Having grown up in ski-resort infested Lake Tahoe with its cold weather and frequent snow, the winter holidays were always associated with neighborhood snowball fights and days when school would be canceled due to excessive snowfall. The buildings were all decorated in twinkling lights and tinsel, and the anticipation for the holidays just seemed to buzz in the air. The first winter I spent in Las Vegas was a complete culture shock to me.

Instead of the 30-degree and below freezing temperatures of Lake Tahoe came the mid-60 degree temperature of the desert that hardly even required a coat. The shopping mall did not host the typical jolly Santa Claus that lets kids sit in his lap, but instead an electronic talking tree named “Bruce the Spruce” that shouted insults at shoppers as they walked by. It was of some reassurance to see a couple of Christmas lights in the distance, but only until it was pointed out that they were strung around palm trees.

Somehow, I had traded in the landscape of the snowcapped Sierra Mountains for the glitzy, yet bland Las Vegas Strip in a city where it seemed totally unnatural to spend the holidays. It just felt completely odd and insincere.

It was not until Christmas Eve when sitting around the table with my family, talking and teasing one another and eating the food we have eaten year after year that it hit me. What really defines the holidays? Is it the shopping and gift giving? Is it the weather and decorations?

In the end, I realized the holidays were not about the scenery or any of the materialistic things surrounding me. At that point, I realized I had the laughter and company of the people I love, and that truly is what the holidays are about.

-Return to December 2003 Issue-