February in Tucson
I like February best of all the months in Tucson. The holidays are in the rear view mirror. The hope of a new year is still palpable. The weather is bipolar: from hard freezes to flip flops. Sometimes its winter rain and snow flurries then sunny and 75 in the same week. We dress in layers, prepared to turn up the heat in the a.m. and the air conditioning on in the p.m. Spring feels like it’s hovering and the dead heat of summer is only a rumor – hard to believe but tempered with truth. Snow powders the mountain tops of the Catalinas and Mt Lemmon can finally host a full ski season. The Gem Show means ‘no vacancy’ when it rolls into town like a carnival. The rodeo is a holiday, people spill onto the hiking trails, and rattlesnakes are still in hibernation. The air is brisk and fresh with hints of a burning mesquite fire or burgers grilling on a barbecue. It’s cotton candy sunrises and butter soft orange sunsets with water cloror clouds. If nature fills your soul, February is a deity.
If you could soak the perfect day into your bones, the day would come from February in Tucson.
Maybe February is perfect. Or maybe my nostalgic Enneagram 4 wing is in a writing mood. I should let my Enneagram 5 have a turn. Like many, I used to say Christmas was my favorite season. But I think we’re conditioned this way. The Christmas season is overt and everywhere; it feels stifling sometimes, like you’re gearing up on a roller coaster for the moment you’re launched into twists and turns. Christmas vomits into Hobby Lobby in September and Instagram influencers put up elaborate, sparkly trees in every room of their home. Thanksgiving is bullied to the wayside by Black Friday and the start of the shopping season. Christmas even takes over the radio for a solid month and feels oppressive and overplayed. And while the myth of Santa Clause is brazenly broadcasted on everything from wrapping paper to Christmas movies, the truth of Jesus being born into the human world to save us from the depths of certain hell is hushed and subdued, so as not to offend. Gifts are obligations. And if drama makes an appearance, it will be at your holiday dinner table from a guest or family member you felt obligated to invite because “it’s the holidays.”
Christmas is overrated. The song, “Where are you Christmas?” illustrates my sentiments. When Christmas was magical in childhood, we tend to chase that same feeling in adulthood. For me, I can only find it in the peace and quiet of a rare evening when I’m alone with the twinkling Christmas tree lights and all is silent. My mom says that when we’re children, Christmas magic is created for us and when we’re adults we must create the magic. This year I found myself not wanting to create magic but found myself bracing for the holidays to be over, craving the fresh start of a new year. January lasted forever. But then February came and whispered to me that time passes quickly and said, “slow down and notice me.”
As I steep in the wonder of the month that feels like a treasure chest hidden in place sight, I am pointed back to the Creator of wonder itself and find myself in awe of the creation he spoke into being and find myself meditating on Lamentations 3:22-23, “The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.”