It’s Christmas in April When Reality TV Comes Calling

My husband can’t say ‘no’ when reality TV comes knocking, which is how we found ourselves meeting with a producer for the Home and Garden TV show called Warm Weather, WhiteChristmas. The producers had needed one more segment and, since my my husband has a reputation for extravagant and garish Christmas lighting displays, we had been nominated.

I tried in every way to bow out gracefully. I described our small, humble home as one step above a double-wide. But the producer had a vision for our home: a replica of the Hollywood sign on our roof, a red carpet, Santa in a tuxedo, penguin paparazzi and strobe lights. The vision I had was of an emergency room and electrical burns, but no one asked me.

Best of all, we had to recreate this Christmas wonderland in the middle of Spring.

My husband put out a request for additional decorations and it wasn’t long before grocery bags were left on our doorstop like orphans. The doorbell would ring and there, on the front steps, would be a forlorn lighted palm tree, snarls of lights or a wheezed-out, plastic, inflatable snowman.

Reality TV, it turned out, is pretty well scripted. There were a number of wardrobe changes during the day to make it appear as if our little Martha Stewart home decorating project was taking days to finish, instead of hours. Friends and neighbors were asked to rally around for the lighting ceremony, wear winter clothes and pretend it was December instead of April. The producers also kindly provided us with a ‘best friend’ who just happened to be a Hollywood set designer, young enough to be my boy toy.

Of course it was “best friend” Russ who went onto the roof and positioned the Hollywood letters, discovering that the bouncy, trampoline feeling beneath his feet was really a cracked roof support beam. It was “best friend” Russ who gently steered my husband away from projects requiring the use of sharp tools, figuring it was better for my husband to be allthumbs, than nothumbs. And it was “best friend” Russ who had the foresight to cut and paint most of the Hollywood letters before he arrived at our house for filming.

Want to get funny looks from your neighbors? Try setting up your holiday decorations in April. Ours stopped and asked question about our sanity. Passing drivers slowed to ask what time the garage sale started. Throughout this, a sound man kept thrusting a microphone in my face, asking “So, what’s your theme for this year?”

After an hour our children found this a lot less glamorous than an MTV music video and abandoned us in favor of other entertainment. We were two wardrobe changes into it and I wanted to adhere myself to the liquor cabinet with the glue gun. My husband, however, was thoroughly enjoying himself, pontificating about the placement and quantity of lights being central to the overriding thematic endeavor and character development of the yard.

As the sun began to set, we lit up several sections of the yard to see how it looked. It looked like we needed more lights. 

As we frantically strung more lights on anything that wasn’t moving, the filmmakers continued to wave the microphones in my face, building the reality tension, this time asking “Do you think you’ll finish on time?”  What I was thinking was that the crew would look great hanging by light strings on the house eaves like jolly Christmas pinatas.

No matter what anyone says, it isabout the lights. These producers were firm in their belief that there’s no such thing as too many when it came to lights. How could it be too many if your house looks like a jeweled, otherworldly fairyland? I might say there’s too many when the heat from all that wattage burns the wrinkles off my aging homeowner’s face as efficiently as an acid peel.

By this time, neighbors had started to gather around, wearing Santa hats and sweaters. Good sports, all, I rewarded them with refreshing margaritas disguised in hot chocolate mugs. By seven-thirty we were ready for the big ‘light-up.’ Friends were stationed at fuse boxes in order to throw the master electrical switches. I made my list of available fire extinguishers and hoses, checked it twice, and wondered if arriving aircraft would confuse our home for Los Angeles International airport.

“Three, two, one, Merry Christmas!”everyone exclaimed as the lights went on. Cameramen filmed from every angle and interviewed the neighbors. Lights twinkled from every bush and tree. The Hollywood sign looked just like it does on postcards. The electronic Santa danced and sang, and the inflatable snowman had a Viagra moment, slowly inflating in the yard. It was beautiful.

When it was all over and the film crew had left us alone, I thought about the show airing in December. There would be people wanting to drive by our home and see the display. That’s when I turned to my husband and said “You realize we’ll be setting this up again in eight months.”