This Christmas, I found myself with my laptop on my lap, trying not to think too hard about the celebrations about to start in the neighbouring room. Not because I have suddenly turned into Scrroge, but because if my mind meanders too much into the volutes of the past, I will start to think about the Christmases of my childhood, and about absent ones on this first Christmas without my father.
I think about December 12th, when the coupola lit up for its hundreth anniversary. I think about last Christmas, the last one we shared with my father. I think about the Galeries Lafayette of my childhood, a magical realm that would open for a Christmas extravaganza. I think about Louis Majorelle, who built this magnificent interlacing of metal and glass, and its golden light.
And with the last minutes of 2012 slipping through our fingers like the bubbles escaping from our champagne glasses, I think about the lights that dance and illuminate the coloured glasses. I think about it until the lights become nothing but splashes of colour that mix with the sparkling lights of the Christmas tree.
Here’s to another 100 Christmases.