For the past few days, ever since daylight savings, I've been thinking about winters back in Massachusetts. When I was younger, around this time of year, the old Jordan Marsh department store in Boston (now a Macy's) would set up the "Enchanted Village", an almost-over-the-top holiday wonderland that took up a whole floor of the building and drew in hoards of visitors with its lavish window displays. There were mechanical teddy bears in Santa hats waving at you. Toy trains chugging over and under snow-capped plastic mountains in dizzying figure eights. Endless repetition of Jingle Bell Rock and other holiday standards. Parents and kids and babies in strollers coming from all directions. And I went back year after year, loving every single minute.
(To this day, I'm a huge sucker for Christmas displays, even though my Sunday school education and church-going ended somewhere around third grade.)
And en route from Jordan Marsh, next to the Salvation Army bell ringers, there would inevitably be a guy selling fresh roasted chestnuts. I'd share a bag with whoever I was with, either my mom or aunt or a friend. Munching on the chestnuts, I'd also start humming the opening lines of The Christmas Song to myself, even the nuts weren't actually roasted, as the song goes, over an open fire.Read More