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" When I was young, December meant Handel&amp;#039;s Messiah sung by a church choir in an antique church. I was taught to stand for the &amp;quot;Hallelujah&amp;quot; chorus and take a piece of flaming plum pudding and hard sauce at Christmas dinner, even though no one under the age of 70 actually ate it. That wasn&amp;#039;t the point. It was a tradition.   During my first few Christmases in tiny Haines, Alaska, I missed my old traditions as well as the tasteful candles glowing in evening windows and sunny crisp days. Up here December is wet and dark. The sun rises about 9:30 a.m. and sets before 3 p.m. Most days the sky never gets lighter than a dim &amp;quot;gloaming,&amp;quot; as my very literate friend Annie says when we are snowshoeing in the woods.   I can&amp;#039;t change the weather, and I no longer feel obligated to order plum pudding from a gourmet catalog, but lately I&amp;#039;ve realized that all the while I was wishing Alaskan Christmases were more traditional, they&amp;#039;ve gone and become traditional in their own way.   A few years ago, when I suggested we eat shrimp on Christmas Eve now that all the kids were grown up, there were howls of protest. Turns out the fettuccine with smoked salmon (a sort of gourmet version of mac and cheese) that I had made forever, mainly because it was so easy, had become as much of a tradition as the Christmas stockings hanging on bedposts instead of the mantel. (I started doing that after our dog tore through them all to eat the chocolates at the bottom. The dog died years ago, but the stockings are still hung in the bedrooms.)   There are emerging traditions in our community as well. The Friday after Thanksgiving may be the biggest shopping day of the year everywhere else, but in Haines it&amp;#039;s the day we light the library for the holidays. We string more lights inside than out, since snowstorms often rip them off eaves and shake them from boughs. There are so many lights inside this, our town&amp;#039;s nicest building, that its windows glow like a lighthouse beacon on the snowy sea of the school field surrounding it.   The library lighting is a newer tradition, but the winter parade has been around much longer. No one is quite sure when it began, but the idea was to promote shopping in Main Street&amp;#039;s 10 shops (two are grocery stores).   To an outsider, the parade could be mistaken for a chimney fire on Christmas Eve. It begins in the Elks Lodge parking lot, when Santa and his fire truck get their lights and sirens going, and every other emergency vehicle in town joins in. There are more than you&amp;#039;d think\u2014 we are very, very safe. The snowmobile club starts their engines, the float with the Haines amateur hockey leaguers lurches forward, and a pickup full of carolers with &amp;quot;Jesus Is Lord&amp;quot; spelled out in lights above them sings carols. One parade featured six women in sparkly costumes dancing with flashlights. But without the Snow Dragon it really wouldn&amp;#039;t be a parade at all.   It used to make me a little sad that a flashing-eyed, 23-foot foam-headed dragon dancing down the road to Alvin and The Chipmunks&amp;#039; Christmas songs would signal &amp;quot;Christmas is coming&amp;quot; to my children. I wanted them to hear &amp;quot;The Holly and the Ivy&amp;quot; chimed on handbells. But 20 years ago when I was asked to be one of the seven people to maneuver the then-new dragon, which was left over from a community play, I agreed, and we unwittingly started a new tradition. Each year I take my place under a sheet, behind Pizza Joe (a poet who used to deliver pizza and is now the assistant Harbor Master), who leads us from underneath the dragon&amp;#039;s head. Strapped to my chest is a 50-pound fire extinguisher filled with flour. Every time Pizza Joe tips the flaring foam nostrils up, I squeeze the extinguisher&amp;#039;s handle and the dragon spews a dusty white cloud of &amp;quot;smoke&amp;quot; on the spectators.   The dragon bobs and weaves, with all of us passing instructions down the line under the costume. &amp;quot;Watch the ice,&amp;quot; &amp;quot;Slowly left,&amp;quot; &amp;quot;Hop! We&amp;#039;re supposed to be dancing,&amp;quot; &amp;quot;Don&amp;#039;t roar so close to the crowd.&amp;quot;   The dragon belches smoke and roars, while half a dozen teens and adults dressed as Robin Hood&amp;#039;s merry band run alongside, guiding it, tossing lit firecrackers, waving sparklers and launching fireworks high in the night sky. My East Coast Episcopalian mother, who was not a dragon fan, once said it reminded her of the Tet Offensive.   That nutty dragon and its entourage transform our flat-roofed, practical northern town perched above the fish-freezing harbor into something magical, exotic and weirdly hopeful. The dragon&amp;#039;s homemade cheer is even more improbable than a white-bearded old guy in a red suit flying a sled pulled by those most Alaskan of animals, reindeer.   Last year, we almost didn&amp;#039;t haul the increasingly bedraggled dragon out again\u2014some of the old-timers wanted to retire rather than repair it. But a few of us insisted. OK, mainly it was me, no doubt sounding a lot like Tevye in Fiddler on the Roof. &amp;quot;It&amp;#039;s tradition,&amp;quot; I wailed.   A few weeks later, at the Elks Lodge before the parade, I watched one of the gray ponytailed dragonaires limp across the hall and was glad that had I coerced three of my children\u2014already home from college\u2014to help out. They brought some friends, too. Pizza Joe took his place in the head, but when I stepped toward mine, Crystal, a soft-spoken Tlingit nursing student back for the holidays, claimed it. &amp;quot;I have wanted to do this my whole life,&amp;quot; she said.   There was only one spot left. The rest were filled with equally youthful dragon novices. This is my Christmas tradition, I thought. On the other hand, the only way to keep traditions is by teaching others. And maybe that&amp;#039;s why I helped Crystal climb under the dragon skin, giving her a few pointers that she didn&amp;#039;t need.   For the first time, I watched the parade from the shadows as the dragon wove its way down Main Street under a shower of fireworks. Right on cue, it tipped back its head and belched white smoke, lightly dusting the unprepared crowd from head to toe. It made me laugh out loud. That dragon really is something.   You know, there are lots of great recordings of the Messiah, and I do listen to mine often this time of year, but there&amp;#039;s only one traditional Snow Dragon, and the only place he&amp;#039;s ever seen is right where he belongs\u2014 shuffling down our streets at the holidays. "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
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