Christmas in a car

'Tis the season for all the people in the upper Midwest to migrate to southern Arizona. It's not hard to understand why. Days here are mild and generally sunny. For example, yesterday was 80°F. Nights hover around 43°F, rarely dropping below freezing. Compared to Boston's 12°F, this place is a winter paradise. That's why you see license plates from Minnesota, Montana, and North Dakota, especially on RVs. In the winter, Tucson hosts RVs of all shapes, sizes, and conditions. However, the real action is happening now in Quartzsite, the mecca of nomad life. I plan to head that way in mid-January for the annual meetup. Yes, I'm officially a nomad. Meanwhile, I lurk around the Tucson area, soaking up solar when I can and trying to stay warm in the early morning hours before sunrise. 

I remember my first Christmas in Los Angeles. 1977. It felt surreal. Royal palms are not a substitute for a freshly cut Douglas Fir dragged into the house and set in a red metal dish of water, where it is supposed to stay green until New Year's, when you take off as much tinsel as you can and chuck the thing in the trash. Eventually the Boy Scouts offered recycling programs for dead trees. If you really cared about the environment, which we did not, you'd buy a live tree in a pot and then plant it in the ground, where it would be dead by summer. And if you had given up on the whole stupid thing, like my mother finally did, you'd buy an artificial tree, store it in the basement, and pull it out on December 15, still decorated from last year. 

I dread going into stores at this time of year. The music, the stench, the crowds—it's all too much for my introvert Grinch. However, today I went to both Walmart and Target, looking for something cheap and specific. I couldn't find it, but I did notice something surprising: There were no crowds. It was mid-morning, prime shopping time, and I saw fewer people than I'd see on any regular Sunday morning. 

Maybe everyone already bought their penguin pajamas, beer, and gift wrapping. 

Maybe they all fear crowds as much as I do and did all their shopping online. 

Maybe they've sworn off consumerism in an effort to do their part to save the environment. 

Nah.

'Tis the season to wish each other well, so here goes: Wherever you are, I hope you are as warm as you want to be and as happy as you will allow yourself to be. 

Happy holidays from the Hellish Handbasket.