Dreaming of a Wet Christmas


December 4, 2023 — So far December has been...rainy. November, too, although we had one morning of light snow cover the day before Thanksgiving that turned to fog by noon. Man, there is nothing better for the theme of this blog than dripping Christmas decorations.

I mean, soggy inflatables and weeping light strings and muddy blow molds and wilting wreaths and just absolutely ugly groundcover everywhere. This is fantastic. Now that I’m a Christmas villain, I’ve been getting an absolute kick out of it and hope this dreary weather continues all month. I love that the sky is just unloading on all our carefully placed decorations (including mine, but that’s a different day’s topic).

I also like having a new reason to love the rain. I love it in the Fall because it fits that season. The decorations of Halloween look even better thrashing about in the wind and the rain. I love it in the summer because it gives temporary relief from that stupid season. I love it in the spring, although I don’t’ have a pithy reason for that (April showers bring May flowers?). I’ve always hated rain in winter, though, because, here in New England, that should’ve been snow. And I love snow.

I mean, one of the reasons I moved here was for white Christmasi. Back before my heart shrunk three sizes.

When I grew up in Maryland, white Christmasi almost never happened. But it was at least cold. Christmas looks best in white, but it can also pull off the bundled up look well, too. But a wet Christmas is an awful mood killer. Like Santa tore the sky open as he passed by the night before and didn’t care to fix it. Or regretted giving us all presents so he sent down a stormy chaser.

I used to think the most depressing things you could think about was a hot Christmas. I did my undergrad in Florida, and just down the road from the campus was a year-round Christmas shop. They sold decorations with Santa in swim trunks, beaming behind sunglasses on jet skis. His sleigh pulled by dolphins. Palm trees covered in twinkle lights. However, I always broke north for home over Christmas break and never got to experience waking up in a pool of sweat on Christmas morn.

But I’m thinking a hot Christmas is probably better than a wet one.

Here’s hoping Rudolph slips on my clammy roof shingles.