When I lived in Nashville, every single day an ice cream truck would drive by my neighborhood. This fact in itself isn't unusual -- I grew up with several ice cream trucks that would patrol multiple times a day. The suburb I'm from is insanely hot from about March until November. Ice cream consumption is proportionately as high as our average temperatures, and ice cream trucks are as widely demanded as backyard swimming pools.

The thing about the Nashville ice cream truck was that it played Christmas songs. Only Christmas songs. Middle of Summer? Christmas music. Rudolph. Frosty the Snowman. In July.

I'd never heard an ice cream truck play Christmas music before. Because why would it? It goes against every law of nature for wintry melodies to correspond with hot days. Winter isn't really a "season" I grew up with. I don't know exactly what songs the ice cream trucks played when I was a kid, but they were never Christmas songs.

I realize I haven't updated my blogging in a while or answered any emails or been present to you guys in any real way. But I gotta let you know that I am sitting here, in the bedroom of my adolescence, in the town where I grew up, in the 90 degree April, with the sun beams on my feet... and I hear Christmas music. Coming from an ice cream truck.