Christmas In July

What with Thanksgiving approaching, my having passed the bar (reason to make merry), and my two letters to Santa Claus (with a third on its way), it has seemed appropriate these past few days to pull out some of our Christmas music and get into the holiday spirit.

The only problem is that the last few days we've had temperatures between 85 and 90 degrees. This, of course, would make most any time of the year pleasant--but not this one. Now this weather feels entirely inappropriate and unwelcome.

As Jared would say "No. No."

This six week period or so just before Thanksgiving and through Christmas are times for at most 50 or 60 degree temperatures. The leaves should turn, I should see my breath in the evenings, and the crispness of the air as fall fades into winter. I should have to at least wear long sleeves in the evening, if not also a sweater or a coat. I should feel comfortable sipping hot cocoa in the evening, and a fire should seem like a welcome relief when I've been in the outdoors too long. In fact the colder and more wretched things get the better, since, for whatever reason, it seems to make the season warmer and more meaningful.

Instead, I'm stuck in the land of mild summers that never end and for the moment I cannot bear it! How on Earth am I supposed to listen to "Jingle Bells" or "Let it Snow" when there are no signs of frightful weather nor any cease to this pleasant sunshine?

These are supposed to be the times when people seek out their homes as refuge from the outside and at least figuratively huddle close. The weather is supposed to drive such gathering and hence make it more meaningful. It cannot, though, when I'm still running my air conditioner on November 20, and when I can just as comfortably hang out at the beach in a bathing suit as is in my living room. No. Something is very wrong here.

At this point I don't know what to do. I just can't escape the feeling that I'm faking it when I try to play Christmas music, especially mid day on days like today. Can there be no end to my suffering?

Sadly, I am faced with the stark reality that it is my lot to be bound for the next six weeks in this paradisical prison. Perhaps there were some commandments that, had I more fully kept, would have given me some place colder for the season. But alas! This is my fate. The days of my repentance are everlastingly too late. The harvest has ended, and my soul is stuck in sunny Southern California.