Not exactly a Christmas classic, is it? That's precisely my problem.
Here's my transplant mega-disclaimer. I'm from northeast Ohio, where snow and Christmas are married, so seeing trees and bushes glow from under a fuzzy white icing is the true signal that the 25th is fast approaching.
I won't be so bold as to say that Christmas can't exist in the South without snow, merely that for me, not having it around brings the whole month of December down a few notches. Nobody ever sang a song about Frosty the Sleetman.
This year may be the first time that I go without a Christmas tree in my apartment. It's not that I don't like Christmas anymore, it just feels a bit forced to push ahead with traditions when the spirit isn't fully behind it.
What I'm wishing for is a little sleety-slush rain in Stockbridge to warm me up a bit. Not a blizzard, just a little frozen drizzle and some sub-30 nights to ice up the car in the morning. Anything, please, I'm dying here. The past three years I've lived in Georgia full-time during the month of December haven't gotten to me like this year has.
It may actually be more about the various other frustrations in my life than the lack of frozen precipitation, but for the simplicity of this column, let's stick to snow.
Snow has revealed itself to me as the Xanax of the Holiday Season, and I'm fresh out right now.
Another interesting revelation I've had is that the Holiday Depression that cripples so many people has nothing to do with the Holidays. It has to do with the year that precedes the Holidays.
So what, as a snow-craving Northerner, am I to do about this problem? Snow globes don't really cut it. Watching movies with heavy snowfall just makes me depressed. There is really only one possible solution -- my trip home for Christmas.
It all comes down to those two and a half days at Christmas. Last year my plane landed in a snowy wonderland, and I spent Christmas Eve walking around the downtown area of my Cleveland suburb looking at lights, watching the frozen waterfall of a river and taking in the scene of several churches opening up and pouring out their congregations after the night's service.
In the meantime, pray for some slush for me. Native Georgians will have to drive slowly with their hazard lights on, but I'll be in Happyland. You might even get a day off of work or school to enjoy the rare weather.
Let it sleet! Let it sleet! Let it sleet!
Rob Felt is the photographer for the Daily Herald. He can be reached at (770) 957-9161 or firstname.lastname@example.org .