I’m listening to Christmas music now. It is amazingly evocative, carrying me back to when I was a child. There are gaps in my recall that are bridged when I hear certain carols—memories I didn’t even know I’d stored away suddenly resurface with startling clarity. Bing Crosby and Rosemary Clooney singing “White Christmas” and “Count Your Blessings Instead of Sheep.” Elmo and Patsy’s irreverent “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer” still makes me laugh. Memories of singing in school concerts, voices wavering but earnest, church services where candlelight flickered against winter darkness, and get-togethers with family and friends gathered around pianos and guitars—all bring smiles to my face and a warmth to my heart that has nothing to do with the fireplace.

The Sacred . . .

I love the sacred music of the season as much as the secular. A friend of mine who was a talented opera singer used to put together Christmas CDs that contained collections of both, carefully curated and beautifully sequenced. This was her Christmas gift for many years, and I still treasure every disc. Every time I play one of these, I find myself on a journey through both time and relationships. Her voice carries me back to dinner parties and conversations, to the person she was and the friendship we shared. Music becomes a time machine in the most unexpected ways.

Who knew that the birth of Jesus would inspire the likes of Handel, Mozart, Bach, and Tchaikovsky? These masters created works that have endured for centuries, pieces that still move us to tears or fill us with inexplicable joy. The soaring “Hallelujah Chorus,” the gentle reverence of “Ave Maria,” the exuberant “Gloria in Excelsis Deo”—these compositions transcend their original purpose and speak to something universal in the human experience. And then there are the more sedate church choir offerings: “Silent Night” with its whispered holiness, “The Coventry Carol” with its haunting minor key, or “Carol of the Bells” with its urgent, cascading melody. Tell the truth—are you not already humming your favorite tunes?

And the Secular

And then there is the secular music, equally powerful in its own way. It seems as if every singer of my era had to come out with a Christmas album. How many different ways can you sing “White Christmas”? Hundreds, apparently, and I’ve probably heard most of them. Personally, I love the novelty songs of the ’40s and ’50s—Spike Jones’s manic arrangements, Alvin and the Chipmunks’ three-part harmony, and all those wonderfully silly tunes that I can recall all the lyrics.

Then there were the annual TV cartoon specials that became sacred rituals in their own right: Frosty the Snowman with Burl Ives, A Charlie Brown Christmas with its surprisingly tender wisdom and Vince Guaraldi’s unforgettable jazz score, and the Grinch Who Stole Christmas, teaching us that the holiday couldn’t be stolen from a box. Let’s not forget the variety show specials: Perry Como in his cardigan, Andy Williams in his sweater, and of course, Bing with his pipe and easy charm, making our dreams of a White Christmas come true.

Shopping Season!

The season didn’t officially begin in our house until after the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade was over, that final signal that it was time. Then the “How Many Shopping Days Till Christmas” countdown would seduce us into department stores like Marshall Field’s, Carson, Pirie Scott & Company, and Wiebolts in my hometown of Chicago, each vying for the best Christmas windows and offering Christmas shoppers a wide array of fine gifts.

As a child, I craved toys like Barbie and ice skates, or board games like Monopoly and Clue. I usually got clothing and books, which I loved. The anticipation was almost unbearable, and somehow more thrilling than the actual unwrapping.

God, how innocent it all seems now.

In the Bleak Midwinter

Even as I write this, I find myself a bit melancholy. I don’t know if it is because the day is cold and gray, or if it is the condition of the world at present—the divisions, the anger, the loss of that shared sense of wonder. I do know that when I put on Christmas music, my mood will shift and I will find myself singing out loud and recalling past holidays. The music connects me not just to my own memories but to something larger, something hopeful that persists despite everything that is currently present in the world.

Nostalgia is a part of aging, but it’s more than just looking backward. Recalling the “good old days” is not just a pastime—it is a wonderful brain workout that allows for sharing traditions and re-creating those values and beliefs that help bind families together. When I share these songs with others, I’m not just sharing music. I’m sharing moments, feelings, and a sense of continuity. I’m saying: this mattered to me, and perhaps it will matter to you too.

The power of music lies in its ability to transcend time, to make the past present again, if only for a few minutes. And in this season especially, when darkness comes early and the world feels heavy, that power feels like a gift worth treasuring.