Christmas village groundbreaking

Around the top of my list of things I never thought I’d do is make a Christmas village. You know, with the little ceramic buildings that light up? Dickensian moppets* wandering about the streets in holiday cheer (and not their usual crippling hunger, presumably)? I’m not against them or anything, but, much like glaucoma, it never really struck me as something that would happen to me.

My friend Dan’s dad did a really elaborate one every year. Dan always warned that it was best not to ask him about it unless you had at least a half hour free. I did anyway, one time, and he was right, but it was still neat to hear the depth of thought he’d put into it. That kind of devotion to a hobby is rare, maybe a little weird, but still kind of impressive.

A few years back Jess and I started to receive Christmas village houses as gifts. I’m not sure what brought it on. As apartment dwellers, we never seriously considered doing anything with the things, but now, with a home of our own, the little houses started to beckon. Here’s the result so far …

The village by night (and with snow). You’ll notice Mount Lamp in the distance.

Central Station security is always tight this time of year, but as long as you can answer the three questions you shouldn’t have any trouble.

Up the airy mountain, down the rushy glen, we daren’t go a-Christmas shopping, for fear of little men.

Drive! Drive! LEAVE THE PRESENTS!!!

Mr. Wulfgar wishes passers-by a merry Christmas as he brandishes the Ceremonial Warhammer of Kringus.

Enjoy your holiday, and be thankful it’s not me decorating your home.

*I just realized this is the second time I’ve referred to Dickensian orphans/moppets this week. I’ll try not to make it a thing.

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3 thoughts on “Christmas village groundbreaking

  1. I’ll admit to being a bit concerned when I read an earlier reference to your Christmas Village — but this, this is just about perfect. It reminds me a bit of my first post-college Christmas tree, a scraggly thing — purchased at a gas station — topped by a 12-inch inflatable Godzilla. Mrs. Crappy let me get away with that one for only one year.

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