Dreaming of a white Christmas

It’s ten days before Christmas and I am beyond far behind on preparations. I never got a tree, much as I wanted to this year. I only managed to light the menorah for five of the past eight nights because I wasn’t home. I never got my cards together. I haven’t even begun to put together packages to send back east. Frankly, I am completely lacking in Christmas spirit. This isn’t atypical for me. It’s been a long time since I liked Christmas. Most years I find myself feeling like Charlie Brown, wondering just what precisely the point of Christmas is. I get overwhelmed by the commercialism, the pressure, the feeling of trying to cram activities into busy schedules. And don’t get me started on Christmas music. I hate Christmas music. Hate it. The one exception might be “Last Christmas,” but that’s simply because, well, how you can you ever go wrong with Wham!?

This year marks the second Christmas I will spend away from my loved ones on the east coast, much to my great chagrin. I’m sure this has a lot to do with my particular apathy toward the holiday this year. However, I believe it also has a lot to do with the weather. Christmas and snow, ice and cold weather and inextricably intertwined. It’s nearly impossible for me to be thinking about the holidays when it is still warm enough to walk on the beach. I mean, I don’t even have to worry about scraping ice off my windshield here, or thawing the icicles in my hair before I go into work. I imagine that after living here long enough, you overcome this mental block. I’m curious to know exactly how long it will take me. A year and a half is definitely not long enough.


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