When my husband and I first started dating, we would frequently patronize a business in San Jose, CA called Big Al’s Record Barn.  The selection is fantastic and well organized and a bit overwhelming.  Older gruff gentlemen man the helm there, and the first time I ever heard someone use the term “yous guys” earnestly was from one of the shop-keeps within.  On one of our little sojourns I purchased an ancient copy of Dave Brubeck’s Time Out.  As I pulled the record from the sleeve, these lovely little paper dresses floated out and flittered onto the carpet.  What a lovely surprise it was to find such a treasure.  You can tell from the style of the dresses that they’re contemporary with the record.

 I’ve often pictured a dad coming home from a long day at the office, loosening his tie, pouring himself a stiff drink, and sinking deep into his favorite chair all the while Brubeck’s piano plays, jazz lilting in the background crazy time signatures and all.  As daddy tries to forget about what a snit his boss was in all day…the whiney little baby, his little girl decides to stash these little hand crafted masterpieces delicately inside the sleeve.  Then homework was assigned, play dates were had. Later there were school dances, a first kiss, graduation.  The little dresses were forgotten.  And there they stayed, undisturbed until the day we put the needle to the vinyl all those years later.  

Good stuff y’all.