Dear Wigleaf,

This year, we celebrated my aunt's birthday at the Happiest Place on Earth. Well, actually, next to it. Their retirement community across the street.

These days, I think my aunt and uncle would say this place is happier than Disneyland. No screaming children. No lines, no rush. Plus, it always seems to be happy hour.

Mom had baked a cake. My aunt stuck four candles in it. "One for each of us," she said. When she blew them out, my uncle said, "It's the first time you've blown out all the candles in years!"

Disneyland sets off fireworks every night, at 9:30. The first few nights, I went down to the sidewalk to watch. Now, I barely react when they close their windows tight, turn TVs up. If you didn't know any better, you'd think shells were exploding across Anaheim, rattling the glass. Like, there are actual war veterans in this building. It's weird. You know what I mean?

My aunt still loves Disneyland—Haunted Mansion, Pirates, Tiki Room. For years, though, it seemed like she only came along to read. Outrageous, to a kid. "You can read at home!" I'd shout, hopped up on churros. She settled on her favourite bench. She'd sit there for hours, enjoying the energy, the people, and flowers.

Is that what getting old feels like? Going to Disneyland for the "experience," not the rides?

Flying back to Canada soon.

Next time I'm in California, let's go to Disneyland, okay?

With gratitude,

Kristen




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Read KSM's story.

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