I'm on a children's lit listserv and someone recently posted "Deck us all with Boston Charlie/Walla Walla Wash. and Kalamazoo..." as a nondenominational holiday greeting to the group. I did a Huh? doubletake because I grew up with Jim singing the lyrics throughout the month of December, but I didn't realize he was quoting Pogo.
It shouldn't have been a surprise. This past year I've made many mental notes of things I enjoy that are virtual presents from my parents. Even though I won't find a package under the tree from them this Christmas, these gentle reminders of Norma and Jim are gifts. As I giggle over a Calvin and Hobbes comic I receive daily in my email, I remember Norma's laughter as she poured over the Sunday funnies each week and Jim's Monday night ritual of settling into his Lazy Boy recliner to watch "The Flintstones."
These past few weeks I've taken a route to work most mornings that goes through a neighborhood decked with lights and holiday statues on nearly each front lawn. It's a comforting reminder of the years my parents and I toured the same streets each Christmas night, winding down the holiday with a leisurely drive to admire the decorations. I am sitting on the edge of the back seat of the car, my small hand holding onto the back of my father's seat. He has an impish smile as he adds extra "rumpa pum pa's!" to his favorite carol, "The Little Drummer Boy" and my heart understands the meaning of joy.
