When you grow up in Illinois, the Rose Parade on New Year’s Day is as magical and foreign as Disneyland. When I was a kid, all we knew of Disneyland was the Sunday night TV staple, “The Wonderful World of Disney.” The show started with Tinkerbell using her magic wand to sprinkle fireworks into the sky around Sleeping Beauty’s castle. I often wonder how my memory recalls those fireworks as “in color” when our TV was black and white. Going to Disneyland was a childhood dream that came true the first year we lived in California. The Rose Parade was also just a dream that, this year, came true for me.
Now, January is one of my favorite times of the year in Illinois. The wet snow storms of December have given way to zero temperature snow showers that deposit crystal snowflakes on the blanket of deep snow that had already tucked in the grass and gardens. The Rose Parade, with its blue sky and bright yellow sunshine, flowers of every color fashioned into make believe worlds on wheels and the instruments of the marching bands gleaming in the sun – this all arrived on our TV at a time when Illinois was in deep freeze and the sun was just a pale icy orb in glacier blue skies.
We were sheltered from that frigid outdoors in our warm home, and I’d settle into a chair in my pj’s and watch the parade. It was a gentle way to ease me out of the anticipation of Christmastime and back into the reality that I would soon have return to the buzz kill known as school. Is it any wonder it was a dream of mine from so long ago to someday BE at the Rose Parade?
I’ve lived out here in California for thirty years, but Northern California might as well have been Illinois when it came to going to Pasadena for the Rose Parade. The cost of getting there, the cost of staying there, the idea of travelling at such a busy time of year all made it seem like more trouble than it was worth. You know the old saw – the best seat in the house is in front of your television. But still…
When we moved to Orange County, before I found a doctor, a dentist or the cheapest gas, I found my hair colorist. Like all good hair stylists, Amber is also a certified conversationalist. My first time in the “chair” Amber told me she lived in Pasadena and commuted three times a week because she had grown up in San Clemente and her client base is here. I casually mentioned that going to the Rose Parade was on my bucket list. She just as casually told me I could come to her house – she lives three houses away from the parade route. Every year they chalk out their territory on the parade route sidewalk the night before and with thousands of others, guard their space all night long. Could it really be that easy?
Yes. Because Al and I had to travel an hour to get there, we decided (ok, I decided) we would take the all night guard shift. That offer was snapped up happily by Amber and her husband Gabe, who now have a 14 month old son. So last night, less than 24 hours ago, we packed up a couple of memory foam mattress toppers, our sleeping bags, warm clothes and folding chairs and took off for Pasadena. We arrived at 11 p.m., parked at Amber’s house, celebrated the New Year at midnight with the people already on the street with us. Colorado Boulevard turns into a “cruising street” where cars circle the block, daring the crowds to hit them with silly string, marshmallows, tortillas and bologna. Beware, the next time around the block the favor may be returned, with a bit of egg thrown in for good measure.
Then the crowd thinned down to the overnighters so Al and I set up our beds. We had a little fire pit and plenty of wood courtesy of Amber and Gabe. Al got all tucked in and drifted off right away, but not before me realizing how very lucky I am to have a husband who would “do this” for my happiness. I slept like I usually do – fitfully – although the memory foam is now our go-to camping pad. I dozed and then got up at 3 a.m. to stoke the fire. It was very cold at about 2:30 a.m. but by the time the fire had warmed us up the middle of the night chill was gone. The crowd was settling down and I did get about an hour and a half of sleep.
Apparently it is also a tradition of the tow truck drivers who tow the floats into place (at 5 a.m.) to stage a bit of a parade themselves, driving slowly down Colorado Boulevard with horns and sirens of every possible volume and genre and other obnoxious noises telling us all to wake up, get our coffee and donuts going, because the night is all but over and the parade is not far off.
I hate to disappoint you, but am not talented enough to describe the floats, the bands, the costumes, the horses. My arsenal of adjectives fail me. I went back and forth between wanting to take pictures/movies and also knowing that it was futile to capture it and that I should be fully experiencing it in real life. Sometimes I did a combo of the two, held up the camera and watched the float at the same time. The sheer numbers of flowers is indescribable. When the TV announcers breathlessly declare “the animals on that float are made of 300 palm fronds and 25 pounds of coconut hair and 30,000 button chrysanthemums” even being there in person, seeing with your own eyes red and yellow and coral and white roses jam packed onto a float, along with every kind of tropical plant and seeds of every color and red apples and green peppers and dendrobia orchids hanging from “trees” 30 feet above you – it is hard for the brain to grasp.
The marching bands? I don’t even remember the names of them all but how about the East-West Fusion Band, comprised of kids from Valley Christian Schools in San Jose, CA and Beijing No. 57 High School in China? Or The Roots of Music Marching Crusaders from New Orleans, comprised of 140 at-risk and disadvantaged kids performing for the first time outside of Louisiana. They wore costumes right out of The Music Man with braided black and gold epaulets and big furry hats and although they didn’t sound as polished as some of the honor bands, their pride and hope and earnest commitment was evident on their faces. What about the Pride of the Dutchman Marching Band – the members all wear wooden shoes and the clicking of the shoes on the pavement is as mesmerizing as any music by any marching band anywhere.
What about seeing Dr. Jane Goodall, the Master of Ceremonies, in person? That woman has not changed a bit since we first heard about her work with chimpanzees when she was 26 years old. She still looks young and her face is still as gentle and kind and perhaps only her eyes reflect the wisdom of her years of effort to change how we view our wild animals on this earth.
When I finally woke up from my dream, I found it hadn’t been a dream at all. I really was there. When we got home at 2 p.m., I could not believe all that we had done in that 17 hours. Spending the night was just as much a part of the fun as the parade itself. There was no drinking, the police were present but friendly and would sometimes get out of their cars to remove a bit of silly string. If some unlucky out of towner happened to find themselves on Colorado Boulevard and stopped a cop to complain that things were being thrown at their car, the cops would gently explain that “it is New Years’ Eve and do you know the the Rose Parade is tomorrow…you might not want to drive on this street tonight…” It was a party like no other – safe, fun and oh what’s that word again? Magical.
The theme of the parade this year was Dr. Seuss’ Oh the Places You’ll Go. It is truly a fitting theme for my life this past year. A year and a half ago I did not know I would go to Southern California to live, that I would live in an ocean view home in San Clemente, that I would go whale watching and see my first blue whale, that I would go to the Rose Parade in Pasadena. Life is a wonderful parade, and I’m going to just keep putting one foot in front of the other on my way to fulfill other dreams.
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