Seriously. Grape juice. I'm not enjoying it, but I wanted something fruity and it was the only thing we had in the fridge that fit that category. I don't think anything could go together less: grape juice and Perry Como's "It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas." That's why I'm making hot chocolate and waving as the purple juice swirls its way down the drain. Good-bye, attempt at being healthy. Give me a chocolate death any day of the week.
You know what? I miss snow. I miss fat flakes of frozen water kissing my eyelashes, the layer upon layer upon layer that was required just to venture outside. Granted, 35 degrees gets pretty cold sitting on a carriage just off the river, wind slashing at my face and stiff fingers like it's 12 below zero. Of course, glancing at the temperature in my home town (-17 to Savannah's 50!) makes me thankful that I am sitting in the South.
I can't help but stare at the barren ground beneath our deck. Because it rains in the South instead of snows, the grass is anything but dead. The trees in Savannah, Live Oaks, are green year round. Aside from a dramatic temperature difference, it is summer year round. Only in the last few weeks have the five deciduous trees in town turned color. It's two weeks from Christmas. And yes, I'm dreaming of a white one. Give me frozen lungs, snot that you have to chip from your nose, and white puffs of air with every brave exhale. Give me the ice crystals hanging from the dead tree limbs. I even long (slightly) for the sunny sky, indecipherable from the white horizon.
Of course, once Christmas is gone, I'll be able to embrace the Sunny South once again. But the one time that snow, cold, and slush is welcome is during December. I like drinking hot cocoa, looking at the Christmas lights outside and being thankful for central heating. It's weird, walking outside in a t-shirt in the middle of December. So now, I drink hot cocoa, staring at the plethora of lights on the fake tree (it's a sin, I know, but weirdly, we have so much furniture in the house now that we don't have room for a live one) and walk outside only when John needs to smoke. I stare at the white puffs that float from his lips, because 50 degrees is too warm for it to come out of my nonsmoker's mouth.
I never thought I'd meet people who have never seen snow in person. To them, snow is something perfect and gentle that floats down from the sky as the tween laughs and turns in circles, grinning at the camera. They are shocked to hear about the nasty side effect of the cold: ice. Ice on the roads, ice on your house, ice in your nose. When John told our friends about having a survival kit in the trunks of our cars in case we break down in the dead of winter, they stared at us. Apparently, being able to die from exposure to weather is weird. Huh. Fancy that.
Despite the danger of Christmas in Northern Minnesota, at least there was some snow. I can't wait to move somewhere (like the mountains, or even Oregon) that has all four seasons. I've loved having this heat (I'll take fire over ice any day), and as much as I bitch about the cold...there are just a few months out of the year that it needs to happen.
