1
DECEMBERSnow kindness
Laura McEwen, a British set and costume designer, grew up with her mother reading The Snow Queen to her each winter in their stormy northern home. When she was fourteen, a close friend fell into depression and withdrew from everyone. Remembering Gerda’s courage, Laura walked through a heavy snowstorm to his house and simply sat with him in silence — a moment that became the first step out of his “winter.” For her, The Snow Queen has always been a story about showing up for people frozen by pain.
Like Laura, we believe that even small acts of kindness can thaw an inner winter. Sometimes, a suspended cappuccino waiting for someone who needs it is enough to melt a frozen heart.
2
DECEMBERBefore the spotlight
Sooner or later, almost every dancer performs in The Nutcracker. I have been in The Nutcracker almost every year since I was six. Since I’ve been in The Nutcracker in various places and stages in my life over the past 25 years, I’ve danced almost every role in the production, except Clara and the Sugar Plum Fairy. But before you sparkle as the Sugar Plum Fairy’s Cavalier, most of boys would perform as Fritz, a mouse, Mouse King, toy soldier, the Nutcracker, Russian dancer, Spanish dancer, Chinese dancer, but I started my winter tale career as a Christmas tree…
But here’s the thing: when you’re six years old, wrapped in fake branches and tinsel, doing your best to be festive and photosynthesizing, a small cup of hot chocolate with marshmallows can make the entire performance feel like magic.
3
DECEMBERSmall Gestures
Right before a performance at the Vienna State Ballet, I was waiting in the wings, a bit tense. One of the stagehands passed by, gave my shoulder a quick reassuring tap, and said quietly, “You’ve got this.” It lasted two seconds — nothing dramatic — but it warmed me more than the applause that came later.
Sometimes it’s the smallest backstage gestures that stay with you the longest.
And to make a difference on a tense morning or a bad day, nothing grand is needed. A tiny gesture — like a hanging espresso macchiato — can work the same quiet magic for someone as that little shoulder tap backstage did for me. (Calo Failia)
4
DECEMBERQueen of Recycling
My grandmother is a queen of recycling — though, of course, she has no idea. She keeps herself busy making rugs out of old knitwear that she absolutely forbids the family to throw away. For that process, she had been using an old pincushion doll that had clearly seen better days.
Recently, someone enlightened her that this little doll was actually a vintage artifact from the 1950s, from Eastern Germany (GDR), and that it might have some value if restored. Say no more! Within days, Nana had the poor lady fully restored. Now she has glamorously retired from being a pincushion and is living her best life as a Queen — also known as a paper press.
And honestly, stories like hers remind me that small things can have surprising power. Scientists say that small changes in routine boost mental activity and can even support longevity. Matcha tea does too. And sometimes, a hanging matcha tea is exactly that kind of small but mighty gesture — the kind that helps a tired student push through a long day in the auditorium. (Savelij Shevtsov)
5
DECEMBERWinged Horses of Winter
I am an art teacher in a community center in Italy. In our art & crafts workshops with children, we always create stories about the pieces they make in the studio. Recently, we had a class on Christmas ornaments. According to the Chinese calendar, the horse is the charm for the coming year, so we worked on horse decorations and decided that horses’ duty would be to deliver presents.
Being children of the 21st century, my students immediately insisted that a delivery horse needed more speed. So, they gave their horses wings. And that’s how they learned about Pegasus, Ancient Greek myths, and the famous Fountain of Pegasus at Villa Lante in Rome. Art is never boring – it just needs a bit of navigation. (Tata Lapteva)
6
DECEMBERCentral Park Fable
Black squirrels in NYC’s Central Park fascinate almost every European friend who comes to visit us in the Big Apple. Apparently, they’re quite a rarity across the pond. My stepmother has a theory that they are actually Eastern gray squirrels who, after years of living in the city and eating garbage from black plastic bags, had to “mimicrate” and changed their color.
Every time she shares this story with a new victim, my father – a high-profile geneticist – practically spins in the air. For almost 40 years, he has patiently explained why this theory is impossible, but a true New Yorker will always choose a good story over scientific accuracy.
And maybe that’s exactly what makes the city so charming: its ability to turn any small detail into an urban legend.
Just like a hanging cold brew for someone less fortunate can transform an ordinary walk through Central Park into a tiny moment of magic. Creative Fellowhsip
7
DECEMBERDancing in the Dark
At fifteen, I was dancing Prince Lemon in ballet Cipollino. I was a shy boy, and the role demanded the opposite of me: Prince Lemon was arrogant and authoritative. The acting, more than the dancing, overwhelmed me. Before every show – especially my first entrance – I felt a lot of stress going on stage.
One evening, I walked onstage, began my variation… and the entire theater suddenly went dark. The music stopped. The audience froze.
All electricity in the theater went out.
Only an emergency light from the wings remained. Instinctively, I kept dancing.
In that silence and half-light, the performance became an intimate exchange between me and the stage – no pressure, no character to force, no fear. It felt like a safe space for the first time.
I was halfway through when the stage manager called me back, but something had already changed. (Robert Gabdullin)
That unexpected blackout erased my stage fright. Excitement and nerves still came and went, but stepping from the wings onto the stage was never frightening again.
8
DECEMBERThe Paris Turn
I came to France almost for a vacation. An hour before my flight, my New York apartment flooded knee-deep. A few days later, already in France, I learned the damage was irrecoverable. Living on the first floor during a storm meant the water simply came in. I kept thinking: What am I going to do now?
In Paris, I discovered that many studios offered floor-barre classes before technique, so I started taking them. After a week someone told me, “You haven’t tried the real floor-barre yet – go to Jacqueline Fynnaert’s class!”
I went – and it wasn’t like anything I’d ever experienced. Her work filled so many gaps in my training. It felt like the missing link I’d always needed as a dancer. I decided to train with her and maybe audition afterward.
The apartment disaster unexpectedly worked in my favor: with the compensation I received, I didn’t need to find a new place in New York. I suddenly had the chance to start fresh in Paris.
Ten years later, I’m still here – living in Paris, teaching floor-barre, and performing with Mon Premier Ballet. Right now, you can see me on stage in Sleeping Beauty at the Théâtre Mogador. (India Rose)
9
DECEMBERThe Waltz of Memory
My great-grandmother’s family married their European aristocratic title into solid American money by giving their daughter to a U.S. banker. She arrived at Ellis Island in the mid-1920s with a trousseau that even included Christmas tree ornaments. In my childhood, this chest of treasures would emerge from storage, always accompanied by Nana’s stories of her aristocratic adolescence at Viennese balls.
In my young imagination, those stories were all Disney movies from a long-gone past. A century later, I live in Vienna, and the Opera Ball is part of my annual life cycle. I spend cold weekends chasing Christmas ornaments at antique markets, attempting to recreate Nana’s Christmas tree from my Disney dreams and her chest of treasures.
And sometimes, it’s the smallest things – an ornament found at the bottom of a dusty box, or a hanging Viennese coffee waiting in an old-timing café – that bring a bit of magic back to a cold winter weekend.
