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As I sit here soaking up the warm California sun on a beautiful May day, the scent of jasmine wafting in from the garden, my thoughts naturally turn to one thing—Christmas. It is actually never far from my heart. My husband teases me when I start absent-mindedly humming Christmas carols in April; or when I pull out my DVD of Elf in June and cry at every heartwarming Will Farrell-in-tights Christmas moment; or when I string up thousands of lights on our house and yard before Halloween (because who made up the ridiculous rule that we had to wait until Thanksgiving is over??). I blame this love of Christmas all on my grandmother, Libby Rice.
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