Well, Halloween is over. Take down the scary skulls and witches and put up the boring turkeys. Add those jack-o-lanterns to your yard waste bin (those are compostable, right?) and start planning your Thanksgiving meal, because the holiday season is officially upon us. I love Halloween, but the day after tends to bring a feeling of deep foreboding. Once the trick or treaters have headed home to their sugar induced comas, I am faced with a dark reality. Christmas is less than two months away and somehow, the holidays just won't feel right.
Don't get me wrong. I love the holidays. I love the food, the music, the decorations, oh the decorations! So much glitter! So many lights! Its the one time a year that you can pretty much plaster your house in tinsel and lights and cheesy blowup dolls and no one looks down on you for it. They actually enjoy your spirit!
Now that the child is older, I look forward to sharing all of those holiday traditions that tend to lose their spark when it just two grownups doing them, like making cookies for Santa or decorating the tree, or drinking hot chocolate by the fire (on non spare the air days, of course). But a lot of these traditions lost a little of their spark for me when I moved to warmer climates. 364 days of the year, I am thrilled to live in California. I love the weather here. And I truly hate snow. But having grown up with it, snow is pretty ingrained in my memories of Christmas. And Thanksgiving. And Halloween actually (don't get me started on the year they canceled Halloween because of an ice storm. It was traumatizing!). Many of the reasons I hate snow are the same ones that make me nostalgic for it, which makes no sense at all. Yet, when the holidays roll around, I find myself wishing for some white stuff to fall gently for a white Christmas. Then I remember the cold, the wet and the ice, the lost electricity, the chapped lips and salt encrusted pant legs, the canceled trick or treating (it was the last year I was allowed to go. I'm not over it!) and I'm suddenly happy again to find myself in 70 degree weather on the shortest day of the year.
For the past ten years, I've been working hard to reconcile my childhood memories of winter with my current winter experiences. And it seems strange to me that my husband has only seen snow a few times in his life and that we will have to drive a couple hours for my child to build her first snowman. Have you ever taken a road trip with a toddler? That's a lot of planning for a snowman! But I'll do it, because I think its important that she have that snowman. And maybe, after not seeing the snow for over ten years, its time to remind myself how much I hate it. I'm starting to think a little too fondly of the stuff. Anyone else have a deep seated hatred for the snow?