This year, I was unable to partake in a few of my Christmas traditions. I couldn’t attend cookie day, or packing bags for the homeless as I usually do. It’s one of the perils of putting a career above all else. But this year, I got to partake in the “Come home for Christmas” tradition. This is not like when you are at school, for when you are at school everyone is at the same stage. No, this was an I didn’t even make it home for thanksgiving adult version of making it home for Christmas where you have to use vacation days and order plane tickets.
Still, I made it home right before Christmas Eve. Actually, I like Christmas Eve better than Christmas day, because I got to go downtown. There is something magical about Chicago during the Christmas holidays. Maybe it’s just my adoration for this time, but it’s my favorite day of the year.
In Pennsylvania, life moves a lot slower. The rivers feel like they have the fastest paced lives around here. Somehow, there is always a plethora of time to get things done. Then again, maybe this is just the time made by living alone. Either way, I was immediately swept into the tide of the city. My feet matched the speed of these people wandering. The bustle of the holidays allowed me to feel a part of something larger, just by doing something so natural as walking.
We started off at Macy’s—or if you’re not a millennial Marshall Fields. This is over 8 floors of holiday cheer. Ornaments, trees, elf hats, it’s like the movie Elf when buddy decorates for Santa. You can’t be unhappy in this winter wonderland. We always get seats at the Walnut Room. The two-story tree is always the best decorated tree in the city. Even the one in grant park has no room to argue. My favorite theme was when they did music and had huge music notes decorating the branches.
Then, to top it off—not the tree, the meal—they have a fairy wander around granting wishes. As I said, I normally don’t believe in magic, but these wishes are an exception. I think it’s usually because the fairy tries to be sassy to my brother and throw sparkles on him as if they can bedazzle his sarcastic quit wit. This year, not so much.
She asked him if he wanted to make a wish, to which he responded “Can I wish that you go away?”
I immediately tried to apologize for him, as her face contorted into shock. But you can’t really apologize for my brother. The rest of us made our wishes, partaking in the magic that he clearly couldn’t even marginalize as possible.
After we took pictures with the tree, we wandered to the art museum.
The art museum is my favorite place. The white walls allow your mind to expand out from each piece of art and have room to really think about each piece.
But if you want to interact with the pieces, I don’t suggest you interact with the pieces the way my brother interacts with them—by tripping over them.
Yes, he actually tripped over a piece of art to which his response was, “If I can trip over it, I don’t think it’s actually art.”
I’m not quite sure his logic for that one.
After the art museum, we made our obligatory stop at Cloud Gate. For those of you unaware, Cloud Gate is the official name of Anish Kapoor’s sculpture most commonly referred to as The Bean. I refer to it as Cloud Gate solely because I’m a nerd and one time looked up the intention behind The Bean and discovered his phrasing “Jerusalem above, Jerusalem below” which gave Cloud Gate a deeper meaning to me than just a reflective metal tourist attraction.
We stood and watched the ice skaters below for a while, then continued on. Our other obligatory winter stop is the KrisKindle Market. This is the German market always packed to the brim with people. This is mostly and olfactory adventure rather than a Christmas gift trip. The sights and smells overwhelm the senses as each food, drink, and trinket seem to pour from each little stand. It overwhelms the viewer so much you nearly forget that there is a Picasso in this plaza.
After the market and feasting on cinnamon-sugar coated almonds, we continue on to wander the city shopping and seeing every string of lights.
This year, we got stopped by a street performing group. My mom is obsessed with all of the bucket drummers. She even bought a bunch of buckets so we could have our own bucket drumming group, my dad was not too pleased.
But this year we got stopped by a dance group that made some hilarious comments. At one point they said, “We promise not to assume you’re racist like some people” and pointed to Trump tower.
I was thoroughly enjoying their performance, until they tried to pull my mom up to the front, and she sold me out by pushing me toward him instead. This meant, I was pulled in front of people and told I had to dance.
First of all, I suck at dancing. It’s true. I enjoy it, and usually don’t care, especially if alcohol is involved, but this was not my cup of tea. I tried to take it in stride. The second part was my conservative parents were watching. I was in a rare mood, where I would have joked around more when the guy started grinding the air, but I could not do anything like that in front of my parents on the streets of Chicago. So, I resorted to my laugh and pull away awkward nature as my mom filmed me.
After I was released from the torture of being in front of people, I went back to my family who were all laughing at me. We went on, to go meet up with my family for dinner.
It may seem like this is just a normal day in the city. Sure, it probably is. But the lights and the movement have this magical hold that even as I write this, I’m smiling at the memory. So maybe it’s not magical, per se, but it’s special. And there is nothing more magical than a happy memory.