Mele Kalikimaka, New York!
When I was five months pregnant, I woke up Christmas morning in Mililani, Oahu, to a beautiful, eighty-degree day and felt wildly depressed. We were still new to the islands and our families were five thousand miles away.
This isn’t Christmas, I barked at my husband. I’m from New York! I need snow! I need cold! I need creamy hot chocolate and rosy-cheeked ice skaters gliding around Rockefeller Center! The last thing my hormonally challenged, burgeoning body wanted was hot tropical sun.
Fortunately, my husband wasn’t subject to those mother-to-be mood swings. Calmly, he gathered some musty sweaters and led me to the car. Where are we going?!! I protested. Fifteen minutes later we pulled into the Ice Palace parking lot - an indoor ice rink , the only one in the entire state. This isn’t Rockefeller Center, I complained. But the instant I stepped inside and laid eyes on the happy skaters and twinkling Christmas lights, my sweaty, swollen body let out a long, contented ahhhhh….
So I ordered my hot chocolate. But the young girl behind the counter informed me there wasn’t any; the hot chocolate machine was broken. She must have seen my crestfallen expression, though, because she quickly offered to hand-stir some. Gratefully, I accepted. So there I sat shivering, sipping my grainy hot chocolate, cuddled against my husband, our yet-to-be-born son cozy beneath layers of old sweaters and young love.
That day turned into a cherished family ritual. Every single Christmas Day since (for almost a quarter of a century), after a long morning of unwrapping presents, my husband Dennis, our son Reyn, and I wrap ourselves in sweaters so we can slip and slide to our heart’s content inside the Ice Palace. It may not be Rockefeller Center. But there’s an icy rink, cheerfully loud Christmas music, and they’ve repaired the hot chocolate machine so you can burn your tongue on a perfectly blended cupful of the stuff.
Gosh, what more can an irritable ex-New Yorker ask for?
