Still feeling nostalgic, here.  Woke up at 6am seized with an urge to write about Howard.

For now, I thought I’d post a Christmas card picture from many, many years ago.  I’d forgotten about saddle shoes and jumpers for little boys.  I doubt they are sold in Montana.

On the other hand, I had not forgotten about that dress, fashioned of sumptuous forest green velvet, with delicate smocking at the neck.  It twirled when I spun, and I remember spinning around my grandmother’s screened in porch for hours at a Christmas party that year.  As ever, she served her famous tea punch in a shining silver punch bowl, and I felt so grown up as I grasped the heavy serving ladle, trying to delicately break up the ice ring and pour a chunk of frozen pineapple into my glass.  The punch had an exotic flavor to it, and I probably felt it was the taste of adulthood and freedom, though now I think that the taste of adulthood is probably the bitter almond of fear in the back of your throat.  Joy, we feel all of our lives.  Crystalline fear comes much later for most of us.

This Christmas is joyful thus far for me, and I hope the same for all of you.

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