Last night the mighty storm started. The rain pelted the windows. The wind shook the house and trees. I could hear the chimes from the pine tree branch by the back stairs. Its sound sweetened the air. The rain is still falling, but the wind has subsided. The morning is warm, in the high 40’s. I will not be getting my tree today.

The dogs went out this morning then turned right around and came back inside. They are not rain dogs. I have left the back door open in case their need is greater than their dislike for the rain.

Today I hope to start decorating for Christmas. I also want to write out my Christmas cards. I bought them last summer at the Edward Gorey house.

I love my Christmas ornaments. Every year when I put them on the tree they bring back so many memories. Some are glass ornaments from my childhood trees. My mother gave us each a box of them. I always put them high up as my cat likes to whack hanging ornaments, and now Nala presents a danger. She’ll steal anything. I have ornaments from Ghana. Some are bead people and a couple look like the round family compounds from up north where I lived. Every time I travel I bring back ornaments from the countries I visit. From Hungary are two doilies with designs in the middle. They are heart shaped. I have a wooden Pinocchio from a small toy shop in Florence. I have cloth ornaments from Peru. They are from a small outdoor market in Puno. A few ornaments are gaudy souvenirs. One is of Christ the Redeemer in Rio. It is small and round with a garish blue background. Another is a picture of the site at the equator. It has a shack on it, the same place where I bought the souvenir. From Morocco, I have tassels, two of them, one red and the other orange. Because Morocco is an Islamic country, the tassels were the best I could do. They hang from the ends of branches, and the bottoms sway when I walk by them.

I have several cloth ornaments. Some are historical figures like Abagail Adams and George Washington. A few are poets. Emily Dickinson is one of them. Captain Hook is always placed right by Peter Pan but never close enough for Hook’s purposes. Mark Twain and Sherlock Holmes are made of some stiff material. Twain is holding a book. I have a new one, Edgar Allan Poe.

Every year Christmas brings with it all of my past Christmases. Each one holds memories and dreams and even a few hopes.

This entry was posted on December 11, 2023 at 11:15 am and is filed under Musings. You can subscribe via RSS 2.0 feed to this post's comments. Both comments and pings are currently closed.