Christmas.

Growing up my parents invited all my Dad's music friends that either didn't have family around, or that they viewed as kin, over for Christmas.

My Mom always made prime rib with these insane crispy potatoes, which is actually my Grandmother's recipe.

A nice appetizer spread to start. Some sort of fancy dessert, from a bakery my Mom learned of in one of her cooking magazines. Waterford glasses with fancy plates and cloth napkins.

But what I remember are the STORIES.

My Dad recounting traveling down South and having to be separated from his bandmates who were black. One of my Dad's friends recalling being beaten within an inch of his life for being black down South. Another recounting separating Yoko's voice on the track they had worked on after he got fired, because her voice was that bad. How working for Barbara Streisand really was. What is was like to write Dueling Banjos and The Rainbow Connection. When my Dad wrote music and it was picked up and sent ALONE via Limo to the recording studio. The time Paul Schafer used my Dad's name as a cover when he was checked into the hospital.

There were so many amazing stories.

TONS.

I can remember hearing these stories from a very early age, and I remember being in awe, even back then .

As I face this Christmas, I fondly remember those memories, and moreover feel so lucky to have been able to experienced them.

So take a minute and appreciate those Christmas' of days past, especially if it can help you get through this one.

Xoxo,

C.