To me, Oklahoma in the winter time is so distinct: there's this film of gray covering and clinging to the landscape so that everything appears in these dull, muted colors. I'd liken it to dirty dish water. A prolonged quiet before the storm. Makes me think of the noun subterfuge. Makes me think of the grainy quality in old movies.
...it's more romantic then it sounds.
I will always love driving through fancy neighborhoods to look at lights, but I think I've discovered something even better: crappy little houses in suspect, crumbling neighborhoods, completely covered in lights.
There's just something so hopeful and sadly sweet in a tiny, forlorn looking house on an otherwise dark, cheerless street: shining for all the world to see with its crappy candy cane cut-outs and over-the-top, low-hanging icicle lights.
The residential equivalent of a Charlie Brown Christmas tree.
I think I'm starting to collect them. I saw one on 41st and Georgia the other day that made me think of a quote from one of my favorite books (having nothing to do with Christmas) Steve Martin's Shopgirl: