The C9 bulbs sit snug and proud, wrapped around the palm. It’s fat, freshly trimmed, and still full of green. Through the fall and into winter, palms don’t change. “It looks like a pineapple,” my husband says. “A glowing one.” He’s right; our own tropical Christmas. But whose kids are those?     The holiday is celebrated here, yes, but you have to drive to the cities to see red and green explosions alongside gifts in excess. A peek into our low-income town will show you single strands of dim lights, old-school decor and a few lawn ornaments you might consider tacky. Big deal. We who possess bright white…