Jon came by for a couple of hours yesterday afternoon to help decorate the Christmas tree. Both dogs, the cat, and Lucy jumped all over him, beside themselves with joy.
Of course, Bing Crosby was singing on the stereo. My parents played this same album throughout my childhood — surely my little sister and I were the only small girls happily bellowing “Mele kaliki maka!” in our suburban Connecticut town? — and DH and I have had it, too, since Jon was a baby.
During the years when we had to travel at Christmas, I always packed the cassette along with Jonny’s Fisher-Price tape recorder, so we would never be without. Now I only have to hear der Bingle moan “I-I-I-I-‘m dreeeeeeeeeaming of a whi-i-i-i-i-te Christmas” and I’m instantly connected to decades of family holidays.
What nostalgia! If I close my eyes, maybe Dad is fixing orange juice in the kitchen. Or Jon in breathless excitement is coming to wake me, wearing his footie pajamas.