Living out here in West Texas Town less than 100 miles north of the U.S./Mexico border, it is easy to forget that it is December, much less the Christmas season.
I suppose the fact that I own neither television nor radio probably has something to do with my complete and utter detachment from reality this materialistic overhyped time of year, but I think the reason that I am so befuddled is because it doesn’t really feel like Christmas to me.
Yes, there was a cold snap over Thanksgiving weekend and even a little bit of snow, but if it weren’t for the pictures I took to prove it, I wouldn’t believe it. I have barely needed a jacket since I moved here, most days I can still wear my sandals if I feel like it, and as I type this, my kitchen window is wide open because it is nearly 60 degrees outside. (Did I mention that it is 11:00 pm?)
Admittedly this isn’t the first Christmas season that I have spent “down south,” but I have never before lived in a place where the concept of winter seems so utterly foreign: A place where scarves and snow boots are fashion accessories, where yucca trees are strung with Christmas lights, and where Santa sits serenely amongst the cacti.