In the parking lot was an older gentleman with three bouquets of flowers. He was waiting patiently for a woman dressed in fancy Christmas attire except for a pair of light blue house shoes. We followed them in and joined the rest of the crowd waiting for the doors to open. We were a mixed bag of church clothes and ugly sweaters. Slacks and jeans. People were greeting each other and talking about how hard the cast had worked to get ready. Lots of smiles and hugs. I took my grandson over to the drink cart and the lady made him a coke and gave it to him wrapped in a thick white napkin. He thanked her in his serious, I wanna get this right, voice. Finally, a lady wearing a Christmas headband found our name on the list and led us up two stairs and down a long ramp to our seats. My grandson was handsome in his Christmas sweater and my husband was unusually festive in his Santa hat. He grows his beard out every year at this time so he fits the part. I tried to take a picture, but silliness ensued and I ended up with two pictures of my grandson’s tonsils. We sat in the crowd of people waiting for the production to start. I eavesdropped on several conversations around me and made polite conversation with the older woman next to me. She instantly wanted to know if I was a local. Where I lived. Who I belonged to. I explained that we were visitors. This immediately made me more interesting and slightly less so. We finished up our polite chatter and she turned back to all of the familiar faces surrounding her. These were people that knew each other. The children in the cast were discussed and catalogued by who their parents were and when those parents graduated. I smiled as I listened to them all talk. I belonged to a little town just like this. I just wasn’t there. No matter. I was ready for the next two hours of speeches from the director and presents given to community sponsors. I was ready for the six little girls dressed in glitter that danced to Run Rudolph Run. I was ready for the corny jokes and the bad acting. I was ready for the look of sweet awe when the “real” Santa Claus snuck into the audience as beautiful music played and handed out old fashioned peppermints. Right from his velvet gloves into my grandson’s cupped hands. I was ready to sing along with the audience and to laugh hysterically when one of the actors had wrapping paper stuck on his shoe when he came on stage. Heck, I was even ready to wait an extra long time for the next act to start when we heard a crash behind the curtain and it was obvious something had tipped over or malfunctioned. And, I was so ready to hold my grandson’s hand as we walked back to our car. He was singing Jingle Bells and when I asked him what his favorite part was he answered, “My favorite was all of it.” Me too kiddo. Me too. If you see a sign advertising a local production this season go see it. If there’s a line to donate a little extra to the local theatre program do that too. Buy their cookies and programs and whatever else they’re selling. Because what they are really selling is community. Connection. Christmas spirit. All the lovely things about small towns this time of year.