You can’t go home again, but you sure can try.

For the longest time I’ve let holiday traditions go by the wayside. When I was a teenager, my brother Tim, who was the most into Christmas of anyone, and certainly of all of us, died. It was a crushing thing, and the holidays have never been the same. Sure, the tree goes up and gets decorated… but I let my husband do all that. The last few years have all been places where it doesn’t really get “Christmas-y” anyway, you know? Sure they try their best: twinkling lights everywhere, big red bows, wreaths, banners hanging from lightpoles, Christmas music on the radio, holiday concerts in the park… but they’re always missing something: the crispness of the air, the scent of snow coming, the crunch under your feet. There’s no replacing the smell and quiet of a forest of pines across the street from your house, especially not with the neon red glow of “Sports Authority” and the sound of traffic out your window (and certainly not with an upstairs neighbor particularly fond of headbanging club music played at loud volumes at any hour).

The other night at the mall (malls here, by the way, all seem to be outdoors, which is kinda nice, and a little easier on the crowd-phobic than the typical east coast indoor mall), there was a Christmas concert, absolutely beautiful music from the Midway Baptist Church choir. It was chilly (50 or 55 degrees, a balmy winter day in NY or DC, a chilly evening here in CA), so we were bundled up. The choir was on a riser, so you had to look up at them, and the mall had planned artificial snow. Some lights were behind them, with the fake snow being blown from overhead of the choir… for just a moment, I could believe I was home again. The light glinting off the snow made it *look* real, even though it really wasn’t cold enough for it (my ears and fingers were still a normal shade!), and the music brought back happy memories. Later though, as we were walking, I happened to catch a “snowflake”, and it was rather soap-bubbly, just a little cluster of bubbles that didn’t even melt in your hand - and I felt gypped!

Thankfully, the night before we had gone to the Civic Youth Ballet’s performance of The Nutcracker. Now that was a real experience: Clara still had the long white dress (though at one part someone didn’t get her completely fastened in the back in time), the littlest dancers were still cute as buttons (remind me to figure what makes buttons cute, ok? I’ve always wondered), and the little Gingers even came out from under Mrs. Ginger’s voluminous skirt. The nutcracker turns into a prince, the sugar plum fairies danced… it was beautiful, and all at once just like home and completely different.

When I was a child, going to The Nutcracker was an annual thing, and we went every Christmas. Many years, my sister was on stage as well, so going back was … more than I thought it would be. I haven’t been to see the show in probably ten years, or more even, but I definitely felt like home, for the first time in a long time.

Merry Christmas, Timmy!