I once joked with an old college roommate that the only thing he did in excess was moderation. Of course, this said more about me than it did of him, because when you get down to it, the arguments in favor of excessive anything — those last couple of drinks, second desserts or a few more hands of blackjack — are pretty thin.
By the time we’re adults, at least the more responsible among us have likely embraced the comparatively healthier “everything in moderation” approach. But that doesn’t mean we won’t occasionally stray from the sublime to the ridiculous, because what fun is life without its occasional diversions?
Recent news that the Ashbury Homeowners Association board had effectively put the kibosh on Nick Thomas’ well-known Halloween house on Conan Doyle Road puts that old “excess/moderation” line in clear focus. For everything we do, even such as decorating our lawns and houses at Halloween, Christmas or other holidays, apparently there comes a point at which the joy and amusement we’re hoping to bring for others has turned to something else.
Sometime over the last 18 years and en route to 2,000-plus decorations with lights and music, Thomas’ efforts clearly eclipsed that point for some of his neighbors. Their concerns about safety and noise brought on by heightened visitor traffic spurred a new homeowners association rule last month limiting such displays to no more than 50 percent of one’s yard, excluding lights.
Given the decorative density that Thomas had amassed over the years, his Halloween house was clearly in the crosshairs. And so, this year, the display that drew what Thomas estimated as 8,000 people last year will not be.
In our neighborhood, one family has been slowly building a larger and larger collection of lawn decorations each Halloween, and similarly at Christmas. Seemingly from Oct. 1 to the New Year, the front and side yards on their corner lot give way to festive displays that entertain neighbors and passers-by alike. Sure, theirs has not come anywhere close to the kind of spectacle that Thomas’ had, but it has definitely grown.
To this point, I look forward to seeing how many new pieces they add each year and how much of their yard will be covered. Will we feel differently years from now should our neighbors’ festiveness reach Thomasian proportions? Perhaps, but we have no such fears to date.
At our house, my wife and I do our festive duty each Halloween and Christmas. Just this past weekend, I lugged around from the shed to the garage the comparatively humble two to three tubs of outdoor decorations that will grace our porch, lawn and windows when the neighborhood trick-or-treaters come calling on Oct. 31. Inside, Halloween similarly exploded from the orange and black bins in the basement that my wife decorates with each October. We’ll do the same at Christmas, but nothing on the scale of what our neighbor or Thomas have done.
Oh, we tried for a while. We bought the inflatable monsters, the mock headstones to resemble a grave yard and enough orange lights to give our house that familiar Halloween hue. Then the same at Christmas — more inflatables, more lawn ornaments, more lights. But where does it all end?
Don’t get me wrong. I’m no Scrooge, or whatever the Halloween equivalent would be. I once harbored aspirations of our house being THAT house, in a manner that would make Clark Griswold proud. But it takes a lot of time, effort and money to gather, store and erect all that goes into turning one’s home into a temporary tourist destination.
Which brings us to the odd psychology of it all. Once neighbors in close enough proximity plant their devil’s stake in the ground that theirs and not yours will be THAT house each Halloween, you’re off the hook. Sure, you could go severed toe to severed toe, one upping their ghost with two goblins in a never-ending battle for spine-chilling supremacy. Or you could just throw in the bloody towel and acknowledge that they’ve won. That their collection of witches and werewolves is far more elaborate than anything you could ever hope to assemble.
Now, what once felt like pressure to add more and more decorations each year has been replaced by the comfort of knowing I no longer have to, that whatever aspirations I had of making our home visible from the International Space Station can still be met by basking in the literal glow of our neighbors’ efforts instead!
More Top Picks Best Yogurt Makers
For the record, this is not our normal approach to life, or to parenting. We’re from the school of when the going gets tough, the tough get going. Pick yourself up by the bootstraps. Life gives you lemons? Add some chicken and pasta. Except when it comes to littering your lawn with festive holiday decor — sometimes it’s OK to embrace defeat.
Thomas has lamented that he’ll no longer be able to collect the thousands of dollars in donations that went to Down syndrome charity Gigi’s Playhouse, and so far our neighbors have done nothing the scope of which folks might pay to see. But I imagine that one day they might, that our street could eventually become the new Conan Doyle Road. That our homeowners association might eventually have to step in and bring things down a few bajillion watts. But we can worry about that later.
For now, it’s an undead issue.
Twitter: @RobManker
Rob Manker is a freelance writer who lives, works and parents in Naperville.