 Christmas Markets are a newer tradition for me, and one I'm learning to embrace In my family, today is always a day of great significance. There was something wholesome and special about leaving my shoes or slippers out the night before, only to wake and see if St. Nicholas left anything for my twin brother and me. Even now, years later, I see the date and have to do a double-take, curious whether St. Nicholas could find his way to Morocco, of all places. Alas, nothing yet as of this message, but perhaps he’s working on Eastern Time. Possibly to give St. Nicholas a helping hand, I will try my luck at the Christmas Market today at the Legation, the first marker of early American-Moroccan relations, when the young nation sought assistance in dealing with the Barbary Pirates and safe passage into the Mediterranean. Honestly, who would have thought that Morocco was the first nation to recognise American independence, back in 1777, when the colonies were still fighting to break free from British rule? I, for one, didn’t know this bit of history until I made the move over the Atlantic. How that deals with St. Nicholas, I couldn’t tell you the least, save the Legation puts on a market every year with stalls and vendors that mark the Christmas season. This won’t be a repeat of my Christmas adventures in Poland or the Baltics, but it’s better than nothing. Should St. Nicholas not do his part, I can at least honour the tradition my family has followed for now generations. Speaking of tradition, this is a big deal in the Kuiper household. In many ways, it was more important than Christmas or Boxing Day (when I pushed for our gifts to be exchanged later). Growing up Catholic, it was one of those added holidays, but it took on a spirit of its own, because I, for one, never really understood why we were exchanging gifts and going all commercial on Jesus’s birthday. Isn’t Christmas supposed to be about the birth of Christ and family? I’m asking for a friend, clearly. I know, deep thoughts for an eight-year-old. But I recall thinking as much and also deciding that the proper earmark of St. Nicholas Day wasn’t Christmas but the Epiphany, when the three wise men arrived in Bethlehem to give their gifts to baby Jesus. Traditions are fun to create, have, and honour. Especially over the holidays - my family and I have been visiting the Shrine for almost thirty yearsEven a few years ago, when I was living in Poland, I wanted to take the plunge that is so common in Orthodox Christian circles. I could have gone about this in an entirely different way. Yet, I decided to visit Bialystok (a city near the Belarusian border in northern Poland) with the intention of baptising myself regardless of the temperature. How many times had I seen people chipping away at the ice on New Year’s Day, especially in Russia, and doing the same deed? This was a great idea at the time until it wasn’t. The morning of my plunge was cold, at 17 degrees. I still have the short on YouTube. While the clip is legendary in its own right, I can’t tell you much about the actual dip in that frigid pond water, but I remember the three-mile walk back to my hotel room that followed, including the layover at McDonald’s to warm up with a winter tea. Where I was consumed with creating this new tradition, or more like appropriating another European one as my own, the fact remained that the plunge meant nothing after I shivered away on that beach, alone and wet. The wind didn’t help matters, and my scarf, gloves, and winter coat did nothing for a body shocked by the combination of stupidity and a desire to be different. Have I tried this religious renewal since? Nope, I can’t say I have. There was an opportunity in Maine, but even I’m not stupid enough to jump into the ocean where they have hypothermia warnings in the middle of summer. What would my mother say about that rational thought? As for the lakes, I’m not chipping away with an axe when I know some snapple turtle is waiting to take a chunk out of my leg. No, it’s far easier to stick to the tried-and-true and leave out my shoes, hoping St. Nicholas will find his way to my apartment in Tangier. Still, even if he doesn’t, I can reach out to my mom and reminisce about previous holidays, about the joy it brought to my brother and me. This morning, I’m even going to take a moment to think about my first boarding school assignment in Arkansas, of all places. Over twenty years ago, my fellow dorm staff and I picked up candy and other goodies for the boys on our floor, knowing that St. Nicholas would be too busy elsewhere to stop off at Subiaco. Even now, I smile remembering these teenagers putting their slippers and shoes out the night before, with some aware of the tradition and others experiencing it for the first time. From our boys native to South Korea, Mexico, or neighbouring Oklahoma, the smiles at a simple sugary treat as they left their rooms for a busy day of school were a delight to see. Whatever your traditions are this time of year, may you find warmth, smiles, and blessings in them and the happiness from days past, present, and future. Shifting gears for book fans, I do want to add that on St. Nicholas Day, the real gift for me is knowing Double Cross is off to the copy editor and, if all goes as planned, will be back in my hands before the Epiphany. This means that after my final read-through in January, the book will either be ready to go at the end of the month or, at the latest, by Valentine’s Day. Then again, this also assumes the story passes my beta readers and their commentary. I’m optimistic everything will fall into place, and I will keep you posted. With perspective, the accelerated timeline is not too shabby for a book written this fall season.
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Meet Mr. Jon- a traveler at heart who loves a good story and walk. Jonathan has over twenty years experience in independent publishing. While he prides himself on crafting a good story, nothing truly beats an adventure and a camera. 
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