A couple Saturdays ago, Jen and I were enjoying a comfortable, couples quiet. (See what I did there?) She was chillaxin’ in that pitiful leather recliner I refuse to sit in, while I stretched out on the couch. It’s the one day each week we both have off — our shared Sabbath — and we savor it every time.
We were talking about her Park Hopper Pass from earlier this year, the one she used when she and Amehra celebrated Amehra’s birthday at Disneyland in July. Jen casually mentioned she still had one day left on it, then turned her head toward me and asked:
“Los, when was the last time you were at Disneyland?”
I paused.
“I dunno about the exact dates of when, but I definitely know the reason why I visited.”
Jen playfully chided me, “Of course there’s a story. When is there not?”
I Swear
When I was married to Charlene, she loved Disneyland. Not necessarily Disney movies or the franchise — just the park itself. “The Happiest Place on Earth.” The rides, the immersion, the full sensory overload.
Meanwhile, I was working at AAA Washington Express Travel Center. In a move that feels strange to say out loud now, but made perfect sense then, I signed up for the online courses, passed the tests, and graduated from the College of Disney Knowledge. Rolls off the tongue, doesn’t it?
I digress.
Graduates were invited to a Familiarization Trip — a FAM — to experience the park through the eyes of a travel pro. AAA sent four of us.
No spouses allowed.
Charlene was… less than thrilled until I figured out how to smooth it over.
On the final day of the FAM, we were given park tickets. This was pre–California Adventure, so we stuck to Disneyland. We hit all the major attractions and saved Space Mountain for last.
And that’s where the legend begins.
I could’ve sworn there was a vendor in the queue — a little cart with an air-activated mechanism that shot a Coke bottle two or three feet in the air, where a Cast Member would snatch it mid-flight and hand it over. The whole setup was disguised inside futuristic cargo containers marked with Martian-style lettering, not English.
We rode Space Mountain.
By the time we exited, the vendor was closed.
And I never saw the Martian Coke again.
Fast-forward a year.
Charlene and I returned for her July birthday — her idea, naturally. She insisted we save Space Mountain for last, knowing it would bother me most. When we arrived, the ride was closed. The park was shutting down.
I scanned the same space-cargo boxes with the alien script and muttered, “All I want is that Martian Coke.”
Two Cast Members walked by — a Black guy and his red-haired supervisor.
“Anything I can do?” she asked.
“No, thank you,” I sighed.
Charlene immediately inserted herself.
“He wanted a Coke. That specific Coke from that cart.”
They exchanged a look and sprinted off to find the keys.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” I muttered.
“Why not? You said they changed the label to Martian or whatever.”
They returned, slightly out of breath, unlocked the cart, and triumphantly pulled out a cold Coca-Cola like it was a prize from a quest.
I turned it over.
Standard Coke label.
Zero Martian anything.
My eyebrows must have narrated my disappointment because the Cast Member asked, “That’s the Coke you wanted from the cart, right, my guy?”
“Yes,” I lied. “Thank you.”
“There’s no Martian lettering on it,” Charlene blurted.
“What?” they asked in stereo.
“I can pay for it,” I sighed.
“No, no,” they waved. “Keep it. Park’s closed, folks. Let’s go.”
And still —
I SWEAR on my Eagle Scout Oath and a stack of Bibles —
there is a Martian-labeled Coke bottle out there somewhere.
Jen laughed out loud, covering her face.
“That was fantastic. Seems like it’s time to return to Disneyland. What do you think about Disney in December? Obviously after the vacation blackout period. Remind me — what’s the date again?”
New Year’s Eve With The Mouse
“The day after Christmas is the first open vacation day, my Love,” I said, answering directly for once.
“And if we do go back,” I continued, “my only request is to visit Galaxy’s Edge so I can build my own lightsaber — like any tried-and-true, dyed-in-wool, die-hard Star Wars fan should.”
Jen’s eyes sparkled.
“As it should be.”
Then she added, “Would you want to be in the park for New Year’s Eve? And of course, we’ll involve the Wilde Bunch.”
“That would be awesome,” I said immediately.
But life had other plans. Audrey’s husband, Ron, submitted his days off… and they were denied.
So we pivoted.
Still Disney in December.
Still Team Lightsaber.
And Audrey will be with us — just on a different day. Because that’s how our crew works: we flex, we shift, we roll with it.
Planning the Return
Once the New Year’s Eve plan shifted, we opened calendars and started plotting our adventure. If the park couldn’t have us on December 31st, then we’d settle for something better:
The first window of magic after Christmas.
The first day the blackout lifted.
The first chance to finally go home again.
We started with the basics:
Flights? Booked.
Hotel? Locked in.
Audrey? Ready.
And me? I had one mission:
Galaxy’s Edge.
The moment we step through those gates, I’m heading straight to Savi’s Workshop to build my own lightsaber. Not because it’s cool (it is), but because it’s symbolic. A physical reminder of choosing light after years of walking through emotional gray.
What I Imagine It Will Feel Like
Lately, I keep catching myself daydreaming.
Not abstract daydreaming — vivid flashes.
Walking under the train station sign:
Here you leave today and enter the world of yesterday, tomorrow, and fantasy.
Breathing that weird Main Street air that smells like churros, popcorn, pavement, and magic.
Watching Jen and Audrey flanking me, already planning the route like generals heading into battle.
And then…
Galaxy’s Edge.
Ships towering overhead.
Engines humming.
My inner child sprinting somewhere inside my ribcage.
Picking up the lightsaber hilt I’ll craft.
Feeling that first ignition — the hum, the warmth, the glow.
A return to light I didn’t know I needed.
Returning to the Light
As December settles around us, I’m moving differently.
There’s no heaviness this year.
No countdown.
No bracing.
Just warmth.
Just hope.
Just… possibility.
For 27 years, Christmas has been something I tried to endure.
A season that carried more shadows than sparkle.
But this December?
This one feels new.
Because this is my first trip to Disneyland since the divorce.
My first trip with the woman I want all my adventures to be with.
My first time returning to a place I once avoided — and finding joy waiting for me there.
Disneyland isn’t just a theme park for me anymore.
It’s a milepost.
A marker.
A before-and-after moment.
The timing feels perfect — not because it’s Christmas, not because of the lightsabers, not even because the Wilde Bunch is coming.
But because I’m finally walking toward something instead of away from it.
Toward joy.
Toward love.
Toward adventure.
Toward a future that feels brighter than the past that shaped me.
For the first time in 28 years, Christmas doesn’t feel like a reminder of what I lost.
It feels like a celebration of what I’ve found.
See You After the Fireworks
In a few days, we’ll board that plane with coffee in our hands, bags under our eyes, and a whole lot of excitement in our carry-ons. And when we step through those gates — the lights, the music, the hum of a place built on imagination — I know something in me will settle. Or rise. Or both.
Whatever waits for us on the other side of Main Street — laughs, rides, lightsabers, inside jokes — I’m ready for it. Ready in a way I haven’t been for Christmas in a very long time.
When we get back, I’ll tell you everything.
But for now, just know this:
This December, the magic feels real again.
And I can’t wait to walk straight into it.
los, Fil-Am Renaissance Man 