From Pen to Paper: My Mama's Legacy of Letters

Today is my mama's birthday, she would have been 80. Ever since she and my dad passed, I find myself thinking of them more often, especially around holidays and milestones like birthdays—happier times filled with cherished memories.

My mama was a wonderfully quirky lady with a multitude of talents. From crochet to sewing, tole painting to ceramics, and even painting on canvas, there was nothing she couldn't do if she put her mind to it, often with minimal directions. I loved that about her. She excelled in certain dishes we had regularly and was a wizard with old-fashioned confections like fudge, divinity, peanut brittle, and pies.

For a lady who was constantly doing something with her hands—whether washing and folding clothes, doing dishes, tending to my sister and me, or even performing duties as room mother when we were in elementary school and sometimes working a full-time job—mama always found time to sit down and write letters. She saw value in Christmas cards and spent hours on them, not just signing "Love, Dee and family," to friends or if it was her family "Love, Pheroldine and family, but writing heartfelt letters to friends and family.

Here's a fascinating fact about my mama: she didn’t have a middle name. Her birth name was Pheroldine Day. With such an unusual and distinctive name, who needs a middle name anyway? Unlike other kids, my sister Becki and I couldn't even attempt to forge our mama's name on notes sent home from our teachers. We could never spell it right, and the teacher would instantly recognize that our mama didn’t sign and erase her name to try again. My sister once told me a story about her entire class attempting to spell our mama's name, and no one could quite get it. When my mama met my dad, he didn't like the idea of calling her Pheroldine, so he asked if he could just call her Dee. From that moment on, everyone but her side of the family called her Dee.

Whenever my sister needed a gift for a friend's birthday or Christmas, mama's go-to gift was a cute stationery set. I was always a bit jealous that I never got one like those girls; even my sister had a few herself. I'm not sure who I would have written to anyway, as I didn't really have long-distance friends or family connections to write to, so it would have been a waste of money, I guess. Still, mama had an address book filled with friends and family. She always had time to sit down with her writing pad, box of envelopes, and stamps to write to people related to us or people my sister, dad, or I had never met, like her best friend since grade school, Nancy.

I'm not sure exactly what mama wrote about, though I know that when it came to writing to her mom, my grandmother, there was always a mention of something mama didn't like about my dad or something bad that I had recently done. I wasn't a bad kid, but I guess when I did something noteworthy, it made it into her letters. Grandma didn't really like my dad and seemed not to be too fond of me either, but I was okay with that because my favorite grandmother was in Alabama—the one who didn't make me eat dishes containing massive amounts of tomatoes, bell peppers, and onions at dinner, knowing I hated them.

Even though we had a Smith Corona Galaxie Deluxe manual typewriter, much like the one I use now, and later on my mama's Brother electric typewriter, she always preferred writing letters by hand. Even if she didn't receive a reply, she would continue writing because she loved it so much. I used to think she wrote because the cost of a stamp, envelope, and a few sheets of paper was cheaper than long-distance phone calls, but it was more than that. I believe it was mama's way of what we now consider blogging. Rather than putting her thoughts out there for anyone to read in hopes of being relatable, she was making personal connections one letter at a time.

The older I get, the more I realize how my parents' actions resonated with me in ways I took for granted as a kid. Do I regret giving them hell and being a bit of a rebel when puberty hit me full tilt boogie? No. Had I not made the decisions I did in my teens, I wouldn't have seen the world or experienced things I probably never would have otherwise, though there are things I would have handled differently in some of our not-so-great moments.

In recent years, I've continued my mom's tradition of writing Christmas cards, though now more to friends than family. I don't know most of my family on mama's side, and many who would have known me have passed away. A few years ago, I thought I would buy myself a stationery kit like the ones mama bought for my sister and her friends. To my dismay, these have become relics of the past—at least the ones with more than just one or two sheets of paper per envelope and extras like a pen, matching stickers, and stencils. It baffles my mind because they used to be available everywhere, from Woolworths to TG&Y, K-Mart, and True Value Hardware. Now, not even Walmart, Office Depot, or Staples carries them, or at least not for anyone over the age of 5. If you can find a Hallmark or greeting card store, you'll discover they aren't much of a commodity in those stores anymore either. I've bought a few from Amazon, but even they don't hit the same.

I hope you enjoyed this tribute to my mama and her beautiful legacy. If you have similar stories or memories of your loved ones, please share them in the comments below. Your feedback and shared memories help build a wonderful community. If you come across any charming stationery sets or unique finds, I'd love to hear about them! Your recommendations could bring a bit of nostalgia and joy, continuing mama’s tradition. If you'd like to support this effort, your contributions are greatly appreciated. Even small gestures of support mean a lot as we continue this journey of storytelling and connection. Thank you! ❤️ ❤️

A Disapppointing Christmas Surprise: The Casio PT-80 in Third Grade I wanted a real piano instead

As a kid, I loved visiting my Aunt Joan for many reasons, but one of the highlights was her Baldwin Fun Machine, which we all affectionately referred to as an organ. It was so much fun to play. The neighbors a few doors down from us, the Richardsons, had a piano that I loved to bang away on whenever I was over at their house. The mom, Karen, who played the organ at our church, promised one day that she would teach me how to play properly. From the age of 5, an organ or piano was always at the top of my wishlist to Santa.

When I was in the 1st grade, my mama told me that if I wanted a piano, I needed to commit to lessons before I could get one. I promised that I would and said Miss Karen would be the perfect teacher—and she might very well have been. However, I didn't get a piano or organ in the 1st grade. During my 2nd grade year, Mama said Santa was looking for a piano for me, and I believed her. But instead, I ended up with a new Huffy bike, just like my sister did.

We moved to Florida, and our house was slightly smaller, so we didn't have room for an organ or piano. But I still managed to keep them both on my wishlists. That year, I hoped once again for a piano-like gift from Santa. When Christmas morning came, I found a Casio PT-80 keyboard with a ROM-pack that had four pre-programmed MIDI-like songs under the Christmas tree. I was excited at first, until I tried to play it, or at least a few weeks later when the novelty wore off.

The Casio PT-80, while a thoughtful gift, didn't quite match my dreams. Its compact size and limited capabilities left me wanting more. The keys were perfectly sized for my fingers, but the keyboard was designed to be monophonic, meaning it could only play one note at a time. I couldn't create the rich, layered music I longed for. The pre-programmed songs were fun for a while, but they quickly became repetitive and dull, even after mama bought me a few more ROM-packs at Panhandle Music in Pensacola.

Though I tried to make the best of it, my disappointment was hard to hide. The Casio PT-80 was no match for the Baldwin Fun Machine or the Richardsons' piano. I yearned for a full-sized keyboard or piano, something that would allow me to truly explore my musical potential. My parents promised that one day I would get a full-sized instrument, but deep down, I knew it was unlikely.

Despite my initial disappointment, the Casio PT-80 played a significant role in my musical journey. It was my first real introduction to making music, and it sparked a lifelong passion for musical instruments. Every time I hear the electronic chirp of an old-school keyboard, I'm transported back to that Christmas morning in the 3rd grade, unwrapping my Casio PT-80 with a mix of excitement and longing.

So while my journey to a full-sized piano or organ took a few detours, the Casio PT-80 was an important stop along the way. It taught me the joy of music and the importance of improvisation, not just in melodies, but in life as well.

As the holidays roll around each year, I can't help but remember those childhood wishes. If you're ever thinking of the perfect gift, musical instruments, and gear hold a special place in my heart, especially an upright piano or perhaps a Baldwin Fun Machine in decent condition. Sometimes, the simplest sounds can spark the most profound joy.

A Christmas Memory: The Gumdrop Tree and Family Traditions

Merry Christmas!!! Christmas Day has arrived and over the course of this month, and part of last month, I have shared so many Christmas memories of my past—some from the books I am currently writing and others just related to the holiday. I will continue to share a few more Christmas memories until the end of the Christmas season, January 6 though maybe not as frequently. 

Christmas seems to have come so fast this year, at least for me. Today, a random memory from when I was very little came to mind. It’s from a time when some traumatic events happened in my life, so the details are a bit spotty and pieced together.

There was a period when my parents split up briefly when I was between two and four years old. My mom packed up and flew with my sister and me to stay with my grandmother for what was meant to be a vacation but with the intent to stay in Texas. However, that story is for another time. This story, which happened before I began kindergarten, is a significant memory for me. I'm not sure how long we were living in certain places because, in a short time, we lived in a few houses. We lived in a rented house off Cody Road, where I have a strange memory of possibly getting abducted by something like aliens sneaking in through a hole in the wall behind my chest of drawers. I might share that story in a future blog. We also lived at my granny's house on East Drive in Mobile, Alabama, my grandmother's trailer in Rockport, Texas, our little yellow rented house on Easter Lane, as well as the house we rented from the parents of my sister's friend Laura Moon, just two doors down from the yellow house.

After my parents got back together, we all ended up in the little yellow rented house on Easter Lane. This was shortly after we experienced Hurricane Frederick while staying with my granny until my dad found the yellow house. When we moved in, Daddy did everything he could to try and make amends to my mom, except buying her a replacement wedding band for the one she had lost many years back. When the Christmas season came along, Daddy took us all out to a few places to look for Christmas trees, something that became a tradition. Back in the 70s, places like department stores and hardware stores didn't carry real trees like they do now, and you basically only had three choices: an artificial tree from a department store, a Christmas tree farm, or stands that were usually set up in random parking lots or a vacant area next to a gas station. I know it sounds weird, but this was definitely a thing. Since I moved to Atlanta almost 30 years ago, the only business I recollect that still sets up like this each year is called Big John's.

This particular year, Daddy was going out of his way to make us all happy and wanted this Christmas to be special for us all. We didn’t go to a tree farm but to one of the aforementioned places that had trees set up in a parking lot, or next to one. I don’t remember how the decision was made, but I remember being able to pick out a tree, which I thought would be the one in the living room, but my dad had already picked one out. We all got back into Daddy's pickup truck and headed home, making a stop at TG&Y to buy some Christmas lights and some more decorations. When we got home, Daddy pulled two Christmas trees from the bed of his truck—one taller than the other. The taller tree went into a tree stand, and the other was not cut at the bottom. It was in a planter, complete with its roots—it was a live tree.

The cut tree was placed in our living room, where Mama and Daddy strung the lights and put the star on top before we decorated it. The second tree was placed in my bedroom next to my bed and strung up with a set of our older Christmas lights, the colors a little faded and slightly pastel but pretty all the same. Daddy let Mama decide on how to decorate this one with me. Mama asked what I wanted to decorate my tree with, and I said “candy,” not realizing there really weren’t candy decorations at the time. Nowadays, you can buy decorations molded from candy and ones that look like candy packages. Mama worked her magic, jumped into her yellow Pontiac car, and came home with bags of spice and gum drop candy. Mama was always a creative lady and very much loved making something ordinary into something extraordinary. She also bought silver decoration hangers and took me to my room to begin decorating the tree. Mama showed me all I needed to do was bend the bottom of the hanger slightly and push the bottom of the spice and gum drops onto the wire, then hang each one on the branches. This was really fun because, as tedious as the work was, the fact that we could eat our decorations as we went along made it go quicker. Once we were done, Mama asked if it was missing anything, and I told her a star. We didn’t have the money for a new star, and our actual star was on top of our living room tree, so Mama went into her bedroom and came out with something that resembled a baby doll but with wings and a cord coming from behind—it was an angel. This wasn’t just any angel; it was one from when Mama was a little girl. She got a chair, carefully put the angel on top of my tree, and plugged it into the end of the string of colored lights. While it looked pretty old and dated, I thought it was beautiful. When Mama asked if there was anything else we could add to the tree to make it even better, I said popcorn. We were country people, and I remember seeing popcorn strung on other trees, so it seemed like it might have been a good addition. Unfortunately, Mama said we didn’t have any popcorn because we didn’t have a popcorn popper. Keep in mind, these were the days before microwave popcorn was made. Most people, including us, didn’t have a microwave in our homes. I don’t think my family even knew what one was.

Throughout the Christmas season, I spent more time in my room, laying in bed and looking at the Christmas lights in the darkened room, insisting they stay on all night in place of my nightlight. I also wanted to make sure Santa knew there was a tree in my room. When Mama wrote my letter to Santa, I told her to make sure he came into my room to see it. I was so proud of that tree, and to this day, I still have visions of it. After Christmas, my Daddy dragged our living room Christmas tree to the back of our yard where there was a wooded area, but my Christmas tree was put on our front porch and watered each day until the ground was warm enough to dig a hole. My daddy planted my tree in the corner of my mama’s vegetable garden. Every time we went out there to pick cucumbers, cantaloupe, or something else during the summer, I would remind Mama of our gumdrop tree.

Regarding the popcorn idea, even though we couldn’t put it on the tree, Mama mentioned to my dad what I asked for and how much she missed popcorn. On Christmas morning, an unspoken Christmas wish came true thanks to the Christmas tree in my room. My mama opened up a box to find a brand new West Bend Popcorn Maker. She used that popcorn maker for years and probably still had it up until she passed away. Mama’s popcorn maker was a staple in our house. She would make popcorn for us to snack on at night, make popcorn balls for school functions, and sometimes just make popcorn during the day, just to have some.

This memory is a cherished part of my childhood, a blend of simple joys, creativity, and the warmth of family traditions. Each Christmas, I am reminded of the love and effort my parents put into making the holiday special, despite the challenges we faced. The little gumdrop tree in my room symbolized not just a festive decoration but a gesture of love and a source of lasting happiness.

In a Holidaze at Aunt Joan's: Christmas Eve Memories and Dysfunctional Family Tradition

I loved going to my Aunt Joan's house as a kid, it didn't matter what time of year but the holidays were the best.

She lived on Garris Drive in Mobile, off Repoll Road. From our house on Easter Lane, there were two ways to get there. The first was the short route, driving from Tanner Williams Road and turning onto Eliza Jordan Road, which was long, bumpy, and dirt-covered. (It’s been paved since then). The second way was my favorite, usually taken if we had to stop off and pick up something from the store, usually K&B. A red-haired man I had a crush on worked there, as well as a cashier my dad was overly friendly with. The K&B stop wasn’t the highlight for me, although I did enjoy the purple neon glow of the store and the jolly eye candy of the red-haired man.

The real reason I loved the long way was that we would circle around and pass the Mobile Regional Airport. I absolutely adored the glow of the blue runway lights in the darkness, a shade of blue I always associated with Christmas. Nowadays, LED technology has taken over the runway lights, and the blue in modern lighting just doesn’t have the same magic.

When we finally arrived at Aunt Joan's house on Christmas Eve, there would usually be smoke billowing from her den's chimney and a few cars sitting in her driveway, with my uncle Billy's confederate flag proudly waving on the flag post in the corner of her yard. The smell of country cooking filled the air, not just from Aunt Joan's house but from all of the neighboring homes.

Aunt Joan's Christmas tree, from what I remember, was always a smaller artificial tree decorated with colored lights, a star, garland, and colorful ornaments—nothing over the top, but just enough to say "Merry Christmas."

Christmas Eve at Aunt Joan's was a big affair for the family. Her house was a large three-bedroom with two bathrooms, a spacious kitchen that opened into a large dining room, a mid-sized living room in the front, and a huge den, known as the family room, built onto the house. There was also a large gated back porch where we usually hung out during the summer when we weren't running around the 13-acre property. The dining room table was always filled with Christmas fare and plenty of country sides: turkey, ham, dressing, mac & cheese, fried squash, fried okra, turnip or mustard greens, black-eyed peas, and a lot of other dishes, plus Aunt Joan's amazing cornbread. My mom would bring along her specialty homemade sweets: fudge, divinity, peanut brittle, and pies—pumpkin pie, sweet potato pie, and pecan pie.

Over the course of a few hours, the house filled with not only Uncle Billy and Aunt Joan, but my cousins Lynda, Marie, La Shea, and Missy; my Aunt Beverly and Uncle Gene, their sons Brian and Darrin; my Uncle Mike and Aunt Cindy, their son Mikey; my granny; and of course my mom, dad, sister, and myself. Things would be festive and peaceful during dinner, but my uncles and dad enjoyed their alcoholic beverages, mostly starting with beer, though whiskey flowed a bit too, especially as the night drew on.

After dinner, everyone would gather in the den. Christmas albums by Alabama or another country artist played on Aunt Joan's huge console stereo as the gift exchange began. Since the family was so large, each person was assigned to give a gift to someone else. One year, my mom was chosen to give my cousin Lynda a gift. At the time, Lynda was into Legos, but my mom, not realizing the difference between Duplo and Lego—or possibly making a decision based on price—gifted Lynda some Duplos, much to her disappointment. I remember one year my granny gave me a gift: the Mickey Mouse Disco record, which I actually love to this very day.

As I mentioned, alcohol was flowing, and we all knew it was only a matter of time before something would break up the gathering. Usually, shortly after we all opened our gifts, just like clockwork, it happened: a fight. It started with screaming and ended with someone burning rubber out of the driveway, which was dirt and clam shells. By the way, this is one of the reasons, besides rattlesnakes and cottonmouths, that none of us ran around the yard barefoot throughout the year. If you've ever walked on clam shells without shoes, you will never forget the feeling.

Anyway, back to the fight: somehow, my Uncle Mike, who I loved dearly, was usually at the center of the argument. The more he drank, the more brazen he became. I usually sat oblivious to what was being said, usually in what I call the "Holidaze" but I always knew when it was time to go home. The moment the wrought iron gate on the back patio swung shut and we heard the shells in the driveway flying as the engine of Uncle Mike's vehicle roared and lulled in the distance before disappearing, my sister and I knew Christmas at Aunt Joan's was over until next year. It was time to go to the car, head home in silence, then go to bed and hope Santa didn't forget our house.

To this day, I think of the effort Aunt Joan made to make Christmas special for all of us. Even though it usually ended in disaster, we all still had a great time. As dysfunctional as we were, we loved each other very much and looked forward to getting together each year. The year my Aunt Joan and Uncle Billy moved out of that house and into a trailer next to their newly built gas station, Garris' General Store, marked the end of our family get-togethers. But those twisted, yet great memories live on.

Christmas Caroling??? Adventures: A Scout's Journey

When I joined the Scouts, I went straight into the Webelos, but one of the requirements before I could officially cross over, at least according to the scoutmaster, was to complete the courses in the Cub Scout handbooks for Tiger, Wolf, and Bear. It was a sort of crash course in scouting skills, and while I learned a lot, some of the tasks, especially those from the Tiger book, felt a bit redundant.

One of the skills I needed to master was essentially Community Training. The idea was to do something for the betterment of the community as long as it brought joy to people. Since it was Christmas and I was in the elementary school chorus, I decided to go Christmas caroling with some of the other scouts. Unfortunately, none of the other scouts showed up, so it was just my mom and me.

It was cold that night. Bear in mind, we lived in Florida, so the temperatures probably weren't that bad, but to us, it felt freezing. We bundled up, and I even wore a knit hat under my Webelos cap, which I technically hadn't earned yet. Months earlier, I had been trick-or-treating, so I knew where most of the older people in our neighborhood lived. I strategically avoided any houses with people I knew. The game plan was simple: knock on the door, and the moment it opened, Mom and I would start singing "Silent Night." Mom was my witness and had to sign off on all my tasks. She could have made it easy, but she didn't.

Things didn't go as planned. At the first house, no one opened the door. The second house was answered by a kid with snot hanging from his nose, who told us his mom was throwing up, which we could hear. The third door belonged to a grumpy old lady I remembered from a school fundraiser in the third grade. She snatched the door open and screamed, "WHAT THE F*** DO YOU WANT?" I started crying, and Mom, trying to console me, called her an old biddy as we walked home.

After that, Mom took mercy on me. She signed off on my task and spent 30 minutes making up stories about how we entertained the masses with our voices. Even though things didn’t go as planned, it's a memory that makes me smile because mama had a way of making things seem better when things went wrong.

A Christmas Memory: Rediscovering "It Came Upon A Midnight Clear"

My sister and I spent a good portion of our childhoods glued to the TV, especially during the colder months. Despite living in Alabama and later in Florida, we felt the chill of winter, at least as far as I can remember. Snow was a rarity, although we did witness some flurries a few times in the mid-80s.
A few Christmases after our move to Florida, my sister and I were already settled down, having inspected all the treasures Santa had left for us and eaten breakfast. We began watching a random Christmas movie on TV that neither of us had ever seen before. It looked fairly recent but had a somewhat dated feel. That movie was "It Came Upon A Midnight Clear."

I only saw the movie that one time, but it left a lasting impression. I wished I could have watched it again, but it was never available at the video store where we rented movies and a VCR. I'm unsure if it was ever released on home video at the time, but even if it had been, it wouldn't have mattered much since we didn't own a VCR—we always rented one until years later when my mom finally bought one.
Even though I remembered the name of the movie, it never seemed to re-air, or if it did, it slipped past my notice. My sister and I recalled its title, but I'm unsure if it resonated with her as deeply as it did with me. I loved it and searched the TV guide every year, hoping it would come back.

"It Came Upon A Midnight Clear" is one of those films that fly under the radar yet still tell a captivating story. The movie centers around a widowed grandfather, played by the legendary Mickey Rooney, who is granted one last Christmas on Earth to spend with his grandson. It was a low-key movie, not exactly a full-blown Christmas film, and had a tinge of sadness to it. The movie was released as a made-for-TV film in 1984 and, while it didn't achieve massive fame, it earned a special place in my heart.

While it may not be a traditional holiday classic, "It Came Upon A Midnight Clear" captured the essence of the season for me. The movie's nostalgic and heartfelt story resonated with my own experiences of Christmas, making it a cherished memory from my childhood. Despite the sadness woven into its plot, the film reminded me of the importance of love and the simple joys of life, especially during the holiday season.

A Heartfelt Christmas Memory: Daddy Decorating Our Yard

Inside our house, Christmas was a cozy and laid-back affair. My mom, sister, and I would decorate the tree or engage in some kind of Christmas craft, like painting cookie dough ornaments. But outside, it was a different story entirely. Armed with a hammer, nails, and our old Christmas tree lights, my dad would transform our home into a mini winter wonderland. Although his intentions were heartfelt, his patience often wore thin, and he’d drop more colorful language in one night than most people do in a lifetime.

My sister, Becki, holding me steady on the ledge of our house on Easter Lane, circa 1980

Over the years, his vision for our yard evolved. It all started with a few wreaths made from a discarded artificial Christmas tree he found at the dump, with working hurricane lanterns filled with kerosene hanging in the middle of each. He then moved on to tacking Christmas lights to the eaves of our house and building large Christmas trains and presents out of old wood for the yard. He was a true genius with wood. One year, he made life-sized wooden cutouts of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs—though I never quite understood their connection to Christmas, they were still awesome. My dad's woodworking skills weren't limited to discarded manufactured wood either. He created all of Santa's reindeer, including Rudolph, from logs too green for firewood and thick branches from various trees being cleared from the vacant lot near our house. My only regret is not getting decent photos of my dad's handiwork each year. I don't believe photos exist for every year, just a few scattered among photo albums that my mom and sister had.

In addition to making our yard festive, there were nights when Daddy would load us up in the car or his truck, and we’d drive around Mobile or Pensacola, through neighborhoods admiring the lights on other people's homes, or through heavily decorated parks. Sometimes we’d drive over to see if the USS ALABAMA Battleship Memorial Park was lit up, though I can’t recall if it ever was back then. My memories have faded a bit over the years. I'm not sure if Daddy was just looking for inspiration or if he truly enjoyed taking in the sights of other people's creations, but it seemed like every time we returned home, he’d add something new to his display. He would work from October through December, gathering ideas from magazines like Ladies' Home Journal, Southern Living, Family Circle, and countless others.

By the time New Year's Day arrived, Daddy would have the decorations down and already packed up and stored in our storage room in the house. I dreaded that day because it meant the season was over until the arrival of Thanksgiving.

These memories of my dad's dedication to creating a festive atmosphere are some of the most cherished of my childhood. They remind me of the joy and magic of the holiday season, and the lengths to which my dad went to make it special for our family.

My Favorite Christmas Songs: A Heartwarming Playlist

I sat down with the intent to bring you more Christmas memories but didn't have it in me today. I can't tell all my Christmas stories in one year, but since it's Tuesday—the day I usually post a music-related blog—I figured it’s the perfect opportunity to dive into some of my favorite Christmas tunes. Growing up, I got my love for Christmas music from my mom and dad. My dad loved listening to Christmas music all year round, and I've picked up the same habit. There's something magical about these songs that bring back so many warm memories. So, here are some of my all-time favorite Christmas songs, along with a bit of history and their original release dates.

Nat King Cole's "The Christmas Song" (1946) is a classic. His smooth, velvety voice and this timeless tune just feel like Christmas. Bing Crosby's "White Christmas" (1942) is another classic, holding the Guinness World Record for the best-selling single ever. It’s perfect for those nostalgic, snowy holiday scenes. Elvis Presley’s "Blue Christmas" (1957) is all about that melancholic, soulful vibe, perfect for those feeling a bit blue during the holidays.

Frank Sinatra’s version of "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" (1944), originally by Judy Garland, brings a comforting and hopeful tone. Tony Bennett’s jazzy "Winter Wonderland" (1968) feels like a snowy stroll through a winter wonderland. Ella Fitzgerald’s "Sleigh Ride" (1960) is so lively and cheerful; it makes you feel like you’re on the sleigh ride with her. Dean Martin’s "Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!" (1959) makes you want to cozy up and wish for a snowstorm.

Perry Como’s "(There's No Place Like) Home for the Holidays" (1954) reminds us that home is where the heart is, especially during the holidays. Johnny Mathis’ "The Most Wonderful Time of the Year" (1963) perfectly captures the excitement and joy of the season. Burl Ives’ "A Holly Jolly Christmas" (1964) is so upbeat and jolly; it’s a must-play at any holiday gathering.

Gene Autry’s "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" (1949) brings the beloved story of Rudolph to life. "Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer" by Elmo & Patsy (1979) always brings a smile and a chuckle, even if it’s a bit quirky. Brenda Lee’s "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree" (1958) is perfect for setting a festive mood. Bobby Helms’ "Jingle Bell Rock" (1957) adds a rock-and-roll twist to the holidays.

The Beach Boys’ "Little Saint Nick" (1963) brings their signature surf sound to Christmas music. Karen Carpenter’s rich voice in "Merry Christmas Darling" (1970) and Kathy Mattea’s unique "Christmas Collage" (1999) create beautiful, emotional listening experiences. The duet of "Peace on Earth/Little Drummer Boy" by Bing Crosby and David Bowie (1977) is hauntingly beautiful.

John & Yoko and The Plastic Ono Band with the Harlem Community Choir released "Happy Xmas (War Is Over)" in 1971, carrying a powerful message of peace and hope. Bruce Springsteen’s rock-infused "Santa Claus Is Comin' to Town" (1985) brings infectious energy, while Band Aid’s "Do They Know It's Christmas?" (1984) remains a poignant reminder of global unity and giving. Paul McCartney’s "Wonderful Christmastime" (1979) captures the simple joy of the season.

Michael Bolton’s "Our Love Is Like a Holiday" (1996) and Harry Connick Jr.’s playful "(It Must Have Been Ol') Santa Claus" (1993) add soulful and jazzy flavors to the mix. Diana Krall’s smooth jazz take on "Jingle Bells" (1998) and Mannheim Steamroller’s ethereal "Away in a Manger" (1984) provide unique listening experiences. Ottmar Liebert’s guitar rendition of "Deck the Halls" (1990) and Gloria Estefan’s powerful "Love on Layaway" (1993) stand out in any playlist.

Celine Dion’s emotional "Don't Save It All for Christmas Day" (1998) and Joe’s soulful "This Christmas" (1999) bring modern twists to holiday classics. The Isley Brothers' "Special Gift" featuring Ronald Isley (2007) and Shaggy’s reggae-infused "All We Need Is Love (Christmas in the Yard)" (2008) offer fresh, festive vibes. Britney Spears’ catchy "My Only Wish (This Year)" (2000) and 'N SYNC’s heartfelt "You Don't Have to Be Alone (On Christmas)" (1998) add pop flair to the season. Luther Vandross’ powerful "O Come All Ye Faithful" (1995) and Debbie Gibson’s cheerful "Sleigh Ride" (1992) are perfect for a festive, fun-filled Christmas.

Dolly Parton’s "A Holly Dolly Christmas" (2020) includes tracks like "Cuddle Up, Cozy Down Christmas" with Michael Bublé and "Mary, Did You Know?" Loretta Lynn’s "Country Christmas" (1966) is full of country charm with songs like "To Heck with Ole Santa Claus" and "Blue Christmas." Mariah Carey’s "Merry Christmas" (1994) features the iconic "All I Want for Christmas Is You" and "Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)." Barbara Mandrell's "It Must Have Been the Mistletoe" (1984) captures the magic and romance of the season, and Barbra Streisand's version of "My Favorite Things" (1967) brings a unique twist to this classic song, making it a delightful addition to any Christmas playlist.

George Michael’s "Last Christmas" (1984) by Wham! is a personal favorite. I've always been a huge fan of George Michael, and I cherish the memory of a one-night stand we shared back in 1993. It was a special moment that I'll always hold dear. Lastly, Eartha Kitt’s "Santa Baby" (1953) is a playful, seductive classic that adds a touch of glamor to any Christmas playlist.

Sinead O'Connor has a beautiful rendition of "Silent Night." Her version brings a hauntingly serene vibe to this classic carol. Expose teamed up with Barry Manilow for a fun and festive version of "Jingle Bells" on his 1990 album "Because It's Christmas." It’s a great addition to any holiday playlist!

These songs have a special place in my heart and bring back wonderful memories of Christmases past. I hope they bring as much joy to you as they do to me. Happy Holidays! 🎄✨🎶

Bonus Christmas Post: Recreating My Childhood Letter to Santa from 4 year old me.

If only mama kept copies of my letters to Santa when she helped me write them. This is a recreation of what I dictated to my mom when I was 4 years old, circa 1980. Not sure if she wrote what I asked but this is what I can remember saying to her...or at least most of it. Of course the stationery is not the same, she used the plain ruled writing pad she used for all of the letters she wrote to various people. My mom loved writing letters, even if she didn't get a prompt reply or even a reply at all. My requests to Santa are probably one of the many reasons I never had to come out to my family. I kinda still do want those white go-go boots but I would be happy with a white pair of Doc Martens, size 10 US. I did get boots that year but I think Santa misread or didn't hear me clearly, I got Cowboy Boots, not the same.

Letters to Santa: A Holiday Tradition and a Deep Personal Story

 

Writing letters to Santa was always a cornerstone of my Christmas season. Mama had a unique way of making Santa seem like he was my real grandfather. It was a bit ironic because I did have a grandfather—Mama's stepdad, whom we called PawPaw. Although PawPaw was distant with me, it seemed a mythical being was more family to me. But as a kid, I never knew any better.

One of my earliest memories is sitting on Santa's lap at Springdale Mall when I was about 3 or 4 years old. I was so shy that I forgot everything I wanted to ask Santa for, except GoGo Boots. I think he misunderstood and I got cowboy boots instead. Years later, at 16, I found myself sitting on Santa’s lap again, this time at Macy’s in NYC. I was homeless then and told him I wanted a place of my own. I don’t think the Macy’s Santa understood completely, but he said he would do his best.

Not me but that was my style at 16, though different hair

Mama loved Christmas, and our house was always filled with Santa decorations. Watching Miracle on 34th Street gave Santa a definitive story in my mind, reinforcing the magical aura around him.
My letters to Santa started out like any other kid’s—filled with lists of toys and gifts I wished for. But over time, they evolved into more. They became a place where I poured out my thoughts and feelings, almost like a journal.

I remember one year, in third grade, our teacher Mrs. Kell gave us an assignment to write a letter to someone. I wrote to Santa. Mrs. Kell, who was supposed to be a family friend, wasn’t pleased. She told me Santa wasn’t real and made me write another letter to someone else. I chose PawPaw, but it was my grandmother who wrote back, not him.

Despite Mrs. Kell’s disbelief, the cookies we left out for Santa were always eaten, and the milk was always at a lower level in the morning. To me, that was proof enough that Santa was real.

One of the most personal letters I wrote to Santa was when I was about 9. In it, I came out to him, telling him I was gay and that I was being molested by a neighbor two doors down from me, the father of a girl in my same grade. I wondered if Santa hated me for being gay. Writing that letter was a vulnerable moment, but it felt safe to share it with Santa, as he would understand and possibly give me guidance to make the abuse end. I never got the guidance, but at the age of 12, it did end.

Even now, though I don't write letters to Santa, I still believe in the spirit of Santa and the magic that surrounds his character. The spirit of Christmas and the joy of those childhood memories fill me with warmth and wonder every holiday season.

A Nostalgic Christmas with Elvis

I still remember the time my dad took me to K-Mart in Milton, Florida. The holiday season of 1985 was just beginning, and the store was filled with the typical festive K-Mart decorations and the sound of Christmas music. As we walked through the aisles, I spotted a record with Elvis Presley on the cover. He told me he didn't really like Elvis, but a couple of my cousins were part of an old gospel group that Elvis loved, and he became good friends with them. Despite his reservations, he bought the record for me. I honestly knew nothing other than the names of the songs, but I loved the color and picture of Elvis on the cover.

When we got home, I eagerly put the record on my old hand-me-down Emerson Disco 80 record player. As the first notes of "Blue Christmas" filled the room, I was instantly captivated by Elvis's voice. It was soulful and full of emotion, something I hadn't expected. I listened to the entire album, which included classics like "White Christmas," "Here Comes Santa Claus," and "Silent Night." Each song transported me to a different world, filled with holiday cheer and nostalgia.

Elvis's Christmas Album, released in 1957, was a mix of secular and gospel songs. It featured six popular Christmas songs, two traditional carols, and four gospel tracks. The album was a hit, spending four weeks at No. 1 on the Billboard Top Pop Albums chart and becoming the best-selling Christmas album of all time in the United States. Elvis's rendition of "Blue Christmas" became a holiday classic, capturing the bittersweet feeling of spending Christmas without a loved one. Though Elvis only recorded a handful of holiday songs, they have been re-released and repackaged in many different ways over the years. My album was one of the various re-releases.

That record became a cherished part of my holiday tradition. Every year around the holidays, and once in a while throughout the year, I would play it just because. It reminded me of that special day at K-Mart and the joy of discovering a new/old favorite artist. Even though my dad didn't like Elvis, he gave me a gift that brought me so much happiness. It's a memory I'll always treasure.

Cherishing the Tradition: Writing Christmas Cards with Heart

Writing Christmas cards is one of those cherished holiday traditions that evokes fond memories of my childhood. I can vividly recall my mom sitting down at the dining table, the scent of pine filling the room, and classic Christmas music playing in the background. With a full box of cards from Woolworths, TG&Y or K-Mart and a Bic pen in hand, she would spend days writing heartfelt messages, often filling each card with entire letters. It usually took her two or three days to complete every card in the box before sending them out, ensuring that each one was a personal touch of holiday cheer.

I always admired my mom's ability to express so much in her Christmas cards. She had a talent for connecting with people through her letters, hopefully making every recipient feel special. In contrast, I found myself struggling to write more than a line or two. For years, I simply signed my name and Terry's name, feeling somewhat inadequate compared to my mom's eloquence. However, over the past few years, I've made a concerted effort to improve. While I may not yet match my mom's lengthy missives, I've started adding more personal touches to each card, hoping to capture some of that warmth and connection.

One thing I've noticed in recent years is a trend where people will only send a card if they receive one first, and some have stopped sending them altogether. It made me wonder if there's an unspoken obligation or need for reciprocation when it comes to holiday cards. Personally, I believe that writing Christmas cards should come from a place of genuine holiday spirit rather than a sense of duty. For me, it's about maintaining a tradition that I cherish, regardless of whether I receive a card in return. It's a way to reach out, share some joy, and let people know they're remembered during the festive season.

I continue to send Christmas cards to the same people each year because I love the tradition. It's a small, meaningful way to spread a bit of happiness and keep the holiday spirit alive. As I sit down to write my cards, I think of my mom and the care she put into each one. While I may never write entire letters within my cards, I hope that my efforts bring a smile to the faces of those who receive them. After all, it's the thought and the heartfelt intention behind each card that truly matters.

Memories of the Past: Christmas Tree Farms & Finding the Perfect Christmas Tree

Thanksgiving was a special time for my family, not only because of my mom's delicious Thanksgiving meal and her wonderful treats but also because it marked the beginning of our search for the perfect Christmas tree. My dad was adamant about having a real tree, detesting the thought of an artificial one. My grandmother had a silver aluminum tree with a color wheel that I was fascinated with, but my dad believed that the smell, look, and feel of a real tree could never be replicated. Of course, he never saw the two stunning artificial trees I own now, but artificial trees back then weren't made like they are today.

Our Thanksgiving dinner was typically served around lunchtime, and by dinner, we were making plates from the massive amount of leftovers. After our first "feeding," we would hang out watching TV for an hour or so before getting ready to head out to a Christmas tree farm. In Mobile, Alabama, my dad's favorite Christmas tree farm was Ramsey Farms in Grand Bay, though we sometimes ventured to one on Repoll Road. When we moved to Florida, Whispering Pines became our regular tree farm.

At the farm, my dad would park the car, grab a saw from an employee, and we would head out to the fields. We all had different ideas of the perfect tree. My sister liked them perfectly shaped, I preferred them tall, and my mom wanted them full enough to hold all our ornaments. Initially, I was enthusiastic about the selection process, but as time wore on, the temperature dropped, and the winds picked up, I became less interested. Eventually, I would have agreed to a tumbleweed. My dad's decision was final once he checked the base of the tree trunk to ensure it would fit into our stand and be easily watered. He would then saw the tree down himself because, in his words, why pay someone else to do it?

Tree farms provided more than just trees; they offered a full holiday experience. Unlike the pre-cut trees sold in parking lots, which often looked out of place, tree farms made the experience special. Sometimes Santa and Mrs. Claus were there, and one year, the farm had actual deer and animals associated with Nativity scenes, like donkeys and sheep. Every tree farm had crafts, wreaths, and Christmas-scented items for sale. Christmas-related food and beverages, such as cookies, sweets, apple cider, and my favorite, hot chocolate, were also readily available. My mom would usually walk with my sister and I to the refreshment stand to buy hot chocolate for the three of us while my dad cut down the tree.

Once we got our tree home, my dad would drill a hole into the middle of the trunk before putting it in the tree stand and setting it up in the living room. My favorite part of Christmas trees was always the lights. My parents had strands of mini colored lights with reflectors for years before switching to clear lights when I was in the 8th grade. I much preferred the colored lights, often laying on the floor with my head under the tree, squinting at the blue lights, which I thought were the prettiest. I didn't care if we had ornaments; the lights were enough for me. We would spend a few hours decorating the tree, and my mom would put the finishing touches on it after my sister and I went to bed.

I can't say we ever had an ugly Christmas tree, though a couple shed quickly and others had bare spots that went unnoticed until we set it up. My parents would turn the tree so the bare spot wouldn't be visible. Since leaving home, I've continued the live tree tradition for many years, even buying one for my friend Erik's apartment in New York when I was 16. In the early 2000s, Terry and I found a 9-foot artificial tree that looked as if it had been grown and cut rather than assembled in a factory. We used it for many years until I found a shorter pre-lit tree under the Martha Stewart brand that could be assembled in less than 10 minutes.

Terry and I used to decorate for Christmas on Thanksgiving, but over the years, our decoration schedule shifted earlier and earlier, usually a week or two before Thanksgiving. This allowed us to relax and enjoy Thanksgiving without stressing over decorations. The tradition of finding and decorating the perfect Christmas tree remains a cherished memory, full of warmth, love, and holiday spirit.

Memories of the International House of Pancakes: A Family Tradition

The classic IHOP building

After Sunday church services, one of the go-to places for many families has been the iconic blue-roofed, A-framed International House of Pancakes (IHOP). The whole vibe of the place screams classic America, from the delicious array of flavored syrups (maple, boysenberry, strawberry, and blueberry) in those signature sticky-handled glass dispensers to a menu full of pancake variations that left you stumped on what to choose each time.

Terry and I absolutely love IHOP. From our days living in Buckhead to where we are now, grabbing dinner or breakfast at 1:00 a.m. has never been an issue thanks to IHOP. While I do have a soft spot for Waffle House, IHOP is the place where I know we'll always leave fully satisfied, especially when it comes to late-night eats. Terry's go-to used to be the Chicken Fried Chicken Sandwich Platter, but now he's all about the breakfast sampler. For me, it's usually an omelet—often the Colorado Omelette—though my all-time favorite was a seafood-stuffed omelet available for a short time back in the early 2000s. Don't judge me; it was amazing!

As a kid, breakfast spots weren't high on my parents' list of places to dine out, so the International House of Pancakes remained a bit of a mystery. Plus, at the time, I thought I hated pancakes, thanks to the bland, often burnt-on-one-side versions my mom and dad occasionally whipped up.

Discovering IHOP as an adult was like finding a breakfast haven I never knew I needed. The variety of delicious options, from fluffy pancakes to hearty omelets, made every visit a delightful adventure. Whether it's the bustling atmosphere or the friendly service, there's something uniquely comforting about IHOP that keeps us coming back.

IHOP has become a special part of our routine, a place where we can always count on a good meal and great memories. Whether we're enjoying a spontaneous late-night breakfast or a leisurely weekend brunch, IHOP never disappoints. It's a tradition that adds a little extra flavor to our lives, one pancake at a time.

IHOP has been serving smiles for over 60 years. It all started in 1958 in Toluca Lake, California, thanks to brothers Al Lapin Jr. and Jerry Lapin. Inspired by McDonald's success, they tested their pancake recipes in their mom's kitchen. When the first restaurant opened, it was a full-on family affair, with Al's wife working the cash register with their baby son in a bassinet under the counter. The restaurant quickly became a hit, and the brothers expanded the chain across the nation and into Canada, opening over 1,000 restaurants. The name officially changed to IHOP in 1976. Jerry left the company in 1966, moved his family to Australia, and returned to the U.S. in 1979. He passed away at age 92 in 2022. Al left IHOP in 1973, had a rollercoaster of a career, and loved seeing IHOPs as he traveled. He passed away in 2004 at the age of 76. 🧇🍓📖✨

For those who enjoyed the story behind IHOP, you might also like:

Denny's: Another classic American diner known for its grand slam breakfasts.

Cracker Barrel: A mix of Southern comfort food and old-school charm.

Waffle House: Famous for its waffles and 24/7 service.

Shoney's: Offering a delicious breakfast bar and family-friendly atmosphere.

Childhood Sleepovers: Friday Nights At Aunt Joan's House

Back when my sister and I were too young to stay home alone, we were always dropped off at Aunt Joan's whenever my parents went out for the evening, usually to the Mobile Greyhound Park. I never understood their fascination with the dog track, but I always looked forward to spending the night at Aunt Joan's house. She knew how to make sleepovers special for me. As long as she had plenty of Coca-Cola and potato chips, I was set.

When we arrived, Aunt Joan and her daughters would usually be putting the finishing touches on dinner. It was often fried chicken or pork chops, accompanied by fried okra or fried squash, cornbread or biscuits, and fresh peas or beans from Joan's fields, all served with a big glass of sweet tea. My mom's cooking was hit or miss, aside from a few dishes she did well, so Aunt Joan's meals were always a treat. Her fabulous country cooking filled the void.

Aunt Joan was one of the most special people I've ever met, showing unconditional love for her kids, siblings, and their kids. Growing up, I often wished my mom could be more like Joan, especially when it came to cooking. We were a close-knit family back in the day, despite some unfortunate incidents involving unruly family members. I'll touch on those stories, including holiday brawls, in future posts.

After dinner, we kids would hang out on the patio, play in the fields, or jump on the trampoline. Being the smallest, I mostly got bounced around by everyone else. We had free rein of the 13-acre property, except for the swampy area known as "The Branch," which was off-limits due to snakes and other dangers. As night fell, we'd take turns in the two bathrooms. I can still remember the smell of Aunt Joan's soap, similar to Coast Pacific Force. Once clean, we’d head to the den, a large, cozy room with minimal light, a TV in the corner, a fireplace, a huge console stereo, and a Fun Machine Organ. We’d make pallets on the floor with blankets and pillows, play board games, and watch TV with an endless supply of chips and soda. Friday nights were all about watching "Dallas," to see JR’s next move and if Sue Ellen could stay sober for an episode.

At some point, Aunt Joan would bring out the pickles—her bread and butter pickles were the absolute best. She grew her own vegetables and preserved them, filling a small room with mason jars of pickles, blackberry jelly, and other goodies. I wasn't big on veggies back then, but at Aunt Joan's, everything was delicious. By 11 PM, I’d usually pass out watching TV, except for one memorable time when my cousin Lynda’s hamster, Herman, escaped. Waking up to my sister and cousins trying to catch Herman was quite the adventure.

The next morning, I'd wake up to the smell of bacon or sausage and eggs, signaling that mom and dad would be picking us up soon. Those mornings always passed too quickly. When my mom arrived, she never asked how our night was—probably because she didn’t want to hear how much more fun we had at Aunt Joan's compared to home. Our routine at home was similar, minus the den, soda, chips, great food, pickles, and the occasional hamster on the loose.

October: A Month of Magic and Memories

When I was a little kid, besides December for the obvious reason that Santa Claus was coming to town, I looked forward to the month of October. Not only did it mean the fair would be going on during the month, but it also meant Halloween was upon us. The older I get, the less interested I become in Halloween. I never fully understood it other than it was a chance to score free candy while dressed up as something fun. I loved to dress up, but I never really got into the Halloween party spirit.

Elvira WAS Halloween when I was a kid

Growing up, I wasn't allowed to watch horror movies because they COULD give me nightmares. My parents thought my overactive imagination would turn those spooky tales into sleepless nights. So, while my friends were watching "Halloween" and "Nightmare on Elm Street," I was stuck with lighter fare like "It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown" and other kid-friendly shows. Even without the scary movies, October still held an air of mystery and excitement.

When Terry and I lived in apartments, we always bought candy just in case trick-or-treaters stopped by. Sometimes they did, and other times we ended up eating all the candy ourselves. When we bought our house, we went all out with decorations from Target, Walmart, Garden Ridge, and wherever else we found cool stuff. For the first few years, we really got into the spirit of handing out candy. Instead of using a bowl to hand out random handfuls of candy, we made individual bags of candy that I heat-sealed, and Terry finished with a sticker. Kids knew our house was the place to be because we handed out bags with Fun Sized chocolates, gum, jawbreakers, gummies, and a sucker of some sort. Unfortunately, the next day, I'd find our bags, minus the contents, strewn around the neighborhood. I guess parents don't really monitor their kid's candy like they did in the 70s and 80s.

You too can be a makeup artist, lol

Speaking of the 1980s, I remember we didn't have as many choices for Halloween costumes as there are now. We didn't have Party City or Spirit Halloween; we had K-Mart, Woolworth, TG&Y, and True Value hardware. Yes, True Value did sell costumes at one time, they also had one hell of a toy set up during Christmas. As a kid of the 70s and 80s, you either had store-bought costumes or something homemade. Looking back, the store-bought costumes were horrible. I had a Superman Ben Cooper costume in preschool and still remember the plastic mask with eye holes that didn't align, a mouth slit that could cut your lips and tongue, and nostril holes that weren't big enough to let your breath escape. We were walking nightmares, smelling our breath and sweating in our vinyl jumpsuits with pictures on the front of who or what we were supposed to be. For the life of me, I can't remember if the costume was supposed to be worn over clothes or if you were only supposed to wear it with just underwear. Homemade costumes were nice if your parent was interested in creating one, but mine wasn't. My mom made her own costumes a few times, but for my sister and me, we used stuff from around the house. One year, my sister was a “hobo,” and I was a ghost covered in a pastel green sheet that had a seam sewn in the middle along with three holes cut out, 2 uneven eye holes and for some reason, my mom also cut a hole for my nose, I guess she thought I might suffocate. I hated that costume; I wanted to be Peter Criss from KISS or Wonder Woman, but neither was in the cards for me. In all fairness, it may have been slightly better than the costume's my mom's coworkers threw together one of the years the Pensacola Interstate Fair offered free admission to anyone wearing a costume. Ten of us showed up at the fair wearing paper grocery bags from Delchamps and Food World cut with "fringe" and each of us with a feather poking out of our hair posing as half baked Indians. By the time we entered the gates, we were all already stripping off the grocery bags and left the Indians in the trash cans next to the Beer Garden before making our way to get our 8 or 10 buck "G" (for Goodings) handstamp so we could ride whatever we wanted all night. 

I got even in the 9th grade for all of the costume craziness of the past when my mom wanted me to come to her Ala-non Halloween party at the library in Milton, Florida. I convinced my sister and her best friend to dress me up as a hooker. With my mullet that looked like a shag haircut when feathered back, I wore my sister’s friend's shoes (a size too small and too narrow), black spandex tights, a silver vest and a bra. I discovered during the summer of 1992, I looked better than most of the New York City hookers, and I was better dressed and way more conservative. My mom was horrified when her friends came up to introduce themselves to me and said they had heard so much about Dee’s daughter, prompting my mom to say, "This is my SON."

My sister had this costume

Looking back on these memories, October is still a special month full of magic, creativity, and a bit of spooky fun. It's a reminder of the joy in simple traditions, the excitement of dressing up, and spending time with family and friends. Even though my enthusiasm for Halloween has changed, the nostalgia from past Octobers keeps the season bright. Here's to making new memories and keeping the October spirit alive, no matter our age. 🎃✨