So Mr. hg and I are sitting there last night vegging out in front of the tv, both barely-awake and exhausted (me from Christmas stuff and physical therapy, him from just finishing a huge project at work), just minding our own business - typical night, nothing special.
We hear a siren. Since we live kind of in the country, and it's usually pretty quiet, we always notice when a siren goes by. Then we hear another one. I look at him, and say, "wow, something big must be going on somewhere tonight." He grunts. So then I hear still another siren. Three sirens is something I have NEVER heard, in the two+ years we have lived here. "Good grief," I say, beginning to be a little concerned, "I wonder what the hell is going on?" He shrugs, nonplussed, "dunno."
Then we hear a FOURTH siren, and I notice they all seem to be congregating nearby, rather than going past us on the highway nearby: no doppler effect here, folks, they are getting louder and louder, and staying loud - even blowing those klaxxon horns on the fire trucks, repeatedly. Hmmm.....
Then I notice flashing red lights reflecting in the tv screen, which means they must be on the street behind us. Ok. This is really getting a little disconcerting, and this even gets his attention. We stand up and peer out the windows and see four vehicles going really slowly down the street behind us, blowing their horns like crazy, sirens still blaring like mad. "What the fuck?" I say, "can't they find which house is on fire?!?" We go into the back yard, and still can't figure out what's going on.
He thinks he sees them turning and coming onto OUR street. Yikes! He sprints out the front door to check out what's going on out front, and I keep watching out back. When it seems like they have all left the street behind us, I come inside, and I start getting REALLY alarmed when I see the lights are all right out front of my house! I'm just about to begin hastily deciding what valuables to grab and start throwing out on the front lawn, when he comes back into the foyer, the queerest expression on his face.
"It's Santa Claus," he says - surprisingly calmly.
"Excuse me?"
"It's Santa Claus, riding on top of one of the trucks."
Ok. Well, this is unexpected. Was it just a slow night, and they all got together down at Station One and decided to call up the Jolly Old Man and offer him a spur of the moment bash about town? We've been here two Christmases, and Santa's never bothered to call on us before - at least not via fire truck parade at 9 p.m. at night. "I hope they brought an ambulance," I say, "they're gonna give one of the old people on this street a fucking heart attack."
Lest you think me a complete Grinch, I do appreciate the sentiment - a little heads-up would have been nice, though. I guess it's one of the joys of country living, having a fire department that can even think about taking it in their collective heads to do something like that, out of the blue. Of course, I might not have gotten so rattled, had I not gotten too closer for comfort to a real fire in the Wellness Center a couple of weeks ago - alarms, smoke, fire trucks, the whole thing.
At least this time I wasn't naked in the shower when it happened.
***Happy Holidays! ***
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