December
This is December.
Bells. Constant, jingling bells. White and red and green. December is lights gleaming on a cold, quiet night.
December is snow. In other months, snow is somewhat of a nuisance (especially if you aren't much of a skier). But snow in December always is prettier, always more welcome. The first snowballs you form in your hands feel full of potential this month.
Pine permeates December. There is not a more joyous scent than walking through a Christmas tree lot.
December is too many Christmas songs to count. It's year-end lists and countdowns. It's days of preparations for one holiday, than a sudden realization that the next holiday is coming, and with that next holiday, a new calendar. It's Saturday NFL games (though only one this year) and purple and pink candles.
December is George Bailey jumping into the ice after his little brother, falling into the gym floor pool, pulling the wood off the bannister, saying hi to Bedford Falls over and over. It's Ralphie's parents gazing at the snow. It's Charlie-in-the-Box, bumbling burglars and a tree that won't accept heavy ornaments.
Since moving to Utah, December is different than the few decades before in the Midwest. We don't get that much snow in December any more (we thought it would be fun to do a sledding party for Michael's birthday at a local park, but the weather has never cooperated the past four years). We don't travel for the holidays. It's just our little family, carving out our own traditions and memories for this season.
The first day of winter comes this month. After that, the days get longer. Colder, but longer. The cycle of the year begins again.
This is December.
Bells. Constant, jingling bells. White and red and green. December is lights gleaming on a cold, quiet night.
December is snow. In other months, snow is somewhat of a nuisance (especially if you aren't much of a skier). But snow in December always is prettier, always more welcome. The first snowballs you form in your hands feel full of potential this month.
Pine permeates December. There is not a more joyous scent than walking through a Christmas tree lot.
December is too many Christmas songs to count. It's year-end lists and countdowns. It's days of preparations for one holiday, than a sudden realization that the next holiday is coming, and with that next holiday, a new calendar. It's Saturday NFL games (though only one this year) and purple and pink candles.
December is George Bailey jumping into the ice after his little brother, falling into the gym floor pool, pulling the wood off the bannister, saying hi to Bedford Falls over and over. It's Ralphie's parents gazing at the snow. It's Charlie-in-the-Box, bumbling burglars and a tree that won't accept heavy ornaments.
Since moving to Utah, December is different than the few decades before in the Midwest. We don't get that much snow in December any more (we thought it would be fun to do a sledding party for Michael's birthday at a local park, but the weather has never cooperated the past four years). We don't travel for the holidays. It's just our little family, carving out our own traditions and memories for this season.
The first day of winter comes this month. After that, the days get longer. Colder, but longer. The cycle of the year begins again.
This is December.
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