They didn’t take my Oxford comma; they can’t have my “e” either.
There’s no picture postcard photo ops here in December. The sky turns grey, the wind kicks up and knocks an extra 20 degrees off the temperature, and everything dries out and becomes even more horribly static-charged than it was before.
I started to type “staticky” instead of static-charged because that’s what I usually say. But it turns out that spell check says “staticky” isn’t actually a word, even though I’ve used it my entire life. Who knew?
At any rate, it’s not a fun place to try to get in the holiday spirit. I’ve had maybe three white Christmases in my life.I spent 17 years here the first time around, and think we had snow ON Christmas once. I had a beautiful white Christmas on the Olympic Peninsula one year with WB, and a mountainous white Christmas when we lived in northern NM.
In a lifetime of mainstream media propaganda of television, cards, movies, and songs about what we’re supposed to dream of this time of year, I’ve gotten the reality three times out of more than 30 holiday seasons.
I’ve been gypped.
When I was a kid, my mom talked a lot about wanting to go on vacations for Christmas. She wanted to travel up north to Denver and spend a week in a ski lodge. My dad’s protest was always that we should be home with family for the holiday. Mom always said that we could have Christmas there, and then come home to have the family gathering afterward. No dice, and I never got why she wanted to go, anyway.
I think maybe she was just trying to find a place to have the picture postcard Christmas, one time.
I get that.
I’m not the type to get stressed about the holidays, really. I like doing all the baking (if I have the time and money, which does not happen every year). I like all the decorating (if I have the time and the help). I like the music, and the crazy people out and about, and the general furor that fills the air at my store. I loathe and despise the actual shopping, of course, but that’s mostly Rhett’s job now, and thank the powers that be for the internet.
I’m hosting a cookie exchange for my employees, for pete’s sake. And a tacky Christmas sweater contest. I’m no grinch.
But New Mexico is not friendly to the tender holiday feelings. She just wants to remind you that she was never really meant for human habitation, and tries to get everyone to stay inside, out of site, for three months out of the year.
Maybe, one of these years, we’ll be someplace where it feels a little more real to be ticking off the day’s until Santa’s visit. Maybe we’ll end up someplace with four seasons instead of one and a half. I’d like to try that, for a change, but I’d probably just find something else to complain about there.