illuminated by luminaries

Every year Avondale does their annual luminaries celebration. For years, I have heard about this event, about the hayrides that occur and the crowds of people. I had a general understanding that it was a fun time, but not a fun time that I had ever participated in. It seemed like some exclusive, for the neighbors’ type of thing. And also, we had our own dang luminaries that I could drive around and see. What is all that exciting or different from one lit up [possibly enflamed] paper bag?

Well, this year, I finally got an official invitation to partake in Avondale’s luminary extravaganza. Actually, I got two official invitations. And somehow, being that my grandmother recently moved to the area, I felt completely compelled to participate.

We parked at my grandma’s house around 5:45 and, armed in hand with wine and cookies, made our way to party numero uno. We walked through the park, whose winding trails were lined with luminaries. The air was a crisp negative twenty degrees, so it really felt like the holidays, and the walk warmed our veins. The luminaries really were beautiful. Somehow tea candles and paper bags can turn a street into a serene, angelic sort of place. The appropriate oohs and ahhs were distributed amongst us.

When we reached the strip of stores and restaurants on St. Johns Ave. a small trickle of people had already started to form. Horse drawn sleds [carriages] were beginning to roam the streets, looking for warm bodies to fill their seats. There were large black stallions of horses, and sweet, little white ponies. We passed the restaurants, the shops, the people on the street waiting for tables, and even a luminary in a wild, smothering flame.

We finally arrived at party number one: the street. A beautiful house on the edge of the strip, covered in sparkling white lights and red, velvety ribbons. Adults filtered in and out of the house, between the chili and the cookies and the soups and the cakes. Tables adorned the front yard, while kids played in the street shouting at the slow trickle of people-filled trailers making their way down St. Johns. What I had assumed to be a sort of neighborly affair was shaping up to be quite the event.

We sat at the table, watching as more and more floats began to pass by. Extravagantly lit, decorated with Santa’s, blow up Frosty Snowmen, filled with chatty children chucking hard candies as our bodies became targets for the sweet projectile bullets, the floats started to fill the street little by little.

Eventually, we moved on to party number two: the float. I dashed inside, grabbed a quick chicken finger and miniature quiche, poured some hot cider and put on my Santa’s hat. We climbed inside the trailer and laid blankets over the hay and then over our legs before making our way down St. John’s Ave. At first, we were far away from the action. But as we drove, the cold winter air blasting our cheeks, we passed hordes of cars and trucks and trailers who screamed “Merry Christmas” at us with smiles and waves. Occasionally, a peppermint would fly through the air and [hopefully] land gently in the hay by our feet, avoiding our heads and extremities. The closer we got, the more people and trailers and Christmas lights we saw.

One trailer blasted Christmas Karaoke loudly into the street. Another had rocking chairs and benches filling its space. Some were decked out with lights strung high into the sky. And yet another had taken the seat out of a car and strapped themselves into that.

We laughed as the air chilled our faces and hands. We collected candies that had bounced off our heads and popped them into our mouths. We waved and laughed with the people around us. How had I not done this before? I had known about it for years, but this time, illuminated by the luminaries, I realized that this is something we should all partake in. Just come and stand in the streets, or drive a trailer from the beaches, or hop on board a horse drawn carriage. However you do it, don’t let this very merry Jacksonville experience float on by.