I've been listening to Christmas music since Thanksgiving ended, and one of my favorites on repeat is "What Christmas Means to Me." And, as the holiday approaches, I find myself looking back on this season and the many changes in my life over the last few years. When I was a kid, Christmas was always magical. My parents always made my brother and me feel beyond special. The amount of gifts under the tree were staggering, but it wasn't just the gifts that made the day. Eating my grandmother's dinner and then years later enjoying my mom's pasta sauce served over our ravioli dinner are just some of the memories that flood my mind (and taste buds!). Some years, the holiday was chaotic. With icy travel on the roads between this cousin and that one's home, or sitting with my eyes half closed through midnight mass, or trying to stay up as late as I could when I believed in Santa to try and catch him in the house - the season was full of Christmas adventures. My mom cleverly told me she kept the door unlocked for the fat man in red  when I so smartly asked how he got in the house since we had no chimney and a fake fireplace mural. No matter what though, those years always ended with my grandmother waddling up the front stairs holding a pot of her chicken cacciatore that filled the house with its aroma. My early Christmases were truly memorable.

Over the years, the season morphed into different celebrations. When I was living in California, though I never went back to Boston, I would always call my mom on my drive to Palm Springs. And though I missed our ravioli dinners, I always texted her a picture of my cocktail and dinner wherever I wound up on that day. I recently, very suddenly and unexpectadly, lost a good friend with whom I spent many Christmas dinners with in Los Angeles. I know that his sudden passing, and all the memories of the ones I've lost has been leaving me with pangs of sadness this year. The feeling comes for just a split second because each of those memories hold something special for me that make me smile and remember the good times.  And, for the last three years, I've spent great times writing a whole new chapter in Texas and to bookend an amazing honeymoon year, John and I will compose more pages to our story back in Paris. Our summer honeymoon was more magical and amazing than I could have ever imagined, and this  fall, on a particularly stressful day during our endless remodel, we decided to treat ourselves once again to our favorite city this Christmas. On our last week in the City of Lights, the temperatures kept climbing and it got almost as hot as Texas. That, coupled with San Antonio weather refusing to match the calendar combined with the constant drilling and demolition of walls in our home made booking the trip that much more relevant to our sanity.

I've always wanted to see Paris at Christmas, and after taking my mom to Europe, it was something I wanted to share with her. But, I knew that she was getting older and traveling, especially in winter would not have been a good idea. And, every Christmas since her passing seems to leave me with a bit more sadness than the year before it. Yet, when I start to miss her more than I think I can stand, I am reminded of a quote my father sent me shortly after she left us.

Death leaves a heartache no one can heal. Love leaves a memory no one can steal.

It was love that made my trips with her so memorable. Although I took her on three European destinations, that first adventure in Paris will always be the best. It's just one of many reasons why Paris means so much to me. Taking every memory I have with her there and wrapping them in the ones John and I made over our 13 day honeymoon are forever in my visions. I am beyond lucky to be able to return to Paris so soon, and with no agenda except to just bundle up and breathe in the holiday magic of Paris, John and I will be capping off a year like no other in our lives. I'll continue to share our adventures and maybe, just maybe, you'll understand the magic of Paris.