Yes, it happens once a year. Always in the car, usually driving from my husband’s folks home with hubby dear in the passenger seat, snoozing.
It’s the Thanksgiving trip which is exhausting at least for the women who do all the planning, shopping, prep, cooking, serving, and cleaning, twice. Of course the men are tired from eating and watching football.
The first one was about Maria who couldn’t afford the pretty bird so got the beat-up cage with a nightingale inside. We all know the end of that story. I was in tears. I do not like most Christmas music, especially things like a grandmother being trampled by reindeer.
This year I was alone on the road driving from St. Louis to Tulsa and there was this song about a poor kid who wanted shoes for his mother on Christmas Eve and a stranger gave him the extra money to buy them because the kid’s mother is going to see Jesus tonight.
Waterworks in the car. Truckers had to be laughing out loud. My husband, if he’s awake in the car when it happens on the radio between religious and country music, will affirm that it only happens once a year.
My favorite songs of the season include but are not limited to: Silent Night; White Christmas; Burl Ives’ Rudolph; Greensleeves; The Little Drummer Boy; Gloria in Exelsius Deo; and O Tannenbaum.
So why don’t you make us some figgy pudding and bring some right here. Yes, I’m making “figgy pudding” as a tart with ricotta salata. We’ll see how it goes with our guests. As Bing Crosby (look him up) said in White Christmas the movie: If you’re worried and you can’t sleep, count your blessings instead of sheep, and you’ll fall asleep counting your blessings. I do every day. Dee