The State That Stole Christmas

If you’re not from Texas, but spending the holidays here, I hope you will enjoy this little poem I wrote (to the rhythm of How the Grinch Stole Christmas)! Happy Holidays!

 

All the South Texas Texans,

Were sure this was the spot.

But the Idaho Girl,

Who just got here was not!

 

The Girl loved the tacos, the Downtown was pleasin’

The people were lovely—but this strange holiday season!!

It could be the palm trees lining Broadway just right.

Or it could be her sweaters and scarves still packed tight.

The sports teams were different, but she didn’t begrudge ‘em.

The traffic was stressful though she weren’t a curmudgeon.

No, I think that the most likely reason of all

May have been that there wasn’t one snowflake to fall.

 

This day in December, dawned sunny and warm,

She looked out from her window, at the South Texas ‘norm’,

With her fist in her chin, and her mouth screwed up tight

Something had to be done, ‘cause this just wasn’t right!

For the Girl knew that Christmas should be white and alluring

Filled with pink cheeks and noses—where was Spouse for concurring?!?

 

Now the more the Girl thought of this warm Christmas thing,

The more the Girl thought, “I must fix this whole thing!”

“Why, it’s been a whole year I’ve endured this hot heat!

In April, I’d take it, but this month calls for sleet!!”

 

Then she got an idea.

A crazy idea.

That girl got a WONDERFUL, CRAZY idea!

 

“It’ll take some hard work, but I know I can swing it,”

She scowled at the sun, and in low voice said, ‘Bring it.’

This weather would fight her, but the Girl simply said,

“If real winter won’t find me, I’ll make it instead!”

 

So she hung a large tarp o’er the porch that same night.

Bound and determined to dim the bright light

“I will block out the sun,” to herself, she exclaimed

But, though shade was a-plenty, it just wasn’t the same.

 

Air conditioning next, the Girl plunged the small dial.

But for poor, freezing Spouse, this solution was vile.

The Girl opened freezers, snipped white paper snow,

She sweated in sweaters and boots just for show.

 

Mr. Bing on the radio sung with a sneer

His White Christmas was elsewhere… only irony here.

She’d bought out every pine-scented candle in town.

The fake forest was pungent, but she still wore a frown.

 

Despite her fine plans, overworked and distraught

The big day arrived and the Girl was still hot.

Spouse found her clutching her cocoa, half-wedged in the freezer.

While he wanted to laugh, he didn’t dare tease her.

 

‘I’ve utterly failed!” she wailed to her cup

“I’ve had it with Texas, I want to give up!!”

But Spouse kindly smiled, with a shake of his head,

“We can’t leave today, it’s Christmas,” he said.

“The kids are both waiting, with presents in hand,

We want you here with us—so what if we’re tanned??”

 

The Girl, she emerged, quite sad and despairing

Into the front room where the sun was still glaring.

She sat down with Spouse and her Wee Ones around,

Not a snowflake had fallen; there was none to be found.

 

Then suddenly sprung from the radio station

A childhood tune and a full-heart elation.

Johnny Mathis was crooning his Marshmallow song

And Spouse and the Wee Ones all sang right along.

 

The Girl was befuddled, and Spouse a bit smug,

He wrapped his girl up in a big Texas hug.

She wanted to smile, but it just didn’t click.

How could it be Christmas if the sidewalks weren’t slick??

It came without blizzards, it came without ploughs.

It came without rock salt or frostbitten brows!

 

With that sweet scene before her, she puzzled some more.

Then a new thought was sprung and her jaw hit the floor.

“You see??” her Spouse quipped, “this is still just like home—

But in place of tater cellars, we’ve an Alamo Dome!”

 

The girl picked up her jaw, she smiled and said

“Ok, maybe you’re right, you big knucklehead!”

“We’ll have Christmas sans flurries, or mittens, or ice,

It’s really our family that makes it so nice.”

 

Maybe Christmas, she thought, isn’t linked to the weather

Maybe Christmas—perhaps—is where’er we’re together.

 

So she grabbed a tamale and joined her small clan.

She bid farewell to snowfall and grand winter plans.

Losing the Spirit of Christmas is not worth the fight,

 

Merry Christmas All Y’all— I’ll take Texas tonight!!

Molly
Molly is a recent San Antonio transplant, originally hailing from the Idaho tundra and most recently the Washington D.C. metro area. Besides avoiding the giant question mark that is surviving their first Texan summer, she and her husband are doing their best to keep up with two energetic children, a nine-year-old daughter and five-year-old son who alternately drive them crazy and melt their hearts. Molly is a yogi and pastry-turned-clean-eating chef who describes herself as a “creative dabbler.” She spends her days teaching yoga, writing, and photographing healthy recipes, power-lifting, rocking lip-sync battles with her kids, and playing outside. She recently did a front handspring for the first time ever, can’t stop talking about it, and has concluded it couldn’t hurt to leave space for future “professional gymnast” on her life’s resume.