I love Christmas songs. LOVE. THEM. I love them a little too much for my husband's taste. But, I tell him, singing along to "White Christmas" at full volume is part of my charm!
Anyway....I thought that I would share some of my favorite Christmas songs with you through the magic of You Tube. I'll spare you the sing along.
White Christmas is the best Christmas song ever. Do not argue with me, because you will never convince me other wise.
Now this is a classic, of course. Care for a chestnut?
Another classic by Judy Garland. I am cracking up right now because yesterday my mother lipped synced this song on Skype to my son. HAHAHA!! Trust me it was funny. Yeah, you had to be there.
This song reminds me of a friend in college who made me soup and bread and copied The Charlie Brown Christmas music to a cassette for me, which I have since lost. I hope she is well now and is still making warming, yummy soup for her friends.
This one gets me right in the heart. Ever since I moved East, away from my friends and family, I can't hear this song without bursting into tears. Oh no, here come the waterworks...
Now the King will croon...
I used to listen to this song as a kid and dream about life in The Big City.
I remember listening to this song on my tiny clock radio while wrapping Christmas presents for my grade school friends. I don't remember what the gifts were, but I can guess that they may have been florescent socks or big plastic earrings. I was probably wearing stirrup pants.
This one is for my son who when asked what the most common winter holidays are said, "Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Winter Solstice, and Feliz Navidad."
This one is all about nostalgia for me. I remember learning this song at school when I was very, very young maybe 1st or 2nd grade. I hear it now and instantly feel like a small girl eagerly awaiting Santa's arrival.
This one is for my daughter who thinks this is the greatest Christmas song EVER.
Another one that reminds my of being a little girl....When I was young my parents had lots of Christmas albums, but the album I enjoyed the most was the Perry Como one. I loved to sit by the tree with his record on softly in the background.
So there you have it--12 songs for the 12 days of Christmas. Have a joyous holiday my friends!
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
secret society
It's like a club. There isn't a secret handshake or a special password, but there is a unique look, a shifting of the eyes, a softening of the mouth, that will give you a clue. You'll be talking to someone, and when the word "father" comes up in conversation you'll see it and know before they say the words:
"He died."
Oh yes, you understand. You step a bit closer and ask, "When?" The answer is different every time, of course.
"Last year."
"In September."
"When I was in high school."
But you know in your heart that it doesn't matter how long it has been. You are all lifetime members of the same, sad society.
There are rituals, of course. On Father's Day, you may run into a fellow member in the store or on the street. A squeeze of the hand or a simple, "How are you?" takes on a special meaning. You don't need them to respond to know that they miss him today.
The birthday ritual and the passing date ritual are, of course, more private. Everyone has their own specialized routine. For some it is quiet prayer in church. Others crawl into bed and have a good cry. Some look at old photos or wear his old flannel work shirt around the house.
But you don't have a particular rite that you perform. Some years you simply think of him in passing and go on with the day as planned. Other years you are floored with grief.
So you write.
You write private thoughts into messy journals that no one will see. Or maybe you pen a birthday letter and share it with the world, your family, your friends. Sometimes you write thinking it will make it hurt less. You write and pretend it isn't real.
But no matter what you do, write, or say, you can't terminate your membership in the club. You may smile and say to the world all around, " I'm fine," but it is a lie. You are not fine. You have no father.
Your daddy is gone.
So you turn to the members of the club and wordlessly plead to be understood. They know you want to be heard but that you don't want to talk. They will let you feel what you have to feel without pushing you to share or heal or move on. Knowing they are near, that they will be there to hold you up when you just want to crumble under the sadness, buoys you.
------------------------------------------
for Karen, Barb, Veronica, Lorraine, Sue, Sandy, and all of the daughters out there without fathers.
by christine green, member for 15 years
"He died."
Oh yes, you understand. You step a bit closer and ask, "When?" The answer is different every time, of course.
"Last year."
"In September."
"When I was in high school."
But you know in your heart that it doesn't matter how long it has been. You are all lifetime members of the same, sad society.
There are rituals, of course. On Father's Day, you may run into a fellow member in the store or on the street. A squeeze of the hand or a simple, "How are you?" takes on a special meaning. You don't need them to respond to know that they miss him today.
The birthday ritual and the passing date ritual are, of course, more private. Everyone has their own specialized routine. For some it is quiet prayer in church. Others crawl into bed and have a good cry. Some look at old photos or wear his old flannel work shirt around the house.
But you don't have a particular rite that you perform. Some years you simply think of him in passing and go on with the day as planned. Other years you are floored with grief.
So you write.
You write private thoughts into messy journals that no one will see. Or maybe you pen a birthday letter and share it with the world, your family, your friends. Sometimes you write thinking it will make it hurt less. You write and pretend it isn't real.
But no matter what you do, write, or say, you can't terminate your membership in the club. You may smile and say to the world all around, " I'm fine," but it is a lie. You are not fine. You have no father.
Your daddy is gone.
So you turn to the members of the club and wordlessly plead to be understood. They know you want to be heard but that you don't want to talk. They will let you feel what you have to feel without pushing you to share or heal or move on. Knowing they are near, that they will be there to hold you up when you just want to crumble under the sadness, buoys you.
------------------------------------------
for Karen, Barb, Veronica, Lorraine, Sue, Sandy, and all of the daughters out there without fathers.
by christine green, member for 15 years
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