A Rainy Christmas - Original Short Story

by Emma Redmer

This one was also written when I was doing work for Helium in 2012. I grew up at the southern Jersey Shore area, by the beach. Snow is rare in January and February, never mind in late December. I wouldn't see a white Christmas until I was an adult and living closer to Philadelphia. Even as a child, I always wanted it to snow for the holidays, but we'd always get rain. That's not entirely a bad thing, as the mother points out to her daughter here...

“Ugh.”

Mom looked up from mixing Christmas cookies. “What is it, honey?”

“I wish it would stop raining! It just doesn’t feel like Christmas.”

Mom put a floury hand around my shoulder. “It is pretty dreary out there, isn’t it?”

“I wish it would snow, or even get chilly. I wish we lived in a place where it snowed. Then it would really feel like Christmas.”

Mom shook her head. “Jenny, it doesn’t matter what the weather does. It’s still Christmas, whether it rains or snows.” She handed me the bowl. “Here. You finish mixing the sugar cookies. I’ll get out the cookie cutters.”

I made a face. “I’ll bet we’re the only people in the world who don’t get snow at Christmas!”

Mom pulled a container of plastic cookie cutters out of a cabinet. “At least it gets cold here. In Australia, it’s summertime. Not only do they not get snow at Christmas, it’s hot as heck. One of the women in my online writer’s group who lives in Melbourne says they have special picnics and trips to the beach. Santa Claus comes by jeep to deliver presents.” 

I grinned. “I like that. A Christmas picnic would be fun. And Santa coming in a jeep makes a lot more sense than him in a sleigh with eight tiny reindeer!”

“It doesn’t really matter what the weather’s like at Christmas. People in Hawaii don’t get snow, either, but they love trees more than almost anyone, even if they have to get them shipped from the mainland. And Christmas is very popular in South America. They have big feasts and celebrations and carnivals.”

I looked back at the rain out the kitchen window. It didn’t bother me as much anymore. “Can I cut the first cookies?”

Mom smiled. “Sure, Jenny!”

I put the dough down as Mom pulled out the rolling pin. ‘The rain can do what it wants,’ I thought. ‘I won’t let it make me gloomy at Christmas!’