Except maybe Nutchos.

A lot of things remind me of Christmas, and a lot of them are obvious: wreaths, carols, wrapping paper, and so on. Over the years these things have turned into indicators of the Christmas shopping season, and not particularly pleasing to me. What still makes me smile are memories of past Christmases, especially from my childhood, which were fairly unique to my family. My mom’s chocolate-covered peanut butter balls. The spruce tree we’d get when most people got fir or pine. My Dad’s homemade ice cream. The light-up porcelain decoration, now long gone, that Mom left on the old TV one year, melting a hole through the plastic top of the TV case. And maybe strongest of all…


I never think about this stuff, and we never have it anymore, but as a kid we’d have it every Christmas, and I loved it. When Esquire wrote about it today it instantly made me want Christmas. It’s not the strongest memory indicator of Christmas I get, but it might be the only one that reminds me only of Christmas and nothing else.

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