I'm humming as I walk around the house these days because I do love Christmas. Lights now hang on my wall, and if it didn't make me nutty I'd hang jingle bells on the cats and officially become a crazy cat lady.
And soon I shall be spending Christmas the way it was meant to be spent - at the beach.
Call me crazy. Call me spoiled. But Bing Crosby was wrong. White Christmases are overrated. Try surfing warm turquoise waters or lounging on soft white sand in the shade of a coconut tree while tropical breezes blow. That's Christmas to me.
Yes, I've lived in snowy climes. Six years in Chicago, thank you very much. When it started snowing I was the first to shout "snowball fight!" and drag my dormmates outdoors for a battle. I remember feeling so cooped up one winter that I dashed out of my apartment around 1am and found myself at a deserted playground, where I made a snow angel and swung high on the swings. I love the crunch of snow under waterproof boots, the deserted lamplit quads at night the University of Chicago softened and blurred by flurries of snowflakes. The Vienna Woods were a gorgeous study in black and white in December.
But would I rather be lounging in a bathing suit under a hot yellow sun (covered in sunscreen) gazing out at blue-green ocean deepening to purple at the horizon?
Duh.
You know I'll be posting the required photo of Bellows, the best beach on earth. I'm so danged lucky.
Love and Happy Holidays to all. May you find the best beach on earth in your heart this holiday season!
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