“Grandma got run over by a reindeer,
walking home from our house
Christmas Eve…”
whined on the car radio as I trekked the main drag through downtown, passing light posts decked with aging garlands of Christmas trees, heralding angels, and perky snowmen, glittering in the mid day sun. My nose and fingertips grew cold and I redirected the vents on the dashboard so I could thaw out. “Can’t ever get the right temperature on these things.” I grumbled, turning the frigid air to a slower fan speed, now that the car had cooled off. Yep, Christmas in Florida is not what this Midwestern gal is used to, even now, after spending most of them here. Where is a good cold front when you need it?
Working in an all year Christmas Shop is novel, but in Central Florida; it’s downright odd. Good grief, before the ghouls of Halloween have even finished their Trick-or-Treating, the malls are plastered with bows and giant snowflakes and candy cane striped columns. Anything to get the warm weather transplants from the north to think of the holidays. If they don’t, Christmas could come and go and none would be the wiser. (We all know native Floridians are on the endangered list due to the over development of their natural habitat and the introduction of non-indigenous species.) There are no signs to trigger the consummate shopper to rush out to gather the trinkets on their gift-giving list. How can the obsessive holiday decorator know when to don the outdated tacky plastic lawn ornaments and dangle icicle lights haphazardly with duct tape from the Mediterranean arches of their homes? There are no yellowing leaves, no crispness in the air, no apple trees laden with ruby red fruit or harvested fields of corn. Well, okay. There is a drop in the humidity from 100% to maybe 98% and our heat index is no longer the topic of the day – but really. The change in color here amounts to the browning of the grass as the summer rains take a three-month vacation, migrating north for the winter to become snow for a change. The only snow on the roofs down here is what you see at the local senior center’s shuffle board championships or that annoying neighbor who covers his entire yard with cotton batting and twinkling lights bright enough be confused with the local air strip. Come on y’all, Currier and Ives it ain’t.
The weekend before Thanksgiving brings out the Live Christmas tree lots – what an oxymoron! Live? A chopped down tree all tied up in twine is alive? Feed it some aspirin and sugar laced water for a month; or at least as long as you can remember to do it, in hopes to keep it green. In a week or two it turns brittle brown and drops all of its sticky needles into your new carpet, requiring a “hands and knees” pick up, unless you prefer the “jab in toe” technique. Before Christmas, chances are you’ll buy a second one. (I really must talk to their marketing director and get some pointers.) At least your vacuum cleaner has a fresh pine scent until you dump the bag.
The traditions down here are not really that different from those up North. Okay, okay – we do fry our turkeys and serve it with collard greens and black eye peas outside on the picnic table. Sweet potatoes end up in a pie instead as a vegetable on the plate and Santa’s sleigh is pulled by eight tiny pink flamingos with color coordinated bows around their necks. Visions of pecans and oranges dance in our heads as we all settle down for our short winter’s nap. But not before making sure the air conditioner is set at 68. Besides that, there are few differences. Floridians simply have to modify how to achieve that elusive holiday euphoria.
Thus enters our holiday hero, aptly named The Christmas Collection. This respite of glad tidings and cheer is a sacred shrine for those who cling desperately to the child inside or whose roots whither in the heat of Florida’s winter days. Selling Christmas in Florida is an art of rekindling childhood memories through smell, sight, and sounds. Its all pseudo, canned, plastic and manufactured in China; but a spark is all that’s needed to ignite the holiday spirit– even if it is from a C-7 flicker flame bulb.
Delicately decorated sugar cookies have no crunch in the humidity of this balmy state, and gingerbread houses sag instantly limp. Instead we burn candles “flavored” as Christmas Cookie, Spiced Pumpkin, Sugared Plums, Hazelnut Coffee and homemade Banana Bread. Salivating scents good enough to eat and all fat free. Your first encounter upon entering the store, besides air conditioned relief from the grueling heat, is to enter grandma’s kitchen on Christmas day, all warm and full of holiday aromas. Involuntarily you breathe deep, inhaling to your toes the tasty memories of home.
Single story block homes clad in stucco are the norm, though scattered among these you might find an old Victorian or two in palm lined neighborhoods. Where is the charm of a good old brown stone or “city sidewalks, busy sidewalks, dressed in holiday style”? Then as you enter another room of the shop you are transported to village streets of days gone by. Lit buildings all aglow with the warm soft amber shades of magic that make children of all ages “oooh” and “ahhhh” as dimmed lights and starry felt skies capture imaginations and set them afire. “This is how I remember Christmas” is a common utterance. Snow covered streets and kids all bundled in gear from head to toe. Elves loading Santa’s sleigh with brightly colored boxes of toys or busily teaching reindeer how to fly. The nostalgia of your home town decorated with cheery swags and candy cane light poles as the Christmas Parade files down Main Street, complete with Frosty the Snowman and Santa Claus, brings that twinkling smile. You know the one I mean. This is the sparkled memory of Christmas, either real or idealized.
Caroling in Florida, for lack of a more eloquent analogy, is hot, sweaty business. Walking from door to door dressed in cut off dungarees and short sleeve tropical garb can hardly be an inspiration for “I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas”. Most Floridians don’t realize they’re supposed to bake the visiting carolers quaint cookies or offer them steaming mugs of hot cocoa. Well, I suppose that could translate into ice cream sandwiches or tall glasses of sweetened iced tea. Nevertheless, street corner groups are rare and almost never free of charge. Step into our haven of Christmas cheer and be amazed at what you take home with you. Ever so subtly it creeps in, and you catch yourself humming a familiar tune or even whispering a chorus or two. The challenge of keeping pace with the 12 Days count down or reminiscing about actually seeing Mommy kissing Santa Claus will play in your mind long after you have left the store. This can be a blessing or a curse, depending on the song that sticks in your head. At least it has a good chance of being a cheery tune, even if you are singing it for the hundredth time in the shower the next day. These are the lyrical memories tied to the holidays.
But for all the tactics and strategically planned memory joggers; (What?! You thought we were made up of cuddly kittens and warm fuzzies?) there is one thing more required to lift the holiday spirit into full swing. A “snap” – A cold snap. It takes one of those hard core, blustery Canadian Clippers to reach its chilly fingers clear to the tiptoe of Florida, before the true spirit is unleashed and the residents on this flat little sandbar know Christmas is finally here.
Unfortunately, that usually happens in January.
