Somewhere between sleigh bells and bikinis

Last year I enjoyed one of the most festive holiday seasons ever. It started in November when Hugh and I celebrated our 6 year anniversary and Thanksgiving in New York City for 10 days. NYC this time of year is an explosion of Christmas decadence. Rockefeller Plaza and the gigantic decorated tree, the snowflake lightshow adorning Saks 5th Avenue – red and green everywhere and unparalleled shopping madness. Back in SF, we hung from trolley cars and went caroling with friends and other volunteers one Saturday afternoon to the elderly. We hosted a small but intimate tree trimming party with close friends. Hugh made Grandma VinceLee’s baked rigatoni. (This year, Kristie/Brady have another bun in the oven and Augi and Nick are expecting their first. Heather and Greg are coming to BA in January. Rachel and Rey are planning a May wedding and Vaughn – well, he’s still playing it cool.) We had Rey’s family over for Christmas Eve dinner and mom and Carlos came up from San Diego. We baked gingerbread cookies and brought them to each of our neighbors on 21st Street. Christmas Day we opened a ton of presents and Aunt Sea Jai and Uncle Jon, Cousin Elan and baby Sarena stopped by in the afternoon. Friends Alex, Megan (and kids) and dad also made an impromptu visit in time to taste Mom’s pie.

This year is just different. The southern hemisphere suffers or enjoys (depending on your disposition) hot sticky Christmas Eves and blistering New Years Days. Women stroll the sidewalks in flipflops and pastel colored skirts and work on their tan in g-string bikinis in the parks. There are no snowflakes glistening or sleighbells ringing in your neighborhood. Fireplaces (hence stockings) are turned off in September not to reemerge until May or June of the following year.

Last week I saw a small plastic sadly ornamented Christmas Tree in one of the largest shopping malls in Buenos Aires. It startled me because I literally forgot it was the "that time of year". Here there are no twinkling lights in the windows, no Frosty the Snowmen painted on storefronts with smiles begging you to come in. There are no peppy jingling tunes pipped in to the shops or on the radio. I've not caught myself absentmindedly humming “silver bells” as I run the vacuum cleaner. I see no images of Santa or his reindeer. I've talked to a few of my neighbors and shopkeepers about this. They explain that Christmas is not such a big deal here. Its a day for being with family and sharing a nice meal – of taking time off from the routine of work and rushing around. Marta our housekeeper described a tradition her family of 20 has of sitting around a large wooden table in the kitchen Christmas Eve pinching together homemade empanada crusts until they've made hundreds for the family to eat the next day.

I don’t miss the US's mostly commercial expression of the holidays but haven’t quite found a replacement. Its tradition I long for and yet my life here is still embryonic. How can I form pleasant memories of the holidays that draw on the nostalgia of my grandmothers apron and still account for this new place and people I’ve adopted. Traditions need to be started, then experienced and enjoyed the same way for years to come. They start from something and take hold in the memories of their keepers. For this year, the 25th may be a day at the beach or a stroll to get an ice cream cone. It won’t be what it was but its what is for now.