I'm not sure how this happened, but I am now old enough to be nostalgic. Upon arriving at my parent's house Christmas morning, I immediately asked my Dad, "Where is my Brady Bunch Christmas album?" I had to find it. So we trooped down to the basement and dug through musty boxes. Glory be, we found it. Along with a treasure trove of Christmas albums from the 1960's, the festive music of my youth that ushered Santa to my door.
In that musty box was also a tantalizing assortment of my Dad's music of choice, also from the 60's. Little vinyl 45's in the most gorgeous shades of red, green and cerulean blue. Held to the light they were color saturated jaw-droppers. We decided that one day this winter we're going to spend steeped in nostalgia. Naturally, my Dad still has his furniture-sized hi fi, with working needle, in the basement. I can't wait. Nothing beats a vinyl record. Or Marsha Brady crooning carols.