Last night, I sat in the rocking chair with the kittens on my lap and my dog Max by my side. The Christmas lights and the wood stove provided the only light in the room. It was story time. I mentioned how when the kids were young, and other cats and dogs lived with us, we’d have a special event on Christmas morning – the Christmas Morning Conga Line.
It was my habit to get up early on Christmas morning. I’d get coffee and set things up under the tree. The nativity scene always required a final check. My wisecracking children had a weird sense of humor, and sight gags were standard. Multiple baby Jesus, capsized sleighs, and cat and dog figurines were convened around the Baby Jesus and fights among the Holy men.
At some point, I’d start the Christmas music up. I’m not fond of many Christmas albums, so it was always Jimmy Buffet’s Christmas Island album. Somewhere along the line, one of my favorites would start playing Ho Ho Ho and a bottle of Rhum.
“Ho Ho Ho and botte of Rhum, Santa’s run off to the Caribbean…”
After a verse, the spirit would kick in, and I’d start dancing and calling the kids to come downstairs. I’d start the conga line with the cat on my shoulders and the dog standing up. Soon, we’d be joined by kids, and the line would snake from the kitchen through the dining room, into the living room, through the hall, and back into the kitchen; repeat several times with spirit!
And that was the Christmas Conga Line. The kittens opined that they’d need a lot of catnip before doing something so silly, and the dog asked if extra crunchies got served if you did this silly thing. I just sighed and admitted that it was one of those things that you just had to see to believe.
But on Christmas morning, I’ll be in the kitchen listening to Jimmy Buffett if anyone should feel the inescapable urge to join a conga line.
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