By McAvoy Layne As our mutual friend Mark Twain reminds us around this time of year, “The Christmas holidays have this high value: that they remind Forgetters of the Forgotten, and repair damaged relationships.” We thank you Samuel, for that reminder, ever so poignant in this particular Christmas season. A gentleman knocked at my door recently and said, “You don’t know me, but I know you, and I have been instructed to deliver this sidewheeler.” He handed me the cutest little music box in the shape of a sidewheeler that Sam Clemens would have piloted, and added, “I hear you have a pet jay named ‘Huckleberry.’ I laughed out loud and said, “I do!” I took the sidewheeler in my hands and wound it up. We then stood raptly by as it played “Moon River,” and joined together in singing the line, “My Huckleberry Friend.” It brought a tear to my eye, really, and I had to ask, “So who instructed you to deliver this treasure if you don’t mind my asking.” “The Lord.” He answered solemnly. “Then I shall take the very best care of it.” I promised. We shook hands and he went on his way. Some days are diamonds, and this was one to be sure. Here were two strangers listening intently to a music box while smiling and sharing a refrain. I play that wonderful gift every morning while pouring my coffee and it makes me wonder what it might take for all of us to share the gift of music, somewhat like that gentleman did for me. Might we each have a little sidewheeler music box to bequeath to a neighbor, a friend, or a total stranger? I have to believe we do; it might not be in the form of a sidewheeler, it might be in the form of a piece of pie or a Christmas wreath. And our little gift of music would not have to be “Moon River” but could cross the borders of 195 countries with music from each and every homeland. These gifts of music could fill the air with goodwill and stop us from chasing around and biting our tails, as many of us have been prone to do of late. It might not be a music box at all. Can you whistle? I whistle Huckleberry’s favorite song every day at Happy Hour before giving him a Beer Nut, and he goes into a touchdown dance and does everything but spike that Beer Nut to show his gratitude. It is no coincidence that Huckleberry and my favorite song is, “Don’t Get Around Much Anymore.” So, allowing for a scarcity of music boxes, why don’t we take to whistling a song out the window, down the street, and across this great land of ours at the stroke of midnight, this January first, 2025. And if we cannot whistle, then let us hum. — For more than 35 years, in over 4,000 performances, columnist and Chautauquan McAvoy Layne has been dedicated to preserving the wit and wisdom of “The Wild Humorist of the Pacific Slope,” Mark Twain. As Layne puts it: “It’s like being a Monday through Friday preacher, whose sermon, though not reverently pious, is fervently American." Want to hear McAvoy Layne tell it? Go here for an audio version of this column.