On our afternoon walk, Avery and I encounter an ice-cream truck. The driver waves to us as she tools down the street, jingling music blaring from tinny loudspeakers, attempting to entice the neighborhood kids to raid their moms' cookie jars and race after her.

I know, it's November. But we do live in Florida, after all. And it wouldn't have even struck me as idiosyncratic if the truck's music wasn't "Deck the Halls."

Global warming? Maybe. The kid driving his minibike up and down our street for six hours was certainly doing his part.