A Visit to Mr. Merriman's House

Hi, ho, it’s off to Torrington we go, to see The Christmas House. The husband is skeptical but game, especially when bribed with the promise of a post-Christmas House dinner at the Venetian restaurant. The 17-year-old is just skeptical. However, this is not a choice. Every now and then it’s only fair that Mom gets her way.

The Christmas House, for anyone who doesn’t know, is an otherwise undistinguished house at 287 Main St. in downtown Torrington, which every year since 1981 — yes, it’s celebrating its 25th anniversary — has been emblazoned with a billion (actually, more like 50,000) twinkling colored lights and a host of decorations, animated and otherwise.

It’s quite a sight and makes for an amazing drive-by, but wait — there’s more! After 6 p.m., any day of the week, you can actually go in the house and climb through three levels of lighted, musical, animated stuff: dolls and animals and Santas and elves and angels and carolers and electric trains and hundreds of miniature houses. It’s quite an experience, one I assured the 17-year-old (now muttering into her iPod in the back seat of the car) she would long remember.

Of course, she doesn’t remember the last time we visited, about eight years ago, which is just as well. That night, I recall, was freezing cold and the line waiting to get in was long. On this night, the air is balmy and the line not so long. Nevertheless, the husband and the daughter are all for jumping ship and heading straight to dinner — "We can see it fine from here," they say, from across the street, rather unnecessarily, since you can see this house from Omaha.

But the mother prevails.

And who is the elf at the front gate, wearing a Dollar Store Santa hat with blinking reindeer, but Ron Merriman himself, proprieter of the Christmas House. He tells us he’s a little short on helpers tonight: His mother is manning the top floor, from whence she presses a light that signals when he can let more anxious revelers in.

While we wait, we chat, and Mr. Merriman allows as how this obsession began with a Disney collection he bought his sister and then it grew like Topsy. He has hundreds of animated dolls on display, but another 400 in storage: He buys them on eBay and just can’t stop. "I’m a collector," he shrugs. He decorates for other holidays, too, but no longer for Halloween: "They trash the place."

But Christmas is the big one. Merriman is a light guy, himself; his dream is to see Torrington’s Main Street Christmas lights go right up past his house "to the end." Meanwhile, he’s doing what he can. While he’d rather not say exactly what he spends on electricity, he allows as how "it’s in the thousands."

Nevermind the 40-to-50 cans of chocolate for the hot chocolate (gratis) at the end of the tour. Or the security. One year someone broke through the living-room wall (on the other side of the show half of the house) and stole video equipment. So Merriman installed cameras.

"You gotta watch ‘em.

They’ve stolen chocolate, too, can you believe it?"

He doesn’t charge for the tour; there is a "donations" box but "people walk right by it."

Suddenly, the red light is blinking and up we go, climbing the outside stairs through the dazzling lights, past a glassed-in Santa and the Mrs. asleep (in separate beds, I might add) with Santa’s snores booming out through the night air. And up we climb, through three flights of floor-to-ceiling holiday stuff, blinking, singing, ringing, whistling, clacking, waving and otherwise screaming: CHRISTMAS! HOLIDAY! ELECTRICITY!

Where there’s a space, there’s an animated figure or a case of collectibles, all holiday related, many with Coca Cola or Disney themes. There are elves and angels and trains and miles of gold tinsel. It’s all a bit overwhelming — "eerie" is the husband’s word — and potentially claustrophobic (the stairs are narrow, as are the aisles, and even the ceiling is covered with stuff). But wonder of wonders, the 17-year-old thinks it’s great. Go figure.

It’s certainly an impressive testament to one man’s obsession, and off the beaten track, given our usual holiday "activities." We feel we’ve gotten our money’s worth (so to speak).

On the way out, Merriman tells us this is a pretty good night, weather-wise. "When you get snow, they track it through the house."

Over our wonderful meal at the Venetian, where nothing ever seems to change — not the gracious maitre’d, the waitresses in their sensible shoes who call us "dear," the fish pool with the pennies in the bottom, nor the murals of someone’s fantasy of Venice adorning the walls — we decide this will become a holiday tradition. At least until next year.

The Christmas House is open daily (even Christmas) from 6 to 9 p.m. through Jan.10.