I am taking my time this morning. During the night I was invaded by some evil bug. I think a cold is brewing. My nose is full, and I’ve been every now and then coughing. I cancelled my dentist appointment for today and will probably cancel my uke lesson tomorrow morning. I’ve only been up for a couple of hours, and I already want a nap. My sister’s first question was, “How did you get it?” That was a great question. I thought about it. It had to be the grocery store stop a few days ago as I haven’t been anywhere else since the uke concert on New Year’s Eve.

I’m not enjoying this, the coughing and the sniffing. I am reminded of my father and his white handkerchiefs. He was never without one. He used to keep one in his back pants pocket. If I sneezed, he’d hand over his wrinkled, used handkerchief. They didn’t start out that way, wrinkled. My mother used to iron my father’s handkerchiefs. Sometimes I did. The motions from one handkerchief to the next didn’t change. Iron the whole cloth, then fold in half and iron each half then fold again and iron each side. After that, only square handkerchiefs were left. They got piled then put in his drawer. There were always handkerchiefs needing ironing.

What amazes me is how sometimes a picture, a scene, jumps into my head from a way back memory drawer jogged by a smell or a look or a taste. The other day it was the smell of popcorn. My mother would make it standing at the stove and shaking the covered pan filled with a few kernels in oil. After one or two popped, she’d add all the kernels. When it had finished popping, she’d put the popcorn in the big tulip bowl and have melted butter to pour on the popcorn. Strangely enough, I remember the sticky feel of my fingers from picking up the popcorn covered in butter with only a little salt. I remember it was delicious.

Most places are dark now. All the colors of Christmas are gone. In my neighborhood, the house diagonally across from my backyard always leaves an outside light on. It is the only light anywhere around. Sometimes I like that light as it shares its light with me. Sometimes I hate that light. It ruins the dark sense of the night, the calmness of the night, by its garish brightness. Sometimes I forget about that light until I let Henry inside and see the light on. I think winter is its best time.

This entry was posted on January 6, 2026 at 2:32 pm and is filed under Musings. You can subscribe via RSS 2.0 feed to this post's comments. You can comment below, or link to this permanent URL from your own site.