I caught my mom listening to Christmas music today. There it was mixed in with the normal tunes of Phillip Phillips, Dido and Norah Jones. There’s no place like home (for the holidays). Have yourself a merry little Christmas. Sleigh Ride. I’ll Be Home for Christmas. That’s right, folks, all the classics joined the Christmas party. In June.
At first I was concerned, and thought perhaps she was confused by the really long winter/non-existent spring we’ve had around here. But we’ve had our fair share of randomly beautiful days too, so that couldn’t be it. My next thought was that something must be wrong at that place called work. But her job changed for the better a few months ago and the result was a much happier (not to mention more well-rested) version of herself. So it can’t be that. In my little doggie mind, I found myself making a mental checklist of anything else that might be awry with her, and nothing made sense.
That’s when I realized I was breaking one of my cardinal rules. Your resident optimistic pooch was assuming the negative before considering the positive. Maybe nothing is wrong at all, I realized. Maybe the music is actually reflective of her joyful mood.
At second glance, there is a way about her that exudes happiness as she hums along. Fa-la-la-la-la la-la-la-la! (Silly me, thinking the worst.) I’m not sure what’s got her so giddy, but I sure do like seeing her this way. That’s got to be among my favorite things about joy: it’s so contagious. It may not be wrapped up in pretty paper and bows, but it doesn’t need to be. She’s happy, so I’m happy, so I’m sharing it with you. Merry Christmas in June.