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White Christmas

December 21, 2015


I’ve been listening to the “music of the season” on my car radio for the past week. I kept waiting for Bing’s voice to, once again, sachet melodically over the airwaves and croon one of my most favorite Christmas songs. The week went by, and I did not hear it.

Then, on Saturday afternoon, during our annual family cookie-making fest, it began to play over the speaker. In delight, I closed my eyes and listened.

I’m dreaming of a white Christmas, just like the ones I used to know…”

I let Bing’s voice take me back to memories of my childhood. He’s still alive back then. My mom and dad loved listening to Bing Crosby. My grandma enjoyed listening to him too, and we’d all watch his Christmas specials on TV.

And, oh, how my Christmases were glorious when I was a kid. My mind is suddenly filled with the colors. The smells. The flavors. The joys. As a child, I was always in the moment—basking in every experience and detail, because that’s all I knew how to do. And I thought it would all last forever, unaware, in blissful innocence, that it was all so temporary and fragile.

So, at 58, I attempt to “experience the moment” once again…

My adult children are all together (a not-too-frequent event these days) in the kitchen laughing and working as a team to stir, mix, and bake Christmas goodies. My wife moves among them with experienced ease.

I listen to their voices and the sounds of merriment.

I breathe deeply, sampling the aromas.

I taste the hot and mailable cookies fresh from the baking sheet.

I feel happy.

But it’s not the same.

The song ends and Bing’s voice returns to the confines of my memory.

As a kid, I simply knew how to do it. I was unaware I was doing anything special. I was just living. Today it is different.

Perhaps it has to do with knowing all too well that

it’s all so very temporary

and all so very fragile.

No matter how hard I try, I can’t experience NOW with the same powers and abilities I had when I was a kid.



  1. Very true. Nice one.

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