Dad's mom makes everyone come over to her house on the 23rd for the Christmas Sing. People don't sing much these days. It is an activity ordinarily reserved for those who aren't embarrased by their voice—or for the privacy of one's car. A roomful of ordinary adults belting out "O Come All Ye Faithful" is something rare.
For "The Twelve Days of Christmas" we doled out parts. Dad got stuck singing "and a partridge in a pear tree"—solo. He acquitted himself pretty well, I thought.
It seems likely that when she's gone they won't do it anymore. That would be too bad.