How cruel it is that someone like me should be living in Sunny California. Before I start sounding more and more like an ungrateful wretch, let me make clear that I think there is nothing intrinsically wrong with SoCal. More or less, there's something mentally wrong with me (as my mom suggested the other day) for preferring cold and ice over sun and warmth.
It's just that for the longest time, winter brought along so much more than just a tiny drop in the thermometer and some lukewarm holiday wishes. While living on the east coast, I looked forward to December every year because I loved how the cold intensified every aspect of Christmas. The holiday, as I knew it, absolutely had to have me shivering senseless so that I could run faster inside to a warm room with friends and hot chocolate. December here has me donning a light coat at the most, and I can't even put to use the beautiful white scarf my friend knitted for me.
So while I'm sitting here in dreadful ennui for the next two weeks, I'm searching through everything to bring back tidbits of what winter felt like.
Just like what Ella Fitzgerald has been singing in my head for the past week or so, may all your Christmases be white. For me, I'm dreaming of a white Christmas, and that's as far as it will ever go this time around.
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