Dreaming of a warm Christmas

By Kimberly Strouse

This year marks my eighth Christmas as a non-Texas resident. I remember Christmases in Texas in shirtsleeves. Now I have snow boots, ice scrapers, ear warmers, scarves, mittens, glove liners, sock liners, long coat, short coats, dress coat, and rain coat. This is cold, bleak, workhouse weather, straight out of Charles Dickens. Plenty about it is still, all these years later, very foreign.
I have long since gotten over the initial things about Michigan, like the way that the washing machines up here are rigged up to let you have a last look at your dirty wash water in a slop sink before it disappears down the drain forever (don't even ask, because they can't tell you why), and the maniacal devotion people here have to the state of Florida. Everyone goes to Florida when they have a spare moment, even though there are plenty of nice, warm, southern states available for use that might even be less humid, less buggy, and less crocodile-filled.
The cold weather brings out the seasonal weirdness. Just this past weekend I saw the ubiquitous sign advertising "grave blankets," which necessitated much furtive questioning on my part when I first saw it. It turns out to be some pine branches arranged and wired together in a sort of rectangle shape with maybe a wreath or a floral arrangement at the top. They're the size of the casket footprint, and I guess the occasion is just that it's cold, and you lay it on top of the grave, and . . . something. Pray? I don't know. I guess if we can take food to the cemetery on the Day of the Dead, then people can certainly take grave blankets to cover up their dearly departed loved ones. But. It seems to me, if you are worried about the dead being too cold in the winter, bury them closer to the equator.
Much is made of the seasons in this area. People who find out where I'm from are always quick to remark that they could never live anywhere where they couldn't experience each season. After having experienced several rounds of seasons, the fact of the matter is that you don't see anything you couldn't see on the Discovery Channel. The best part is that the Discovery Channel can be turned off before you have to rake those 20,000 leaves, or before you have to shovel that foot and a half of snow. They drone on and on about a White Christmas up here, but these very same snow devotees, these ambassadors of snow goodwill, are the first ones on a plane to Florida once the flakes start to fall, and they stay there as long as they can. It would seem that White Christmas, like so many things, is better in theory than in practice.
I miss my own warm Christmas weather. My own South Texas shopping and bargain hunting. Without having to put on boots, a coat, a scarf, gloves, and a hat. My own excellent tamales made by someone referred by a friend of a friend. With raisins, there have to be raisins. My own well-timed visits to my grandparents' house at mealtimes (what? Don't judge me.), soaking up all the best in food and conversation, and laughing until we cried. The smell of my best friend Brenda's house all season, as she baked and we sampled (mmm . . . snickerdoodles). I miss the general give and take of holiday news and advice (some of it unsolicited) with people who know you better than anyone, friends of 10, 20 years or more. I miss my friend Calixto's birthday (December 21st, everyone, it's not too late to get him something really special). And I miss waking up in my parents' house on Christmas morning, with an assortment of sisters and pets, and eating all day and laughing well into the night.
I know that Christmas is not about what we are missing, it's about what we are celebrating. This year, I will be celebrating my wonderful husband, and his generous family that treat me like I am their own. I tell them often that their love and support helped me make my move up here a joyous surprise. I will be celebrating the health and well being of my sisters, parents, and grandparents. I will thanking the Lord for such wonderful friends as I left behind, and such as I have found, who are true and loyal, funny, and good-hearted. Only the miles separate me from that which I miss the most; we are together always, in my heart.
God bless us, every one.

(Kimberly Strouse will be celebrating her Christmas, white or otherwise, in the metro Detroit area. Tamales have been located, and raisin negotiations are underway.)