Devin

2020 in Review

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I wrote this in a notebook on the 2nd of January (2021) and then packed away the notebook and didn’t find it until many months later, but I love to uphold personal traditions, so here I am, typing it up in November. I learned a lot of hard lessons in 2020, and I worry I might forget.

What I Will Remember from 2020

THE PARTIES

  • Going to give a hug to another volunteer at the closing party of Elizabeth Warren’s campaign office in Madison, Wisconsin. The startled look on his face. The way I laughed it off and hugged him anyway. He was older and started worrying about COVID long before anyone else I knew. That memory haunted me the rest of the year.
  • Dancing in my living room at my birthday party. The house so full I had a hard time making sure I’d said hello to everyone. Two of my friends bonding over something from their youth and one of them sneaking away to cry in the corner. I checked on her and she said, “I’m fine. I just need a minute.” I thought about all the little private moments at parties. The ones we see and the ones we miss.
  • The theme of my party was 2010–2020: Hits of the Decade. I made a playlist with everyone’s favorite songs from the ’10s, but the living room didn’t really become a dance floor until someone put on a Bad Bunny song so new that nobody knew all the lyrics. Then, we were all dancing to Selena in a circle. A White friend of mine laughing nervously, unsure if she was moving her feet correctly. I wanted to say “You are!” The best way to dance to Tejano music is like this: going around and around in a circle, everyone shuffling their feet in the same direction. It’s magic the way you feel your body getting in sync with everyone else’s. Hearts thumping to the same rhythm. Heads nodding to the same beat.
  • The music kept changing after that. Cumbias y rancheras from the ‘90s. Los Angeles Azules. I felt myself transported to a party in Mexico –– someone’s wedding, I think. I could imagine the couples dancing, the pre-teen sobrinos giggling on the edge of the dance floor, little kids asleep on chairs that their parents had pushed together as makeshift cots to buy themselves a little more time. Just one more song. Just one more song.
  • I thought about the power of music. The way my friend’s bluetooth speaker made this snowy night feel like a memory of home.
  •  It’s funny, but I don’t remember the cake. It was my birthday, so there had to be cake, right? I do remember saying goodbye as the last guests trickled out and thinking, “More parties. This year we’ll have more parties.”

THE PANDEMIC

  • The shame that burned my face and clamped tight around my throat a couple of weeks later when I realized how reckless it had been to have a birthday party at all. Learning terms like “community spread,” “droplet vs. airborne transmission,” “safer at home,” and “together apart.” Becoming convinced that the most important thing was to follow the guidance of public health experts in order to save lives. Remembering that I didn’t always know that I should do this and trying to stay patient while waiting for everyone as privileged as I am to realize that the sacrifices being asked of us were necessary and worthwhile. Waiting. And waiting.
  • Learning to be roommates with my mom and Devin as 2 weeks stretched into 5 months and we bickered over how to wash the dishes, what movies to watch next, and how often to eat kale.
  • Becoming weirdly fanatical about going on long walks with Chloe the dog and not missing the neighborhood farmers’ market.
  • The horror of watching public officials and corporate executives put profits over people’s safety. The horror of realizing that most of us had become numb to mass casualty deaths, even when we could have prevented those deaths.
  • Sobbing quietly to Devin, hoping my mom couldn’t hear. Saying over and over, “But I need to see my family. I always go home. That is who I am.” Typing out long messages on the family WhatsApp explaining why we shouldn’t get together and begging all my aunts and cousins to stay apart, even though what I wanted more than anything was to be there, breaking the rules with them.
  • The strain of forcing myself to act rationally for nine and a half months.
  • Logging out and staying off social media because I couldn’t handle all the restaurant–party–vacation photos interspersed with death announcements and pleas from exhausted doctors and nurses interspersed with anti-vaccine conspiracy theories and unfounded natural cures for COVID.
  • Wondering if I was overreacting and checking COVID statistics only to realize that things were even worse than I thought. Again. And again.
  • The miracle of realizing that my wish of being a better tía who sees her sobris all the time had come true. Even if it was on Zoom.
  • Feeling the giddiness that I only get after throwing a good party after logging off the birthday Zoom for my cousin Alex and how proud I was to have planned it.
  • The perspective I gained from the pandemic and how fearless it made me in other parts of my life.
    “Want to paddleboard all by yourself on a big lake even though you’re not a very good swimmer?” 
    “I’m in.”

    “Want to learn to drive even though you’ve always been too scared?”
    “Yup.”

    “Want to lead national Zoom calls to get out the Latinx vote in the election even though you hate public speaking?”
    “Definitely.”
  • Feeling my home transform into a space station and learning to do everything in one place: “Welcome to my home/office/fitness studio/phone-bank central/classroom/movie theater.” Leaving the house felt like going on a space walk.
  • Learning to appreciate in-person human interactions so much that an hour spent in a park with friends felt as luxurious and restorative as a weekend trip.
  • The sadness of wanting to hug the people I love and invite them in, instead of standing awkwardly on the porch and sidewalk. Knowing it was the right thing to do but feeling unspeakably cruel.
  • Reflecting on how I process information and make decisions and feeling like a scientist for the first time in my life.
  • Remembering my January trip to Phoenix and feeling like it was a dream.
  • Becoming someone who wears her hair in a ponytail almost every day.
  • Knowing what my values and priorities are more clearly than ever before. Trying to be congruent.
  • The gift of practicing gratitude.
  • Turning to Devin and saying “Can you believe we aren’t sick of each other yet?” and feeling lucky every morning when I realized we’d get to spend another day together.
  • Having the best date of my life: walking 3 miles to see Christmas lights in the snow, talking about anything, everything, and nothing. Coming home to our apartment, turning on the twinkle lights, and staying up all night.
  • Baking dozens and dozens of different chocolate chip cookies and discovering a cardinal rule for myself: never brown the butter!
  • Becoming one of those people who makes dinner with whatever they have in the kitchen.
  • Watching my first live-streamed funeral and wishing it would be my last.
  • Feeling older and younger than ever before.
2020 in Review

Protesting in a Pandemic and Risk Reduction

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Today I went to the Kids’ March for Black Lives in my neighborhood, which reminded me that I’ve been meaning to share this incredibly useful list of how to protest while reducing risks of getting and spreading COVID-19.

Here I am holding a sign at the march. Instead of writing words, I drew a heart on my sign because I wanted it to be easy to read, even for little kids who might not read words.

The march today was a powerful experience, made even more beautiful by the fact that I got to march with Devin and his mom, who is not only the mom of a former kid I love very much but also an educator who teaches kids today.

Anne (Devin’s mom), me, and Devin at the end of the Kids’ March for Black Lives


I feel incredibly lucky to have gotten to hear children and anti-racist parents and teachers speak about justice and safety and what it means to be in community and divest from unjust systems in order to invest in what we really need: schools, housing, clean water, health care (just to name a few).

Protesting in a pandemic is complicated, and there are lots of ways to contribute to the Black Lives Matter movement that don’t involve going outside and participating in person, but I’m really glad we were able to go and march in a way that felt safe and responsible given our risk factors and responsibilities to others around us. If you’re thinking of going to a protest, I encourage you to read this list and make a plan to participate with COVID protection in mind. Remember: we keep us safe!


P.S. The list I’m sharing here was made by my friends Alison Kopit (she/her) and Elizabeth Harrison (they/them), two of the most intentional, community-minded people I know and admire!

Protesting in a Pandemic and Risk Reduction

Sometimes

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Sometimes I remember something that feels good to remember, and I have to write it down.

Like the time Devin and I rode home from Philadelphia on the Megabus. It was summer. I was wearing a sundress. And the A/C was turned up so high that I couldn’t feel my feet. My eyes were frozen grapes. My goosebumps had goosebumps, which had goosebumps, which had even more goosebumps––generations of goosebumps on all my limbs. I covered myself with everything in reach (my backpack, Devin’s backpack, his button-down shirt), but I was powerless against the cold. And I knew that just outside the window, it was hot. Sunny, sweaty, sniff-check-your-deodorant hot.

This cold was a man-made problem! It could be fixed with the turn of a dial. If only I could get to the driver’s seat… I pictured myself a spy: Kim Possible minus the cargo pants on a mission to turn down the A/C while the driver fumbled with the radio. But Devin napped the whole way back, and I was in the window seat. Powerless.

We got off the bus in Chelsea, which was convenient because we could catch the 2 train right there and ride it home to Brooklyn. The bus dropped us off right at the subway stop, and we started to go down the stairs, but I was cold. I was still so cold, and I knew the train would also be blasting the A/C. I turned back to look at Devin, who was oblivious to the whole thing. Angry New Yorkers scowled at us for holding up traffic on the subway stairs. I yelled, “No! I am not getting into another air-conditioned vehicle! I would rather walk home!”

And Devin, who had no idea that I had transformed into the world’s worst enemy of air-cooling technology while he slept, said, “Sure, we can walk home.”

We could have been home in 40 minutes, but instead, we walked 2 and a half hours. It felt exactly right.

Sometimes

an anniversary video

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Usually on our anniversary, I like to post a wedding picture, but I figure everyone has probably already seen all of them. Multiple times. (What’s the statute of limitations on posting pictures from your wedding? Are You There, Emily Post? It’s Me, A Millennial.)

This was also the first anniversary we spent apart, so I asked Devin if we could make a Q&A video (partly because we played a Q&A game at our wedding and partly so I could watch it on our anniversary and laugh at Devin side-eyeing me with the fire of a thousand suns).

It’s been a couple of months since our anniversary, but this has never been a timely blog, so here it is for your enjoyment/bafflement. Happy anniversary, Devin! I love you.

an anniversary video

Notes on a Surprise Party

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When I introduce Devin, I like to tell people that he’s from a hippie community. “No, like a real hippie community,” I clarify. I explain that his parents grow most of their own food, that people have names like Tree, Chamomile, and Forest––and oh yeah, Devin and his three best friends were all born at home and delivered by the same midwife.*

This year, the spouses of those four born-at-home hippies decided to surprise them with a birthday party. The midwife came. It was in the house where one of them was born. And––at the height of the party––the mothers did dramatic readings of their birth stories that bordered on performance art. (OK, the last one is a lie, but I wish I’d thought to suggest it.)

 

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The four born-at-home hippies with Tree, their midwife

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The party-planning spouses

At first, the surprise party seemed easy enough to orchestrate. All we had to do was get the guys to go home on the same weekend, have them show up at the same place at the same time, and keep it a secret until then. In the end, it was less “piece of cake” and more “learning experience.” I took some notes in case you’d like to learn from my mistakes!

1) Coordinating party plans from three different states can be really confusing. You’ll probably send a lot of text messages. If you don’t want your surprise target to get suspicious about said texting, change the names of your co-conspirators in your contact list. Otherwise, your partner may see your phone light up with a text from his best friend’s partner and say, “Hey! Look who sent you a text message!” thinking you’re going to tell him that they’re coming to visit or something, and instead you’ll get cagey and mumble that he shouldn’t look at your phone.

2) Related: figure out a plan so that your partner doesn’t talk to any of his best friends in the weeks leading up to their joint surprise party (and then report back because I still don’t know how to do this).

3) How do you explain coming home with 45 pounds of cheese? You can’t. Don’t do the party prep at your place––or figure out a workaround for party prep altogether. I recommend throwing your surprise party with people who don’t mind doing a potluck. Luckily, hippies are so down for potlucks (though really, “potluck” is an understatement. We had so many cakes that we hardly made a dent in the official birthday cake! It was like a cartoon banquet come to life.)

4) This might seem like backward advice, but trust me: you don’t want to be too good at hiding the surprise party. I was so focused on keeping the secret that Devin thought I wasn’t going to celebrate his birthday at all. And he planned his own party. Oops. Miraculously, he decided he wanted it to be a brunch at his parents’ house on the same day as the surprise party, which was a dinner, so we were able to do both (back-to-back!), but it was nerve-wracking for me and confusing for Devin. So confusing in fact that when everyone yelled, “Surprise!” Devin turned to me in a panic and said, “Do my parents know about this?” because he was worried they hadn’t been invited. (They had to wait until we left their house to drive to the party.)

brunch-party-group-photo
Devin’s morning party with our Madison friends (photo by our friend Kate)

dinner party group photo.jpeg
Devin’s evening party with his baby friends (and their babies!)

5) The saying “two can keep a secret if one of them is dead” definitely applies in this situation. Surprising four people is impossible! By the end of our party-planning sojourn, half of the birthday guys knew about the party, and you know what? They didn’t enjoy it any less than the dudes who didn’t know.

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Happy birthday, Devin, Jackson, James, and Morgan!


I’m honestly not sure if the moral of this story is that a party doesn’t have to be a surprise to be fun OR that now I know how to do better next time. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see!

*I told Tree, the midwife, that this is my favorite fun fact about Devin, and she asked me to note that she does not deliver babies. The way she sees it, the person giving birth does all the work. She’s just there to assist.  

Notes on a Surprise Party

This is the story of a happy birthday

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This weekend I had my first birthday in Madison.

My friend Makeba flew in from New York, like the life-size present she is! She is a seasoned traveler, and this was her first trip to the Midwest, so you know I had show off all the good spots.

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We checked out the feminist bookstore, three coffee shops, two museums, one airy boutique, a steakhouse straight out of 1960, the State Capitol from every angle at every hour, a free yoga class overlooking the lake, and a store where you can sample absolutely everything!

We also walked on water.

Frozen water, but still! It takes a lot of courage to walk on a lake when you did not grow up doing this kind of thing.

Devin’s idea of reassuring us was to stomp on the ice as hard as he could right next to our feet. “See! It’s very frozen! Hey, look at that crack over there!” (Did you know you can have false symptoms of a heart attack?)

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We were also able to rescue some chairs that had been abandoned in the middle of the lake (but not before taking some cool pics).

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Last year Anda sent me the most beautiful gold sparkler candles in the shape of the numbers “2” and “6” and I rushed to use them on my birthday eve, before turning 27. (Numerous people later told me I could have waited until I turned 62. I hadn’t thought of that; otherwise, I might have!) By coincidence, our friend Kate gave me two chocolate pastries that were a perfect match.

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After the birthday eve blowing-out-of-candles (a new tradition I highly recommend), we went to Gib’s and saw almost everyone I know in Madison in one place. This might be the uncoolest thing to admit in writing, but I realized I have more friends here than I thought (when did that happen?), and it was super nice to see them all in one place!

Then, we went to a ‘90s vs. ‘00s music video dance party, and I learned that I am the only person I know who prefers the noughties to the nineties, at least musically. This is shocking to me. Doesn’t anyone remember Hey Ya? Paper Planes? The genesis of Young Money? Without which there would be no Nicki Minaj or Drake, and then where would we be??? I don’t even want to think about it.

One bright side of living far away from most people I know is that I got more phone calls, FaceTimes, and birthday packages than ever before. I just finished making a list of all the people I still need to thank or call back, and it is the nicest to-do list.

In conclusion, I like my birthday and I like you.

This is the story of a happy birthday

MADE: Chocolate Raspberry Cake

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On Wednesday, Devin asked, “How would you feel about hosting a birthday party on Saturday?”

And I said, “A birthday party?! For whom?”

He blushed and said, “Well…me.”

Oops.

In my defense, this was the day after I locked myself in the house because I couldn’t find my keys. Where did the keys finally turn up? My purse.

Right.

Clearly, I haven’t been at my brightest lately, but once I realized his birthday was Monday (that is, two days ago), I got excited, especially after he asked if I would make a cake. Contrary to what this post might suggest, I love celebrating Devin’s birthday. Last year we had a big brunch and then went roller-skating. One year I commissioned a piñata that was six feet tall. And the very first party we threw together was a ‘60s-themed birthday party for him.

At 20, I’d never baked a cake from scratch, but I had a vision of chocolate cakes in the shape of records, complete with grooves and those round LP labels on top. Luckily, I had a very generous friend named Alison who had baked me the best cake I’d ever had. That’s the cake I wanted to make for Devin, and Alison was so generous she even gave me the recipe.

The first time I baked it, it was really hard. I thought I would mess it all up, and every single one of my roommates had to help me (to bake and to stay calm), but in the end, we had record-shaped cakes, and everybody loved them.

This past Saturday I baked that cake again. I know I would have liked it for nostalgic reasons no matter what it tasted like, but I promise you, it tasted even better than I remembered. Plus, when I made it for the first time six years ago, Devin went to the store to get drinks and came back with the September issue for me. When I made it this year, Devin went out and came back with a piano. I’m sure my imaginary lawyers would totally advise against this, but I’ll just go ahead and say it: this cake is magic.

Chocolate Raspberry Cake with Chocolate Ganache Icing
(adapted from Vegan with a Vengeance by Isa Chandra Moskowitz)

Chocolate Raspberry Cake with Chocolate Ganache Icing

Ingredients

* 1 1/2 cups all-purpose white flour
* 1/2 cup cocoa powder
* 1 teaspoon baking powder
* 1 teaspoon baking soda
* 1/2 teaspoon salt
* 2 1/4 cups soymilk (or another type of milk)
* 1/2 cup coconut oil (or another oil)
* 3/4 cup raspberry jam or preserves
* 2 1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract
* 1 1/4 cups sugar
* 6 tablespoons margarine (or buttery spread of your choice)
* 10 ounces semi-sweet chocolate chips (1 cup and 2 tablespoons)
* Optional: fresh raspberries or sprinkles to decorate the cake

Tools

* 1 or 2 cake pans (I used two 8-inch pie pans because we hadn’t finished unpacking our kitchen, and they worked perfectly. You could also use one slightly larger cake pan and make a single-tier cake)
* 1 small bowl
* 1 large bowl
* 1 medium pot

Directions

1. First, make the ganache icing. It sounds fancy, but it’s ridiculously easy! Bring ¾ cup of soymilk to a low boil in a medium pot. Add the margarine and let it melt. Then, turn off the heat and stir in chocolate chips until smooth. Let sit for at least one hour to thicken. At that point, it should be easy to pour over your cake.

2. Next, get your cake materials ready! Preheat your oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit, and grease your cake pan(s) with a little margarine or oil.

3. Mix your dry ingredients in a small bowl: flour, cocoa powder, baking power, baking soda, and salt.

4. Mix your wet ingredients in a large bowl: 1 ½ cups of soymilk, the coconut oil (make sure it’s liquid! If it’s solid, melt it in the microwave), ½ cup of the jam or preserves, the vanilla, and the sugar in a large bowl and mix. You can use an electric mixer or your muscles (I used just a fork and it worked perfectly). The jam should be mostly dissolved with the rest of the ingredients, but a few small clumps are okay.

5. Add the dry ingredients to the wet in batches and mix until everything is mixed together. If you’re going to use two pans, divide the batter between the prepared pans. Otherwise, pour it into one pan. Bake at 350F for 40-45 minutes, or until a toothpick or knife comes out clean. (I baked mine for exactly 41 minutes, so make sure you check it at 40!) Remove from oven and let cool in pans.

6. It’s time to put icing on the cake! When the cakes have cooled, spread one layer of cake with the rest of your raspberry jam or preserves. If you’re making a single-layer cake, just mix the raspberry jam with the chocolate ganache. The ganache should be the perfect consistency for pouring over the cake––my favorite way to spread icing on a cake because it’s easy and looks nice.

7. Decorate it to your liking! Raspberries on top look really pretty, but so would sprinkles or nothing at all––a chocolate cake is a thing of beauty on its own.

MADE: Chocolate Raspberry Cake

Like a southbound train

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flowers and suit

I can hardly believe it, but it’s been two years since Devin and I got married!

This whole thing started when I walked into the cafeteria and thought, “Who is that cute boy. And how have I not seen him before?” That was ages ago, but sometimes when I see Devin across a crowded room I still think, “Woah. Who is that?”

I think it’s because I never wear my glasses.

Happy anniversary, Devin! Here’s to two (hundred) more.

Like a southbound train

Too Legit

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If you ever need a hype man for your blog, Devin is the dude for the job. I speak from personal experience.

See, one night I was walking down Broadway in SoHo when it started snowing lightly. I had just gone to the Westminster Dog Show Semi-Finals with two of my friends. We’d all worn ridiculous hats and seen A LOT of dogs.
anna and meI was having a private moment, thinking there’s nowhere else I’d rather be when this man appears out of nowhere and asks if he can give me a valentine. (I forgot to mention it was Valentine’s Day). I said sure, and guess what.

It wasn’t even creepy at all!

It had an encouraging message inside and a dog on the front. Yes, my friends, a DOG VALENTINE ON MY VALENTINE’S DAY OF DOGS! I could not make this stuff up and hope that if someone ever writes a biography of me they include this as an Important Life Moment. The valentine-giver didn’t include his email or Twitter or anything, so it wasn’t just a random act of kindness; it was a random act of kindness without self-promotion in the digital age (doesn’t that sound like a line from some hand-wringing think piece about how the internet has robbed us of our humanity?).

dog valentine

not creepyAnyway, that story actually has nothing to do with the matter at hand, except that it happened as I was walking to an ice cream shop to meet Devin. When I got there, I explained I was meeting someone before sitting quietly and looking out the window.

Then, in walks Devin. First, he asks a couple of questions about the chocolate milkshake. “I’m reviewing it for a blog,” he clarifies. Suddenly, the ice cream salesperson is falling all over herself to help us, giving us the owner’s phone number, calling headquarters to find out what kind of chocolate they use and if it’s fair trade. Things. Are. Happening.

Devin explains that he review shakes for my blog, and the attention shifts to me. “What’s it called?,” asks a girl from a small college in rural Pennsylvania.

“Smooth Liminal,” I answer, trying to channel Devin’s easy confidence.

“Oh! My friend reads that!”

I’m pretty sure “My friend reads your blog” is the 2015 equivalent of “Yeah, I loved their first album,” but I try to play it cool because hello, who doesn’t read my blog? ; )

Then, I stood a little taller and said yes when the salesperson offered to let me sample every flavor.

Too Legit

A Really White Christmas

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I spent Christmas in a gingerbread house. For real. Devin’s parents’ house is a little wooden cabin in the middle of the snowy woods, and as soon as you walk in, you are absolutely surrounded by sugar. Would you like a Christmas cookie with sprinkles? Maybe chocolate chip is more your style. Or perhaps you prefer cookies dipped in chocolate. No matter, they have it all. Candy bars and candy canes galore. If you like cold sweets, there’s ice cream. And if you like warm sweets, there are cinnamon buns, pancakes, and blueberry muffins covered in sugar crystals. Maybe you’d rather have sugar in liquid form. For that there are dozens of jars of maple syrup (from the trees outside) and a jar of honey (from the neighbor’s bees). It’s like being a kid in a candy store, only all the candy is free.

A mitten made of mini cupcakes
A mitten made of mini cupcakes

This is my first Christmas away from my family, and I joke with Devin that it’s my first White Christmas because it’s the first* Christmas I spend in the States, with White Americans. Of course, “White American” is an ethnicity with many subcultures, just like “Mexican” is. Devin comes from a community that grows food, buys gifts at L.L. Bean, and has thoughtful discussions about politics and climate change. They also go out of their way to make me feel welcome. On Christmas Eve, the family friends who invited us over for dinner made lots of mini food because they heard I liked little things (seriously)! On Christmas morning we ate beans for breakfast (because Devin told his parents that beans are my favorite food). And Devin’s family has included me in their own traditions. We cut down a Christmas tree the day after I got here, and there’s a fire burning all day long. It’s been magical to sit by its glow and listen to carols. Once I was singing, “Frosted wiiiindow panes, candles gleaming inside, painted candy canes on the treeeeeeeee” and realized we were surrounded by all those things! Well, okay, replace “candles gleaming” with “LED’s glowing” (they are environmentalists, after all).

The town closest to this little farm reminds me of Casas Grandes, the town closest to my aunt Menry’s house, where my family usually spends Christmas, only all the restaurants here are sponsored by Pabst Blue Ribbon Beer instead of Coca-Cola. (You could argue that Mexico sponsors Coca-Cola and not the other way around because Mexico drinks more soda per capita than any other country.)

Of course, nothing makes up for missing your family, especially when you’ve never had to be apart this time of year before. My cousin Vanessa knows this firsthand, and she sent me the best box ever to open on Christmas. It was called the “First Christmas Away From Your Family Survival Kit” and contained a funny book, the best Mexican candy (including mazapanes for those who prefer sweet to spicy) and chocolate Abuelita. She also sent me some earrings because she is the greatest.

By far the biggest difference between U.S. Christmas and Mexican Christmas is bedtime. When Devin’s parents were going to sleep on Christmas Eve, my family in Chihuahua was just sitting down to dinner. Devin and I managed to stay up to Skype with them, which was awesome. My niece Victoria rushed to the screen and said, “¡Estoy comiendo zanahorias como tú!” (I’m eating carrots like you!). I always worry that she’ll forget about me because I don’t get to see her as much as I wish, so it was really special to know that she thinks about her weird vegetarian aunt.

Otherwise, Christmas here is pretty similar to Christmas there. A big part of that is due to globalization and how effectively U.S. corporations export American cultural traditions, but another big reason is that I’ve always been surrounded by a loving family at Christmastime, and this year was no different.

Tree cutting 2014 3

*It’s not my first Christmas in the U.S.A. if you count the very first Christmas of my life, which was spent in the States, but I don’t because I was nine months old and had to fact-check where I spent it before writing this.

A Really White Christmas