The season has been unusually warm. The suburban lawns, usually covered in snow by now, still have patches of green. The air- usually crisp and brittle, has been mild and calm.
The big game has been played, the turkey cooked and eaten and the seasonal sales are in full swing- but it just doesn’t feel like Christmas yet.
After 8 years in Utah I’ve come to expect the snow that falls in sheets every year. The unseasonably warm weather has me anticipating Halloween rather than the Holidays.
Though I’m not a fan of the cold, something about shielding myself with warm sweaters, hot drinks, and snug blankets as the whipping winds blow and ice coats the ground, is comfortable.
Rather than a Rocky Mountain Christmas, I am reminded of the winters of my childhood, back in the coastal plains of Texas, where the thermometer rarely dipped below 40 degrees.
The lack of cold never bothered me before. It was all I ever knew as a kid: mild temperatures hanging just above freezing- never any snow.
Still our home was always decorated with an old tree, filled with all the ornaments 6 kids could make- and the nativity scenes my mom collects.
We would decorate when Thanksgiving passed- listening to Christmas music. The lights, the manager, and lop-sided old tree: it always felt like Christmas.
Now, the days on the calendar pass faster and faster. The end of the year approaches, nearer and nearer. Yet, I don’t feel Christmas this year.
Bringing Mae Flowers 