What better time to rediscover childhood than at Christmas?! For some of you, like myself, this may be why you love the holiday, and for others, it may be why you take sides with the Grinch every December.
Christmas was always a big deal in my home. I am part of a large family; I grew up in the same house as my parents, two brothers, and two of my sisters. Although I grew up mostly wearing hand-me-downs, I was never really in want of anything. My mom and dad both had full-time jobs, and my mom often picked up part-time jobs to fill the gaps. I think she did this to make sure our Christmas mornings were bountiful, and I follow suit for my daughter. Our stockings would be stuffed to the gills, and the area around the tree would look like Santa gave up and, instead of placing one gift at a time, decided to turn his sack upside down and dump out everything that was inside. Clothes, jewelry and accessories, sweets, toiletries, books, and toys!
There would always be a board game for the family to play together. Santa continues that tradition in my home. This year he brought Mouse Trap. I loved this game as a child, and I’m thrilled it still exists so that my daughter and I can play together.
Steal the cheese without getting trapped!
I can understand that Christmas may bring back not so great memories if it was always a lackluster holiday in your home, but you have a chance at redemption, a do-over. As with Mouse Trap, you can still enjoy the toys and games you wish you had received as a child. Having children is a great cover for getting the toys that are actually on your wish list.
Just remember, you’re never too old to write a letter to Santa. Just stay on the Nice List!
My first concert was January 16, 1987 at the Hartford Civic Center. I was just shy of 8 years old. My family had gone to watch the Hartford Hawks play Canisius College, and after the basketball game, the court was removed, a stage was erected, and then Smokey Robinson graced us with his talents. How did I remember that date? I didn’t. You’d be amazed what you can find on the World Wide Web.
I’ve also been to a number of outdoor concerts with my parents. A lot of them were part of Cigna’s Sunset Sounds summer concert series in Bloomfield, CT. There were huge fields outlined with speakers and filled with picnickers listening and dancing to the music. We never sat too close to the stage, so I don’t remember much about who was performing, but I do remember walking close enough to see Crystal Gayle’s hair sweeping the floor one of those evenings.
My first concert without my parents was when I was in 8th grade. Two friends and I got dropped off at the Bushnell in Hartford to see the Black Crowes. It was awesome! Chris Robinson was wearing crushed green velvet bell-bottoms with a lace up crotch and a white shirt that is best described as something a pirate would wear. I remember wondering why people were burning incense during the show. It was another year or so before I realized that incense wasn’t what I was smelling.
The Bushnell is also where I saw my first Broadway musical. Cats was on one of its US tours in the 80s. I wasn’t actually supposed to go. Mom and two of my sisters had tickets to the show in May of 1987. They were heading in while my dad and I were supposed to go do something else together (I’m not sure what that was, but ice cream was probably involved). I think I had a look on my face that said something like, “Boy, I bet they’re going to have a lot of fun, and I think I would enjoy it, too,” because my dad promptly approached a scalper and bought two tickets for me and him. My mom and sisters had floor seats, while he and I sat in the front row of the balcony. It was magical and I’m grateful for my dad’s intuition. Fast forward to June 7, 2019, and my 7 year-old daughter and I are sitting in the front row of the balcony watching Cats at the Durham Performing Arts Center.
“I remember a time I knew what happiness was. Let the memory live again.”
As I’d mentioned in my post “Mementos,” watching the Macy’s parade on Thanksgiving has been a tradition of mine since a very young age. In the early 2000s, the National Dog Show was added to my holiday routine. Every year I tune in to watch while surrounded by family, friends, and food. And every year I’d tell myself I would watch the parade in person one day, and I’d get a dog. Finally, in 2018, I did both. Thanksgiving just happened to fall on my late grandma’s birthday that year, November 22nd. It seemed fitting to finally see the parade in person that I had watched in her living room on Long Island for so many years.
On Wednesday, my daughter and I boarded the Silver Star in Raleigh, which had been delayed because of an accident involving a landscaping truck somewhere in Florida. Because of the delay, we were pushed back in the line going into just about every station along the route, changing our arrival time from 6pm to midnight. The delay put the kibosh on attending the balloon inflation event near the American Museum of Natural History. We’ll just have to go back another year, preferably when the weather is warmer. The parade first began in 1924, and the year my daughter and I went was the coldest in the parade’s history; 19 degrees in Central Park at 11am.
We pulled into Penn Station at midnight, walked to our hotel near Times Square, and slept a few short hours before bundling up and walking toward Columbus Circle. We settled on a spot at the corner of 68th and Central Park West, that also happened to be where a Macy’s employee was allowing ticket holders to cross to the other side of the street, where they could sit on bleachers for a better view. At 10 til 9, there were very few people sitting on the bleachers, so the employee turned to us and asked if we wanted to cross over. I hadn’t even grabbed my chair and my daughter was already halfway across the street. We were gifted with a front row seat over subway vents that blew up coveted gusts of hot air every time a trained passed beneath us. At 9am sharp the parade kicked off, and despite the potential for frostbite, my daughter and I had a ball. The clowns patted her head and tossed confetti all over her. We waved at the stars and were slack-jawed by the immensity of the balloons. And then there was Santa. Time slowed as he and I locked eyes. Always believe in the magic that is Santa Claus. Nothing can transport me back to childhood faster.
When watching on tv, the parade doesn’t end until noon, and you see a good hour of performances in Herald Square, including the quintessential can-can kicks of the Rockettes, before the parade marches through. We were so close to the parade kick-off at 77th street, that it wasn’t even 11am when Santa glided by. From our spot at 68th, we walked up to Strawberry Fields, where we climbed into a bicycle-driven carriage that took us for a spin through the park. It was expensive, but necessary because neither of us could feel our feet anymore. We got out at 7th and Central Park South to find a deli that had an entire roasted turkey as part of its buffet. I made Ellie a take-out box of Thanksgiving fixins, and ordered myself a turkey Reuben. We hobbled back to our hotel, only slowing to gaze at the Christmas displays in the store windows. We enjoyed Thanksgiving dinner in bed while watching the Dog Show. After thawing out, we dressed up and hailed a taxi to take us to Radio City Music Hall to experience the Rockette’s Christmas Spectacular; a must-see.
The next morning we dashed off to F.A.O Schwarz to dance on the piano. I bought us both a lovie to cuddle on the train home. A quick stop at Junior’s for bagels and a cheesecake (not a slice, but a whole cake), and then we were back on the train headed south.
It was a whirlwind, but it is one of the most satisfying, memorable trips I have ever taken, and one that I hope my daughter will always treasure. I would do it all again in a heartbeat.
What’s that one trip you keep telling yourself you’re going to take? What’s stopping you?
Juvenescent Junkets 