Un Holy Night

“Have a holly, jolly Christmas. It’s the best time of the year,” chirped Burl Ives merrily from the car radio.
“If I hear that song one more time I swear I’ll through a brick through it,” Grumpy shouted.
“Come on, it’s Christmas,” I said. “It’s fun.”
We were driving around the streets of Naperville seeking out holiday homes to photograph to show the folks back home.
After consulting the Naperville Sun website for their annual map, I had plumbed the addresses into the GPS. True it was 10 o’clock at night, the roads were clogged with ice and snow and the temperature was 6F, but the lights were pretty.
There’s something magical about driving through the snow in a no horsed closed convertible. Over the fields we went. Arguing all the way.
“Where are we?” said Grumpy. “Are you sure we’re still in Naperville even? We’ve seen nothing but black open space for the past five minutes.”
“It’s just Springbrook Prairie,” I said, thankfully seeing a sign. You don’t get too many prairies in London, so this didn’t exactly help.
“A prairie? For goodness sake. I thought you just wanted a couple of photos. We could have taken snaps of our neighbors’ houses,” Grumpy growled. “We’ll be half way to Springfield in a minute.”
To make matters worse, the usually highly effective car heater only seemed to be operating on two temperatures. Sauna hot or North Pole cold.
“Feliz Navadaz,” Jose Feliciano greeted us from the radio. I must admit for all the fuss Fresh has made about being full of new music unlike its rival the Lite, it seems to have caved in over the holiday season big time.
“My Spanish has really improved since we’ve lived here,” I said, trying to change the subject. “Now I can say Happy Christmas as well as ole.”
We continued to drive around the town. Back towards downtown Naperville, we stopped at Woodlake Court, Sibling Court, but thankfully not at the divorce court which for a while was where I thought we were heading.
We found ourselves back in the historic district.
“I can’t stand much more of this,” said Grumpy. I was actually quite comfy, but then again he was the one driving in the ice, then getting out into the deep snow to take photos with a heavy camera.
“Where’s the next house? Oh, it’s coming up on the right.”
We swerved to a halt outside a small house with a single string of lights around the door.
“Don’t know how this got into the list,” he said. “Are you sure it’s right?”
All the other houses had been swamped in lights, nativity scenes, Santas, toy soldiers, illuminated candy canes and elves. It did look a bit sad.
“Yes. North Webster,” I replied. “That’s right.”
“We’re not in North Webster. We’re in South Webster,” shouted Grumpy, completely devoid of any Christmas spirit. “Can’t you even get that right?”
We drove home in silence. Grumpy was as frosty as the snowman, but at least it gave me a silent night.