…..and he looked a bit like Kenny Rogers before the cheek implants.   The kids had a blast, but I am always somehow disappointed that afterwards they say their favorite part was having the parade people hurl candies at them.  These end up coming home with us and the majority are shattered or smooshed behind recognition.  But, oh the joy of having a complete stranger dressed in a Santa hat and cowboy boots flinging candy missiles at your head.  When you are six and four, I guess that really is the bee’s knees.  Sam, bless his heart, is still far more impressed by the Clydesdales, and the random goats and dogs dressed as reindeer.   I know he will turn to the dark side soon just like his brothers.  He will tolerate the animals, and the sweetly off-key elementary school marching band, while he waits with baited breath for someone to fire a handful of stale candy (probably from Halloween) at his perfect little head.   So I try to take great pleasure in watching his eyes light up when he sees the livestock marching past; and my eyes get just a little full when I see him stand up and wobble his little hips to the melodious and almost indistinguishable sounds of Jingle Bell Rock as played by the Santa Ynez Bobcats.  Then, finally the last float is Santa and Mrs. Claus (who I am fairly certain are dating).  His beard is a dirty, mottled gray….but, darn it, it is real.  He has been our local Santa for eons it seems.   But, Sam doesn’t see any of that.  His eyes dance when they see Santa on his sleigh (a flatbed trailer pulled by a pick-up truck.)  I am so small town.  And I am so very proud of that.

Here is wishing you Peace and as little horse poop on your parade route as possible.

Love,

Tiff