Today is an ugly day, a gray day. Last night it rained, and the air is still damp making it feel colder than it is. The birds were back this morning, even a beautiful red cardinal. I’ll fill the feeders in a bit, hoping to keep the birds around. They brighten the day. I haven’t seen a spawn of Satan at the feeders. I suspect the grey devil is waiting for me to add seed.

I have a few errands planned and was hoping to go to the dump, but I just noticed it has started raining again. The day is even darker. We may get snow tonight. The temperature will go down to 35°. I’ll leave the back light on so I can check for snow.

One of the big controversies about Christmas, almost causing people to come to blows, is whether Santa wraps presents or leaves them unwrapped. We were an unwrapped family. The only wrapped presents under the tree were from my parents, and those presents went under the tree before Christmas and were always new pajamas for Christmas Eve. Christmas movies don’t help. In one he leaves wrapped while unwrapped in another; however, in Santa Claus is Coming to Town, the definitive story of Santa, he leaves unwrapped toys. Case closed.

In our house, we had an unfinished attic behind a trap door in the hall celling. When you opened it, a small ladder slid down. I have no memory of it being opened except on one Christmas Eve. My bed was right by the bedroom door. If I twisted around, I could see the hall. I was asleep that Christmas Eve until I heard my parents whispering in the hall. I clandestinely peeked. The trap door was down. My mother was standing by the ladder. My father was in the attic. He was handing presents down to my mother. My parents had found the perfect hiding place. I watched. I remember hearing music. It came from a toy which made music when you pushed it. That was for my little sister. My parents finished unloading the attic and went downstairs to put the presents under the tree. I sneaked down and watched from behind the bannister. I never got caught. I did see some of the presents but never let on in the morning. I put on my most surprised face.

The morning is dark and chilly. I went out for a few groceries just after nine. People were on the road. I was surprised. I’m never usually up that early so the activity was a bit mind boggling. I got a few groceries and treated myself. I bought a cinnamon donut. I treated the dogs and bought them big dog biscuits shaped like fire hydrants.

Yesterday I did chores. I deserve a commendation. Putting in the storm door just about finished me. It is so heavy I had to move it step by step up the cellar stairs then side by side to the door. Next was my step stool, a wonder. It replaced an old wooden one which put my life in jeopardy every time I used it, but it is heavy. I dragged it to the door. I took out the screen. I had to climb to the topmost rung. My life flashed before me. The storm just wouldn’t go in. Something was always in the way, one of those screw holders or the chain. I was determined, okay stubborn. Finally I did it. The crowning glory was putting my Halloween decoration on the door. It is a nun dressed in black with a skeleton face and hands. I call it Sister Helen after my aunt the nun.

When I was a kid, I always thought Columbus Day, always on October 12th, was the beginning of the holiday season. Halloween was next, and we had November 1st off, All Saints Day. We had to go to mass but that was a small price to pay for no school. I carried my bowl of candy, munched on it, watched a bit of TV and stayed around the house all day.

When I lived in Ghana, the only holiday we all had in common was Christmas. I explained Halloween to my students. They were amazed to think you got candy just by going door to door and saying trick or treat. What a marvelous holiday! I always had peppermint candy around the house, the sort which is round, striped red and white and melts in your mouth. On Halloween night I heard knocking on my door and the sort of caw caw sound Ghanaians, at least my students, made when knocking on doors when visiting. They all said, “Trick or treat.” I had taught them well. They each got a peppermint.

Here are some of my favorites of her songs.

Last night got cold. It was down to 34˚. I put my socks on and would have added gloves but I needed my fingers so I could type. I wore my socks to bed.

The morning is cold. The day will settle in at about 44˚. It will be sunny. I have one errand and then I’m done for the day. I never did get to the bird feeders yesterday. I decided it was too chilly out on the deck. I’ll pencil in that task for today.

When I was a kid, Easter wasn’t a big deal the way Christmas was. We had no countdown, no heightened excitment. We knew, on Easter Sunday morning, we’d find colorful wicker baskets filled with candy, some small toys, maybe a book and definitely crayons. We got a new box of crayons in our Easter baskets every year. The wooden Paddle Ball game with the red ball connected by an elastic was also a repeat basket gift. My mother even send me one with my Easter box when I was in Africa.

After checking out our baskets, we’d eat as much chocolate as we could before my mother would yell at us to come and eat breakfast. After breakfast, we’d get dressed in our new clothes. My mother would then herd us outside to take our pictures. We stood standing by the bushes and on the front steps. She did groups first then singles. After the pictures, we went to mass. I remember the altar always had white lilies lined across in front of it and the priest wore white vestments. I also remember the sermon was long it being Easter and all.

Some Easter afternoons we went to visit my grandparents in East Boston. Most of my aunts, uncles and cousins were also there. Kids ran up and down the stairs. Adults hid in the kitchen. I was between categories. I was too old for the running and too young for the kitchen. It was a long afternoon but one tempered by the chocolate rabbits my grandmother had for all of us.

I have a couple of packages of Peeps sitting opened on the bookcase shelf. I am letting them get stale, my favorite way to eat them. This preference dates back to Ghana and that Easter box from my mother I mentioned. In the box were packages of pink and yellow Peeps which had gone stale on the journey. I wasn’t going to waste them so I bit into one, a pink Peep (I have no idea. I made this part up). Anyway, I couldn’t believe how good those stale Peeps were, actually how good they still are.