Oh yes... I forgot. My father took us to see "The Nutcracker," which is, according to my sister, an honored tradition for the Houston Ballet.
If any of you know me, (which I will assume w/o hesitation) none yet do, er... unless God is reading this, you'll understand that I would fain forego a football game or other sporting event to see something of this kind.
What can I say? For one brief cosmic moment, I got to sink into that welcoming bosom of dreams "amidst great midnight chandeliers" that I've only marginally scraped during my academia at BYU. Not to be cheesy, though I'm patently patterned that way, but it felt like home.
I dare not speak here of production values, knowing that I am still an all-around dilettante in comparison to the more culturally acclimated, except to say that it was extraordinary to behold through a veil of a winter's landscape a child waking from a Nutcracker dream, to see sugar-plum fairies pirouetting amidst giant falling snowflakes, and perhaps most profound, to witness the grandeur of a family gathering like it should be, but perhaps never has been---all enacted in effulgent, eloquent dance.
As I sat there, I was reminded that God, too, is an inspirer of poetry, of music, of things that drive mankind's dreams... and I once again felt close to my Creator, esteeming myself a creator also, albeit on a miniscule scale. It made my vacation, even from the cheap seats.
Well, my oratory has once again spilled over into the ostentatious... So, adieu.