The Mountain Goats are playing at Cafe Mustasche and it feels almost like it’s Christmastime.
Last night I was talking to Kate about traditions. My mom’s parents would always come over and we would order pizza and watch a Disney movie on Christmas Eve. Christmas day we could have cookies for breakfast and read the Christmas story (straight out of the bible) before going to see my Dad’s side of the family. I would wander around my Granny’s house and count all the Santa’s from her collection and Poppy would sit in his chair under the taxidermied head of a deer he shot long before I was born. Before I started smoking, in the 10th grade, I would lecture to my uncles about the perils of cigarettes. They tried not to laugh while listening to my concerned plea and then snuck out to the back yard for another smoke.
Pizza delivery and the smell of just extinguished cigarettes are my scent memories of Christmas.
Merry everything. Happy always. To you and yours.
Christmas 1982 with Poppy (by sister reba)
