The OC Beach Scene

For as long as I can remember, I’ve always dreamed of that storybook Christmas. You know–snow on the ground and in the trees, a crackling fire in the fireplace, building snowmen and throwing snowballs after opening presents around a hand-cut, hand-picked tree. Needless to say, growing up in Southern California, this enchanting fairytale–this cliche Christmas–never quite came to fruition. I’ve been surfing on Christmas, been biking down PCH in shorts and a t-shirt on Christmas, even had a watergun fight in my front yard on Christmas, but I’ve never had that classic “White Christmas” forever immortalized in film and song.

However, today as the rain pattered on our rooftop and pooled in perfect splashing puddles on our front porch, I realized that, for me, this gloomy gray weather is as much a part of Christmas as sleds and snowmen and skis are for people in other parts of the country. I’ve grown accustomed to our winter weather–grown to love the sock-soaking rainfall, the tree-rattling winds, the gray afternoons that seamlessly fade into night. Bing Crosby, you can have your white Christmas–I’ve found my own rainy, winter wonderland.

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