Since there were no religious holidays under the Soviet regime, I grew up celebrating New Year's Eve as Christmas is celebrated in the U.S. We had a New Year's tree, and Santa Claus came, but he was called Grandpa Frost. He also drove a sleigh, but Rudolph wasn't at the lead. Everyone got one present from Grandpa Frost. And it was incredibly special and magical. I usually got a yellow teddy bear. This is because I lost my yellow teddy bear every year. How did Grandpa Frost know that I lost mine again?
A few days before New Year's, my family gathered at my grandmother's house. She was born on December 24th, and it was a joint celebration of her birthday and the upcoming New Year. Here she is under the New Year's tree, a Russian princess.
And here is her legendary table setting for twenty two guests:
Since my family is technically Jewish, we have not had a tree since arriving in the U.S. I miss its piny aroma permeating the rooms, though I don't miss the dried up needles that ended up in everything for months long after the holidays.
Outside my window the view gets whiter and whiter. Happy New Year, grandma.
