On the strawberry patch: Pesto and presents


It is December 1997, I am 11 years old, and the Nintendo 64 console was the only thing on our wish list.

My sister and I spent the whole winter break that year with our dad, and he was determined to make it special. He found an enormous tree that stretched all the way to our vaulted ceiling, and we covered it in lights and candy canes and silver baubles. We spent our evenings stoking fires and watching movies together, passing a tin of flavored popcorn across our laps, our little legs propped up on the back of the giant dog snoring at our feet (we miss you, Bobo).

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