by Jen Anderson
There is nothing more magical than watching “The Nutcracker” come to life on the stage before an aspiring six year old ballerina’s eyes. To be quite honest, 12 years later, I still hear a “ker-thud” in my heart when the house lights dim and the very first notes of the overture start. Going to watch “The Nutcracker” is one holiday tradition that my mother and I cannot pass up.
Each winter, we free up an evening to take the lightrail from our house in the suburbs of Denver into the heart of Downtown Denver for an unforgettable experience. Sipping white chocolate mochas at Starbucks while watching the snowfall outside, walking underneath the lights draped across my favorite street in Denver, eating exquisite meals at my favorite Italian restaurant while dressed up in beautiful dressses: what little girl wouldn’t love this mother-daughter bonding trip?
For me, it’s my favorite day of the year. Every performance, my love for dance grows a little more. My love for the arts grows a little more. My wonder for the shining, twirling tulle tutus or the satin-like, flowing ball gowns grows even more. It’s not just a tradition, but it’s been a way of life for me growing up. “The Nutcracker” to me is an old flower that only blossoms more with age, never dying but rather feeding off of my obsession for the arts. My mother has given me an awe aspiring tradition that I too will carry on for my future children to experience.