Christmas blues...

I sat down tonight with one of those deep, theatrical sighs — the kind that would make a soap‑opera star proud. I’d just gotten off the phone with my mother in North Carolina, and bless her heart, she is not feeling the Christmas spirit this year. This is our first holiday season without my grandmother, and all six of her remaining children seem to be sinking into a collective funk. Mom hasn’t even bothered to put up a tree. No lights. No garland. Not even a sad little ceramic angel from 1972. For the first time in 45 years, there will be no big family Christmas with cousins running around and casseroles multiplying on every flat surface.

And that hits harder than I expected.

Some of my best childhood memories — the ones that still smell like pine needles, ham, and wrapping paper — are of Christmas Eve at my grandparents’ house. Cousins everywhere, aunts and uncles laughing, food for days, and presents piled under the tree like we were auditioning for a Sears holiday catalog. I haven’t been home on Christmas Day since 1987. I always went the week before or after to avoid the chaos. But this year, for the first time in 17 years, I was actually going to be there on the day.

And now… well, now I’m not.

We’ve been through holiday grief before — after my father died, after my grandfather died — but this time feels heavier. Maybe because it really does feel like the end of an era. The closing of a chapter none of us were ready to finish. Life goes on, of course, and I know each year will get a little easier. But right now, it’s just sad.

Mom and her sister are coming out to visit in two weeks, and I’m clinging to the hope that a Mexico cruise and a Disneyland trip will shake loose some joy. If margaritas and Mickey Mouse can’t help, we may need to call in professional reinforcements.

In the meantime, I’m determined to make this Christmas the best it can be — to spend it with people I love and let that be enough. My grandmother and I were incredibly close, and I’m grateful that nothing was left unsaid between us. I called her twice a month, sometimes for hours, and those conversations were my emotional security blanket. No matter where I went or what I was going through, she reminded me of who I was and where I came from. That kind of unconditional love is rare, and I treasure it.

If there’s a point to all this rambling — besides getting it off my chest — it’s this: love your people. Treasure them. Don’t let life get so loud that you forget to show up for the ones who matter. The holidays are the perfect time to slow down, sit together, laugh together, cry together, and just be together.

Happy Holidays, and may God bless each of you this season.

Holiday Wishes for 2004

Holiday greetings to one and all!

What. A. Year.

2004 came in hot with a New Year’s Eve party at Amy and Matt Sagraves’ place that went until way past midnight… and by “way past,” I mean 5 a.m. I got to see the non-romantic love of my life, Laura Nelson, and then spent the next two days recovering from my own enthusiasm. Apparently, my 40‑something body didn’t get the memo that it was supposed to bounce back quickly.

The rest of the year didn’t slow down either. I somehow managed to cram in more theatre than any one human should reasonably attempt. I played Uncle Max in The Sound of Music, directed and sang in Bizet’s The Pearl Fishers, music‑directed Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat and Smokey Joe’s Café, acted and directed Sleeping Beauty, directed Snow White, and played Oscar Madison in The Odd Couple. And because I apparently don’t know how to sit still, I’m gearing up to sing in a New Year’s Eve cabaret and was just cast as Horton the Elephant in RSP’s upcoming Seussical the Musical. Yes, Horton. Yes, I’m already practicing my “faithful, one hundred percent” face.

One of the biggest highlights of the year was seeing my first real Broadway show—Fiddler on the Roof in New York. Mom and I even got to go backstage and meet the cast thanks to my friend Elaine Lord, who plays in the orchestra. We also saw 42nd Street with Shirley Jones as Dorothy Brock. Both shows were magical, and I fell head‑over‑heels in love with the city… minus the traffic and the people who seem allergic to smiling.

This was also the year I finally won my first Elly Award after seven years of nominations, for music directing Smokey Joe’s Café. Runaway Stage Productions had a banner year too—eight Ellys out of 34 nominations, the most of any company in town. Not bad for our little corner of the theatre world.

On the work front, Sprint is winding down its Sacramento operations, and my last day will be January 28th. The writing’s been on the wall for a while, so I’m choosing to focus on the silver lining: a severance package and a much‑needed break. Mom and I are celebrating with a cruise to Mexico in January—her Christmas present and my “I survived Sprint” present.

In October, I added a new furry family member: Odie, a Dachshund/Corgi mix who is basically a loaf of bread with legs. He and Lucy get along beautifully. Between the dogs and the home renovations—new furniture, appliances, drapes, garage door, landscaping—the house is almost unrecognizable. In a good way.

I’ve also been able to spend more time with my godson, Justin, and his mom. We took a Disneyland trip in April, and we’ve started him on drum lessons. He’s already got his own drum set and enough enthusiasm to shake the walls. I also reconnected with several dear friends this year—Jeff Chandler, Terry Benjamin, Mario and LeAnne Fabian—which has been a gift.

I scaled back my vocal and piano teaching this year, but that’s about to change. Starting in February, I’m taking on ten new private students as I prepare to make teaching my full‑time career. I’m excited—and slightly terrified—but mostly excited.

This year wasn’t without heartbreak. I lost my grandmother in June, and it hit our family hard. Granny Pig was the glue that held the Carlisle clan together, and her absence is still something we’re learning to navigate. She and I were very close, and I miss her deeply.

But even in the hardest moments, I’m reminded how lucky I am to have friends like you. Thank you for being part of my life, for cheering me on, and for making the tough times a little easier to bear.

Wishing you and yours a warm, joyful holiday season.

With much love,
Ray Fisher