This year officially marks my 50th Florida Christmas. The last year I spent in the land of white Christmas (Lynnfield, MA) was almost celebrated in a snow drift 10 miles from my grandmother's home. At noon, we were warned to get up the road to grandmother's house while the getting was still good. By nightfall, the snow was piled so high against her first floor windows we couldn't see outdoors. In March, we left for Florida. The next year we celebrated by swimming in the pool on Christmas Day. Lots of tourists still do that, but not many Floridians. Somehow, our blood thins out and we start saying we're freezing every time we put a sweater on.
Might as well get a nice hot cup of tea, wrap up in a woolly afghan and watch fireplace TV, ohhhhh and pray for the relatives in New Jersey, Connecticut, Pennsylvania, Virginia, Massachusetts and Missouri who think we are just a couple of sissy whiners.