Right now it's a week and a half before Christmas, and I'm wearing flip flops.
Winter is so different in Florida. I still can't get used to it. It never feels like Winter and only sometimes feels like Fall. I got to wear my boots and jacket the other day when the evening temp dipped down into the low 60's. By the next day, it was 78. Today it was 82.
People put lights on palm trees here. Instead of chasing snowflakes, Bentley runs around the lawn with his mouth open trying to snatch bugs out of the air. Instead of scraping snow off the driveway, we're sweeping off sidewalk chalk and grass clippings. Neighbors are putting up blowup snowmen on their lawns because they'll never be able to make a real one. We still use our AC during the day.
Despite our desire for a white Christmas, I think a Florida Christmas may actually more closely resemble the weather around Christ's birth. There were no sparkling lights except the stars. Instead of snow there was powder fine sand, instead of boots there were sandals, and coarse linen took the place of fuzzy blankets. The weather was warm enough to sleep outside with the sheep, but cool enough to make you grateful for a stable. I guess, when it's all said and done, it's really not about the snow or the weather or the lights or the food or the gifts or the festivities. It's about Someone's birth and the begining of a life that would change the world forever.