I stepped out of the hotel into the bustle of Michigan Avenue. In the air there was a feeling of Christmas. I could see it. I could feel it. There were crowds of people clutching shopping bags in both hands crossing the street. There were Salvation Army bell ringers wearing their Santa hats. The stores were decorated with Christmas trees and garland, their windows filled with manikins in finery, outerwear or the latest fashion. The shoppers were strolling bundled against the cold wind with their children peeking out of their wrappings. I joined the flow; let it draw me up the street.
The excitement on the street was palpable. The Lights Festival would start at 6pm. It is the only parade I know of that is at night. The kids on the street were laughing, people passing them by with smiles. Excitement was building. Santa would be there of course, but best of all, Mickey Mouse would wave his wand and the lights along the avenue would magically light up.
I had been struggling. The holiday season was approaching and I couldn’t get with it. I don’t know if it was the warm weather, my crazy schedule of late or the general humbug that was going around. I had heard many people say they were not in the spirit. Well, my friends, I found mine on Michigan Avenue in Chicago.