December is my favorite month of the year. It’s hardly a secret. I fall in love with it all over again every year. Last year, I said hello to the month from Puerto Rico, while on the adventure of a lifetime. The ocean greeted me in from my hotel room in Arecibo. I’m not one to repeat adventures. This year, I’m saying hello from Texas and goodbye from Oregon. It’s going to be a magical month.
I love the crisp cold on days that are pregnant with snow. The blessing of seat warmers and hot leather on long, cold drives at night. Red cups at Starbucks, Bing Crosby on the radio, and watching people fall in love without the help of mistletoe. I love the look of anticipation when people unwrap presents. The smell of pine trees spicing up the house, bringing a little bit of the great outdoors into my living room. The white lights that glimmer like stars strung up and brought onto a smaller stage than the galaxies stretching across the skies. Laughter erupting from the kitchen as aprons are worn and cookies are put into the oven. I love celebrating Christmas, my birthday, and New Years all within a few days of each other. Those are the Oregon memories tattooed on my soul. What I think of when I think of December.
I love the life that it brings to what are otherwise some of the darkest days of the year.
But I always have to take a step back. Slow down my soul before it gets caught up in the false enchantment. Before I become another victim of mass commercialism, trying to buy love with presents and thick credit card bills that wait to be unwrapped long after the presents have disappeared under the tree.
The holidays are more than White Christmas. More than holiday parties and making spirits light.
