Christmas brings with it a whole world of home ownership about which I had forgotten: Decking the halls.

As luck would have it, Peacock Drive lives up to its name. As of Dec. 2 - more specifically as of about 20 minutes ago during my most recent night time stroll - our street is most flamboyantly lit of all those in our sizeable neighborhood.

Some streets are almost entirely dark. On ours, you could read directions from a prescription bottle standing in the light from a dozen different, dazzling houses. Peer pressure definitely is at work here.

It began last weekend. I suspect it will continue to build through at least mid-month.

On an unseasonably warm late November Saturday, five neighbors on the northern end of the street - all either next to or directly across from one another - spent portions of their afternoons decorating their homes. I saw them scrambling across rooftops, balancing on ladders, tucking extension cords behind bushes and into sidewalk cracks, dragging unrecognizable inflatables into position on front yards.

That night, they lit up like five little Christmas trees, all in a row.

I walked by them later, alternately impressed and aghast at what I saw. A white elephant, standing about three feet tall and fairly dancing with white lights, balanced a gift wrapped in cheery red paper on his trunk, slowly lifting and lowering the trunk as though to say, "From me!" A small train appeared to roll through that same yard. Four three-foot tall cylindered trees, no more than circles of white lights, formed a mini-forest there. An inflatable Mickey Mouse, smartly attired in green and red, beamed at passers-by. White icicle lights bedecked both upper and lower level. Blue net lights cozied up to each bush. Large green and red candy canes lined the sidewalk. That was one house.

The others were equally as spectacular. An inflatable Grinch here, a family of caroling snowmen there, sets of those creepy white wire reindeer with eerily slow-moving necks grazing and staring from this yard and that yard, lines of lights that created a flashing diamond on the roof of one house, multi-colored lights that wrapped completely around the second story of another house, 16-foot trees lit from stem to stern, two sets of Santa and his reindeer flying into the dark of night from the roofs of neighboring houses. Logistically, this setup didn't work. If put into motion, the two sleighs definitely would have collided mid-air, spewing toys and reindeer parts all over Peacock Drive. Aesthetically, however, it was a pleasant sight.

These homes were not just decorated. They were decked out.

Down on our end of the street, the homes stayed dark. But pressure was building. Something I heard tell of called Keeping Up with the Joneses was at work.

For myself, I felt a pit deep in my stomach that slowly crept around and lodged itself near where - were I male - a wallet would rest. This was a financial investment I hadn't considered, and six years of house-free living had left me completely unprepared. But though I had not the advantage of fancy tools, dual incomes and Home Depot Visa cards, as the new and lone single female on the block, my house had to give a respectable showing.

Saturday, Robby and I melded with the throngs at Wal-Mart and emerged unscathed, having swiftly snapped up the last three boxes of mulit-colored icicle lights. I had admired them on several houses on nearby Mercury Circle. They were flashy, yet cool and a bit cutting edge. Best of all, no one on Peacock Drive had yet selected them.

Three hours later, fingers numb, my son having long since deserted me for warm, indoor play at the neighbors' house, I plugged in the lights that spanned the eaves along the house's lower level, stood back and grinned at the sight. My smile did a fast flip.

A 9-row section of lights, smack dab above the garage, stared at me blankly. An obvious gap in an otherwise perfect set of teeth.

I got out the ladder, jiggled, then pushed in each individual bulb in the section, hoping for the flash of light that never came.

Cold and discouraged, I retreated to the house and a cold beer.

An hour later, refueled and ready to do battle, I came back out. The spare bulbs were in hand. I was ready to pull out and test each bulb in the striking section.

Except that now, there were two. Two 9-row sections of broken teeth.

In a fury, I yanked them down. What had taken three hours to uncurl and put into place took five minutes to remove.

Alone this time, I returned to Wal-Mart.

The clerk tisked. "Oh," she said, looking at the boxes. "We've had lots of trouble with those."

I exchanged them for six $2 boxes of cool blue mini lights. No uncurling required.

My house looks, well, nice. But rather boring when compared with the beauty queens down the street. Thank God my nearest neighbor opted for the sophisticated look of plain white lights. That way, I don't feel quite so mousey.

Suzanne, the matriarch in that house, said they long since gave up on putting on a show.

She nodded toward their home as she explained this. I noticed a quartet of simple green-and-red wreaths attached to each post on the front of their house. A string of garland ran along the eave from the garage to the end of the front porch. A small herd of wooden reindeer stood near the front door.

"I'm really big into making sure it looks nice during the day, too - not just at night."

I nodded, and felt the pit return to my stomach as I looked at my house. Bland and normal in this late afternoon hour except for the strand of unlit lights that were visible only if you knew to look for them. This was an entire new aspect of which I hadn't even thought.

But I will let this one go for my first winter, and resign myself to the fact that it will take years of collecting to reach the lavish levels of many of my neighbors. The true test of homeowner winter preparedness is still to come. Blizzard season is right around the corner, and I am prepared to meet it.

As of Tuesday, for the first time in six years, I own a snow shovel. Steel core shaft, sure-grip resin sleeve, graphite construction, long-lasting galvanized wear strip. In a very serious shade of gray.