?”

“I fell off the damn roof, trying to fix that stupid Rudolf.”

Lorraine came running across the street, carrying a coat, gloves and a hat for her husband. “The EMT squad should be here any moment. How are you Danny?”

“Cold,” he said. Annemarie turned and ran back to the house. She brought a comforter out and wrapped it around her husband’s body. He tried to sit up, but she pushed him down. The ambulance pulled up and opened the rear door to pull out a stretcher. Earl explained what happened. It didn’t take long for the technicians to get Danny onto the stretcher.

The lead EMT said, “Looks like maybe Mr. McMeekin’s broken his right leg.”

As they started to wheel him to the vehicle, Danny looked at Annemarie and said, “How am I going to play Santa Claus now? All those cookies you baked.” He shook his head and grimaced in pain.          

While her husband was on the porch roof, Annemarie had been busy making Christmas cookies. She used recipes her Italian grandmother had given her years ago. It was a family tradition, which she carried out faithfully, even in Minnesota, far from her family in New Jersey. They moved to the Minneapolis suburb of St. Gerard six years ago. They went back east for the holiday season during the first year they lived in St. Gerard, but it was too painful. They hadn’t made a trip home since. Married to Danny for nineteen years now, Annemarie knew he enjoyed Christmas, of course, but for the last five years, it seemed that each year, he liked it more than the year before. 

She thought she knew why. They had lost Emma, a newborn, only five days old, in December, just a few days before Christmas, seven years ago. When Danny was offered a job in Minnesota, running a supply chain operation for a major food company, he took the job. He and Annemarie were suffocating in New Jersey. They had to get away.  Decorating for Christmas helped Danny cope with his loss.  

As the ambulance was pulling away, Lillian, Don and the children pulled into the Motzen’s driveway. Lillian jumped out of the car and ran to her parents, a bit confused by what she saw. Hugs were exchanged and Lillian and Don shooed the kids into the warm house. Lorraine and Earl started to follow them, but Lorraine stopped. “Wait, Annemarie gave me the key to her house. She said something about the oven being on. I’d better go and check.”

She walked back to the McMeekin’s house and entered. She had been there a couple of times before when her book club meetings had been held there. She went into the kitchen and immediately smelled something burning. She opened the oven door and pulled out a rack of shortbread cookies, each with a maraschino cherry on top. They were ruined. She pulled them out and carefully pushed them into the garbage disposal.

On the kitchen counter were three more cookie filled baking sheets waiting. There were ten large round tins sitting on the kitchen table. The lids had notes taped to them explaining what they were. Gently, she opened a few of them. There were walnut bars in one, something called knots in another and chocolate-nut biscotti in the third one. She stood there, not knowing what, if anything, she should do. She looked at the clock and saw it was almost four P.M. Whatever the McMeekins had planned for Christmas Eve was no longer possible. Certainly, Danny McMeekin wouldn’t be out of the hospital in time for that evening’s festivities.

Reflexively, she opened the oven door and put a tray of cookies in. She simply didn’t know what else to do. She heard someone open the door. “Mom? Where are you?” It was Lillian.

“In the kitchen. Come on in.” Lorraine was grateful her daughter was there. She explained what had happened, pointing to the Santa Claus suit that was hanging on the French door. 

“I know Mom, Dad told us. What’s all this?”

“Dad told you about the McMeekin’s plans for Christmas Eve?”

“He said they’ve been driving him crazy with their garish light show, that the neighbors are pissed off at him for not pulling the plug.” She laughed. 

“Well, your father doesn’t know what to do, really. He doesn’t think I know it, but he’s thinking of running for mayor next year.” She brushed some crumbs from the counter and dropped them into the waste basket. “Good Lord, your Dad is afraid if he stops the McMeekin Christmas show, it will hurt his chances. Some people in this town love it.”

“How about you Mom? Do you love it?”

Lorraine giggled. “Do not tell your father.” She stepped over to the kitchen table and pried open one of the tins. She took out two cookies and handed one to her daughter.

“This is incredible,” Lillian said. “What were they going to do with all these cookies?”

“They are delicious, aren’t they? I believe Mrs. Claus was going to hand them out while Mr. Claus spent the night freezing his you know what off waving to people.” She rolled her eyes and opened another tin. The women sampled the walnut bars.

“Oh, wow, I can’t believe the McMeekins were going to hand these out to strangers,” Lillian said.

“Well, there aren’t many strangers in this little town, but now that Danny is likely to be hospitalized overnight, it doesn’t look like anybody will be tasting Annemarie’s cookies tonight.” Lorraine opened the oven and inspected the contents.

“So, why are you still baking them?”

“I don’t know.”

 

At 5:45 Earl got a call from Mark Stephens, the chief of police, one of his golfing buddies. “Hey Earl, I heard Danny McMeekin broke his right leg pretty bad. Gonna be in the hospital for a few days.”

“Oh my, that is a shame. I saw him fall you know.” Earl was sitting by the fireplace sipping a mulled Christmas wine that Lorraine made after she finished baking Annemarie’s cookies. His grandchildren were arguing over whose turn it was to run the electric train that Earl always placed around the tree.

“Well, I got a real problem now Earl. People are expecting to run by Danny’s house tonight and see his lights. It’s become a tradition, you know. There’s gonna be people from other towns too. Can you get into his house and turn on his displays?”

Earl took a deep breath and thought to himself, I should have shut this down last year. When certain people in our development hear I turned that stuff on, my name is going to be mud around here.

“Earl, you there?”

“I’m here Mark. Mrs. McMeekin left us a key. I can turn the lights on, I guess.”

The Chief laughed. “Music too?”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” Earl said.

The Chief, who was sitting in his living room smoking a cigar, winked and smiled at his wife, who was listening. “Earl, you need to think about this with an eye to the future. Sure, some of the yahoos who live in your ritzy little development aren’t going to like it, but a lot of people in this town will. How you gonna run for mayor with a reputation for being a damn Christmas Grinch?” He fingered his thick mustache, grinning now.

"Nobody will know I have the key, will they?”

The chief laughed. “Come on, Earl. Think of it as a Christmas gift from Danny McMeekin.”

 

The headlights of cars could be seen from one end of Devlin Place to the other that Christmas Eve. Cars were also waiting patiently to turn onto the street from nearly every side street that intersected with Devlin. As the cars reached the McMeekin house, they were greeted with a wave by a thin, smiling, Santa. Two tightly bundled up women were handing out cookies to every soul brave enough to open a window. It was fourteen degrees out there.  Santa wished everyone a Merry Christmas.