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.
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.
*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.