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I want my winter!

Winter arrived this morning at 10:35 am PST, and within a couple of hours the temperature at our house had reached 81 degrees F. A bit of a surprise (Uranus was rising in the Capricorn ingress chart), even by San Diego standards, and not an altogether welcome one. Sometimes our ridiculously congenial climate is entirely too perfect for anyone’s good.

People visiting or moving to Southern California from colder climes accuse us of “not having seasons.” Anyone born or bred here will tell you that’s absurd. The changing of seasons here is subtle, and would make for a rather dull wall calendar, but it works for us. It’s measured in the heavier blanket on the bed in winter, the first day of shorts in the spring, the debut of the air conditioner in summer, and a slight tang in the air come autumn. Sure, we rarely have an evening truly cold enough to warrant a roaring blaze in the fireplace without opening a few windows for balance; but on the other hand, we don’t have to drive on icy roads or shovel snow. All in all, it feels like a fair trade.

That’s why I’m amused by my neighbors who, during this festive season, mount expensive, complicated tableaux in their front yards, complete with shredded white insulation to mimic snow and artificial snow persons. Lights are fine, people – it gets dark pretty early, and we need all the light we can get – but face it, you’re not living in Connecticut.

But we’re not living in the Southern Hemisphere, either. And dammit, I’m not ready to throw off the heavy comforter on the bed and crank up the air conditioner. I want my winter, puny and nearly-imperceptible as it may be.

Blessings and cheer this solstice day, and on Christmas, Kwanzaa, and Hanukkah. Thank you all for visiting the Big Sky this year, for your welcome notes, and for making my world brighter and warmer even than San Diego in winter.