Tiki Tacky

I remember when it seemed that every one of my neighbors had installed solar landscape lighting, and how much I envied their muted glow. I began to research, immediately, and on seeing the price-tag, decided I could wait until next year, and the next year, and the next. ]

This year I made the jump, purchasing a dozen ten-inch lamps, which I arranged in various flower beds in such a manner as to suggest I’d given their placement little or no thought. I admire them nightly, as the dogs and I go for one last backyard stroll. And I take particular delight upon seeing them blink on as I sit on my dusky patio.

I realized recently that the shape of the sky I can see above my patio has changed little over the years. Many decades-old pines, their branches laden with a bumper crop of pine cones, strain to fill the space and fail, graciously. I like looking into the space I am given. The familiarity of it brings comfort.

That was before I saw them.

My son’s bellow interrupted my reverie forcing my eyes away from my patch of blue to the window nearest the patio. His emergency averted, I shifted my hips to a new place of comfort, and before I could assume the position, they caught my eye. It started as a twinkle; a yellowish twinkle that spoke of fire and warmth. I squinted to get a better look as the pines swayed in and out view. Within seconds I was sure. They were tiki lamps.  My neighbor had tiki lamps!

My first reaction was to scan the grounds for signs of a party. After all, everyone knows that no one lights tiki lamps unless they are having a party.  But, the grounds were quiet, save for one adolescent boy and his golden retriever, who danced in circles around his feet in preparation for his sailing of the Frisbee he held in one hand.  I squinted, again.

Their deck was awash in the glow of firelight! I counted three lamps, fully aware that the pines obscured my view, and that there could be many more lamps that I couldn’t see. I watched the boy and his dog, sure that his guests would join him momentarily, but they never did. The solar light nearest me blinked on as though aware of the competition.

The boy finally threw the disc, prompting the retriever to bound down the deck stairs, as his master made his retreat into sliding glass doors that allowed the blinking colors of a massive television screen.

I have twinkle lights. They swag between burgeoning, green hanging baskets in the sun-room. I love their tiny warmth.

And now I have solar landscape lighting. I admire their glow.

But, I don’t have tiki lamps.