freeze

Every day Stefan crosses a day off his homemade countdown calendar, not counting today to make Christmas seem sooner. "Today is Chirstmas Eve Eve Eve Eve," he tells me.

The days are swirling past like snowflakes and I'm dazzled by all the sights–the lit up Urkraina hotel, the Christmas tree on the embassy compound with the Russian White House as a backdrop, the stunning dacha-in-frost sets last night at the Snowmaiden ballet. I want to knit a hat like the costume, I want to keep figuring out Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring on the guitar, I want to listen more closely to the new Pink Martini Chirstmas album, bake merange cookies, call my mom. Appreciating Stefan's anticipation makes my time slow down to his for a second and lets me think I can maybe do all that. And still shop for stocking stuffers for Camille. 

As much as I adored going home for Chirstmas last year, this year snuggling into Moscow's Chirstmas spectacular feels like a gift. Watching the wind roll the snow into a cloud and blow it across the windows, is like a show. Getting in the car and seeing Moscow go by through windows frosted over in a million sparkly stars and flowers, it's like an effect for a movie.

Christmas is New Years here, and the holiday goes on for eleven days afterwards, they are just getting geared up. I still want to take photos of Red Square and see the Diaghalev window displays at GUM. I need as many Christmas Eve Eve Eve Eves as I can get.