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It's finally December, which means, invariably, that it's finally cold. And we don't have heat in our house, because, being an old and poorly insulated rental property, said house would be way out of our budget to heat properly.

As I sit here basking in the warm-ish air emitting from the space heater, I think about Christmas. The big day is three weeks away, and though I'm further along in the holiday process than I was last year, I still feel behind. We decided not to get a tree here in the tiny and cold yellow house, opting instead for white lights strung all over the living room. I hardly have any Christmas decorations; turns out all my decorations were for the Christmas tree that we currently don't have.

I still love Christmas, though. My mom's house is all decked out, with white lights in the bushes and on the railing outside, red and green and white towels in the bathrooms, a tree brightly lit downstairs. It even smells like the holidays, something I realized when I visited home tonight. That's one of my favorite parts about Christmas, Thanksgiving, the whole last part of every year. I love the smells that take me back to when I was small, or that make me feel warm and safe and at home. It's something I try to recreate wherever I am. Tie that fact into my always trying to make wherever I am into something of a home, but that's another post.

Happy Christmas, readers. More on this joyful time of year next week.