Christmas in July

    I've been seeing a lot of Christmas in July sales around Phoenix.  Try as I might, I just can't get in the holiday spirit when the thermometer reads 108 day after day after day.  In Phoenix in the summer everyone blames laziness on the heat. Not exercising,  eating only take out food from a greasy Chinese restaurant instead of cooking, never wanting to get dressed and leave the house,  can all be explained by "it's too hot." As can the extra twenty pounds you have around your waist by October. Still,  I don't  want to blame my inability to imagine Christmas on the 100 plus temperatures. Science fiction writers haven't actually traveled to say, Mars, but that doesn't prevent them from  writing as if they have. 

     Besides, I could be taking advantage of some great sales.  My friend, Penny, would have all her Christmas shopping done by July. Presents wrapped and in the closet. That always seemed so very smart to me. 

     And isn't being a writer all about playing make believe? Aren't I suppose to create imaginary people, places and things with words? Which sounds just the tiniest bit crazy, or maybe that's what keeps writers  sane. Even so, when I tried to be enthusiastic about Christmas-themed sales in July, my creative thinking was no match for the desert.  

     I know that other parts of the country are toasty right now, but the Arizona desert and it's months of intense heat make the idea of drinking cocoa and singing Christmas carols, and everything else that goes with Christmas shopping, seem as impossible to me as singing an opera. Even my dog leaves the room when I start singing. 

     Christmas in July was featured on a television station last week. I hoped watching A Christmas Carol yet again might get me in the spirit. Here is Christmas Present with mean old Scrooge in an old black and white film version of Charles Dicken's classic book. As I watched this same movie in my air conditioned house wearing shorts in front of a fan while eating sherbert,  I found myself getting bored. I didn't even care when  Scrooge turned generous and helped Tiny Tim. I felt like a terrible uncaring person. I blamed it on the heat. 

    After seeing yet another Christmas in July sale, I had it.  Christmas belongs in December, not July. I don't care if my job as a writer is to have an active imagination. I don't want to think of shopping for anyone when stepping outside makes me feel I might burst into flames.

    What I do find myself enjoying is any photos or movies with snow. Just looking at this little red cabin makes me feel cozy inside and gives me hope. Also joy because I don't have to do any shoveling of the white stuff. The air is chilly, the presents are wrapped beneath an evergreen tree, and the people are inside having a glass of wine beside a fire. Wait. No fire. I don't want to imagine anything hot. 

    I trust when December comes so will the beautiful Arizona weather.  The temperature in winter dips to a brisk 60 degrees. Brrrr....  I will be in the spirit to decorate a tree and eat too much fattening food at parties and shop. The chilly weather, the lights, even the crowds at the mall make for the holiday in season.  Christmas in July is lonely. 

     I know Santa will return. I know he exists because we took our photo together when he visited Phoenix. Right now he is busy with his elves making toys at the North Pole. I know he will remember me in December. ( See I still have an imagination.)

    I know this blog about July is late. I blame my tardiness on the heat. Soon it will be August, the month kids and teachers dread and parents cheer.  

    Where was this book when I was a kid? I wonder if there is a version for parents of children returning to school. The title might be Free at Last. The one for teachers could be titled How Many Days Until Christmas Break?