It’s 80 degrees outside here in Florida. I’m not trying to rub it in to the rest of the country who are experiencing all time lows. I love the warmth. I’m the type that will get into a hot car and just sit there for a while before turning on the air. My husband, who is from Colorado, feels like we’re faking the holidays. To him, Christmas means cold and it means snow.
But I grew up in Arizona. Christmas to me means a fake tree. It means a insanely clear sunny sky. It means listening to Nat King Cole and drinking V8 juice that’s always in our stockings. It means lighting a fire in a fireplace when it’s 75 degrees out.
So as I walk barefoot to my mailbox to get Christmas cards from my friends and snuggle up on the couch and open all of them by the glow of our Christmas tree lights…it feels just like Christmas should. Warm and fuzzy.