When I walked outside this morning the air finally felt like December again. As much as I like 65°, I really can’t stand a warm December. Warm days in winter make me feel like something is skewed with the world. I don’t expect snow in this part of Georgia, but I do expect it to be cold.

Though I may be criticized, I pity Floridians. There is just something wrong about lights on a palm tree and wearing flip flops to the Yuletide gala.

You already know I’ve been decorating around the house a little bit for Christmas. To do this right, there has to be a fire in the fireplace and Amy Grant singing “Tender Tennessee Christmas” on the box.

I lived in Tennessee once upon a time for a brief period of my life. The hills of upper east Tennessee can dump a heavy snow on you in the blink of an eye. I don’t think we ever had a warm Christmas in them thar’ hills.

Besides, a cold morning with the tree lights flickering and the mantel all aglow brings a much-welcomed change to the house. Everything is different this time of year.

For example, in preparation for Christmas I cleaned out the fridge this morning. There were exactly 342 plastic containers of Thanksgiving leftovers on three shelves. The sheer volume of dressing and gravy and half-eaten casseroles was enough to feed a small country.

Yesterday evening, as I dug through the containers looking to warm up something for supper, I had the feeling that maybe I should take a pass. I had neatly written sticky notes on each container. Sweet potatoes. Green beans. Dressing. Mac & cheese. I added up the days in my head and realized that Thanksgiving was 11 days ago.

I did pass and warmed up some of the roast with taters and carrots that was made just Saturday.

So, this morning I got busy in the kitchen. I am proud of the fact that my efforts were ahead of the norm. Usually, I don’t throw out food until that cute fuzzy green stuff is growing on it. Today, I encountered no fuzz, and the fridge is now ready for Christmas.

Something else different for me. I am retired now from over 40 years of alarms clocks and deadlines and bottom lines. This will be my first Christmas without having the urge that I should be working or trying to figure out how I’m going to schedule things once I get back to work.

I have only been practicing for this since July, but I’m getting good at it. I can Christmas shop anytime I want. I can turn out the lights, get a cup of hot chocolate, and bathe in the light of the Christmas tree in the dark if I want. I even pulled out the old vinyl 33LP Christmas albums the other day. Bing. Eddie. Glenn. Amy. Ella. Elvis. Alabama is singing about Santa right now as I write.

I haven’t made the time to enjoy Christmas as much as it deserves the past couple of years. Being a widower has made it a different kind of season for me. There’s been joy but there’s been a slight melancholic feel to it all.

I went to the funeral home last night to be with my neighbors. They’ve lost a sister and a dad in the last week. That’s a tough start to December. This Christmas will not be the same for them. Two fewer faces in the family pictures around the table. Two less presents under the tree. Two million memories to fill the moments.

As I drove home through the rural highways of Upson, Pike and Meriwether Counties I was struck by how few Christmas lights were out. Even as I headed out of Thomaston, the town folk had little to no Christmas spirit on display. The entire ride home, I only saw five Christmas trees lit up through the front windows along the path over the hill and through the valley.

I know it’s still early December, but gheez! I would welcome a few more lights in the window. I would embrace a little more joy of the season. Some will feel great loss, but others will celebrate birth. There will be both funerals and weddings this month. There will be silent living rooms and houses so full of laughter that they may just burst at the seams.

I don’t want to ignore the fact that Christmas will be different things to different people for different reasons.

But Christmas is a gift to us. December is a chance to celebrate all that is good in this life. We have a holiday that allows us to take a break from the routine. Find joy in the tears. Lift up the downtrodden. And, above all, max out the credit card.

We both know that we go a little crazy with the gifts. Right now, the Amazon sleigh is beginning to make its rounds. Little boxes with a crooked smile on the side are beginning to pile up on front porches across America. Grandpas will be getting bottles of cologne that they don’t need. Office parties will distribute token gifts that will go in a drawer somewhere for eternity. Kids will be buried in an avalanche of toys that eventually get piled in the corner with all the rest of the stuff that bores them to death.

Here’s what I believe. The best Christmas gifts are the ones that cannot be wrapped.

Like love. There’s not a box big enough to contain the love you have in your life. You can’t convince me that love doesn’t rule the Christmas season. There’s a love that is holy and sacred. A love that is closer than a friend. A love that is warmer than the fireplace. A love to be given and a love to be embraced. Christmas is love.

Like Christmas plays. I’ve seen maybe hundreds of them. I know the story by heart, but I never get tired of the bathrobes and the glittered angel wings and the plastic baby Jesus. Little cherub voices singing the songs that I know by heart. Silent night while little hands are held across the stage.

Like family. There’s nothing quite like walking through the door to a place you call home where the smells in the kitchen and the feel of familiar rooms bring back so many memories. Old traditions fade and new ones are made. Hugs and smiles and children’s voices remind us of all that is good in this life.

I guess some people want a Christmas with snow on the roof and perfect skiing conditions. Some want elaborate gifts and exciting vacations. City lights. Tropical beaches. Fancy parties.

Me? I’ll take a simple Christmas right here at my home. There’ll be no snow on my roof. We’ll all get together the day after, but I’m good with that. Because “here” is where I belong. Here I have the things that matter most. Here there is love, new and old. Right here is the only Christmas for me.

You can’t put that in a box under the tree.