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.

We are stuck in a new ice age. Every day is freezing, actually below freezing as it is only 22°. I even hated going out to get my paper in the front yard. I walked gingerly on the icy, brick walk. The sky is filled with clouds. The backyard trees are silhouettes against the grey. Grim best describes the day.

When I was a kid, I had time to see the awesome. I could stop and be awed by the beauty of the snowflakes falling on my face, on my tongue and on my mittens held out to gather the flakes. I stood under the streetlight in front of the house, my face tilted to the light, and I watched the flakes. They glinted. They looked like diamonds.

This Christmas season I took light rides. Some neighborhoods were so amazing I had to stop and look at the designs and colors. A ride by was just not enough. I was back to being a kid again oohing and ahhed at the lights.

I used to hold my Rice Krispies to my ear before I ate them so I could hear the snap, crackle and pop. I had exciting cereal.

My father sometimes would pull my sled behind his car. The rope was long, and he went slowly. I’d sit upright with my feet on the sled’s steering and hold on to the sides of the sled. At least two of us sat on every sled. We had the best time almost flying over the snowy street. I still remember the sensation. It was laugh out loud fun.

Living in Ghana was exciting every day. I loved hearing the roosters greet the dawn. I loved teaching and learning. The market, occurring every third day, always felt like a circus of sorts with animals for sale with lines of chickens and sheep and goats and all the sounds they brought with them. I loved wandering among the fruit and vegetable stalls. Sometimes I’d find a treasure. Market day with all its usual goods and with some surprises was always one of my favorite days.

I stop now. I take my time. I watch the snowflakes fall into the back light. I put my hand out for the flakes. I’m finding the joys I knew when I was a kid are still here. I just have to look. I have the time.

I am a prisoner to the cold. We are at 24°, the high for the day. I choose to stay home and keep warm. I just ordered a grocery delivery. I even ordered some goodies, some Snickers. The old buy 2 get 2 free hooked me. I think putting the groceries away will be my only exertion for the day as I’m thinking I can’t count turning the pages of my book. I am a sloth and proud to be one.

When I was a kid, there wasn’t really much to do all winter. On the cold, snowy days we could sled or skate until the cold got to us. Sometimes it was a bicycle day but not on the days I had to bundle to keep the cold at bay. I remember one Christmas Eve when my mother sent me to the corner store for bread or milk. I don’t remember which. I just remember I rode my bicycle. First, I had to wrestle it out of the cellar then turn it so I could pull it up the stairs. After that I was free to ride down the grassy hill, a route forbidden by my father, then ride down a couple of streets to the store. I was not a fan of that errand. It was Christmas Eve, not a day for ordinary yet there I was on my bike buying bread, the most ordinary of errands.

Getting to the big day was filled with fun, growing anticipation, lights, and trees lit inside and outside, Advent calendars and Santa and a constantly updated list of what I wanted for Christmas. When we had disagreements as to whose turn it was for the Sears Catalogue, my mother intervened. I think she gave us deli numbers.

Christmas Eve was so exciting it took a while to fall asleep. Christmas morning was a whirl. We had breakfast, opened presents, and I remember showing my mother what Santa had left for me, and she oohed and ah-ahed. We went to my grandparents. The whole day was filled. I was exhausted and fell asleep early.

The wonderful feelings hung around. I loved my presents. I had a variety, enough to make the gifts interesting and even some fun. I did hate when it was time to put Christmas away.

I do less for Christmas now though I like it more. I pick and choose among all my favorites as to what my house will look like. Maybe it will be winter or all my plastic Santas or my Putz houses, my uglies. I do love my uglies, those Putz houses and churches. I also have many snowmen. Other than the Santas, and, if need be my tree, the house decorations seldom come down and are fitting through the whole winter. I still get enjoyment from lights on garlands of mistletoe and pine and draped across the fire screen to the giant basket from Africa where they end in a circle. Other nooks you might have missed get small strings of colored lights. I don’t have to put the feelings of Christmas and the lights of winter away until it is time to put all of winter away. By then I’m ready.

Happy New Year!

It is a pretty day. I woke up to a couple of inches of snow. It was cloudy then, but the sun has taken over the blue sky and chased away the clouds at least for the meantime. It is 24°, an uninviting temperature. It is also the high for the day. I’ll be quite content to stay home and watch the day pass through the windows.

I won’t clear off my car because of the cold and because I have no interest in clearing it. I have no obligations, no appointments until Tuesday. I hope by then or even sooner I’ll have the energy to attack the car. I know I’ll have no choice.

I live with 3 pets, two dogs and a cat. The dogs had a rocky start and some scary fights. I got more injured than they though Nala had a drain and the cone of shame. They have not fought for a long time. Henry will growl at Nala every now and then as a comment on her unacceptable behavior, and she knows enough to stop. They sleep beside each other and Henry often rests his head on her stomach. She just sleeps.

Henry is my protector. He growls and barks at anything he sees or imagines as dangerous or needing warning to keep away. If it is a frantic bark, Nala will join him.

When I was a kid, our boxer Duke was fiercely protective of the four of us kids. Even if we were playing with my dad, Duke would put his mouth around my dad’s wrist and just leave it there until he unhanded us. I remember once during a storm Duke barked fiercely, scarily. We opened the inside door and saw a guy walking in the rain and the wind. If we hadn’t held Duke, he might have gone through the screen at the guy and started barking at him and scaring him. We knew Duke wouldn’t hurt the guy but that guy didn’t know. It was easiest to hold him and shut the door.

My dad always said not to stop my dogs from barking. He called them my DEW line. I should thank and compliment them he told me. My father never heard Henry. He was never confronted with a dog who sounds ready to tear you apart. But Henry is mouth, a constant mouth sometimes. He is standoffish with company in the house. He’ll even get friendly. Nala is always friendly. I get to a breaking point and physically quiet Henry by patting him and distracting him. It always works. But he can still drive me crazy.

I have no expectations for the new year. The possible outcomes, short and long, seem to be still maybes. I’ll never understand that. The damage so far has been widespread, targeted. It has to stop. I would love some hope.

The day seems a bit nicer than it has been. We have sun and a mostly blue sky, but it is still cold at 31°. The dogs are my barometers. They are out and back inside quickly on the coldest days. They are dogs who prefer comfy and cozy. They tend to nap upstairs on my bed. They are most assuredly my dogs.

I never make New Year resolutions. They go hand in hand with giving something up for Lent. I am never successful at either so I ignore them both.

The only thing on my dance card is a concert tonight, two one hour concerts at First Night in Chatham. We are singing the dance book and a bit of Jimmy Buffett. I’ll wear glitter.

When I was a kid, the only thing I noticed about the new year was the need to change the date on my school papers. It took a couple of days.

Some of the extraordinary things I have seen are simple things that I never imagined seeing. I remember my first palm tree. I’m from New England. We don’t do tropical. That palm tree was in Winneba on the coast. I saw it just after I woke up on my first morning in Ghana. I just stood there. The palm trees were beside family compounds. I was in awe. I was in Africa. It was the same about pineapples and bananas. I had only seen them on grocery shelves, never on trees. Those fruits started my adventure into a place so wonderful that even just fruits become the stuff of legends.

I think my favorite ride of all was in the hot air balloon. We moved with the wind. We cast shadows on the lawns and streets. We scared the pigs on the pig farm. They ran in one large group in a wave away from the balloon. People in pajamas and robes ran outside to see us, to see all 5 of the balloons drifting above them. It was a glorious sight from my balloon.

I love trains. My favorite train ride was on the autobus from Quito to Guayaquil. It was a train car converted to a bus but still riding on a rail. The scenery was spectacular. I saw the snow-capped Andes, bananas growing, herds of llamas and even a switchback. The bus was filled with people. Those standing in the aisle sat and hid on the floor if we went through a town. The driver would blow his horn to warn people walking on the tracks to get off. People did. Many animals didn’t. I stopped looking out the window.

I have come to recognize that life is a series of adventures. You just have to notice. Stop and smell the pineapples.

Today is another cold, partly cloudy day. It matches my mood. I need more sun and maybe a bit of warmth. I’m tired of living in my sweatshirts and flannel pants. I did go out yesterday, but it doesn’t count. I went to get bread, dog food and cat treats. I was in and out quickly. Did I mention the cupcake and the Snickers?

When I was a kid, the week between Christmas and New Year was usually quiet. We played with our new toys and games still lit by the light of the tree. The year of my bike we had no snow so I could ride. It was chilly down hills, and my jacket puffed in the wind. Mittens don’t have the best grip for handle bars, but they kept my fingers warm. That bike was my greatest Christmas present. I became an intrepid explorer. I was an adventurer. I learned to ride without using the handle bars. I learned to turn corners with my legs, not my hands. I ventured into nearby towns, even as far as East Boston to the horror of my mother and the surprise of my grandfather. It was when I was in high school that my bike stayed more in the cellar than not. My friends got cars and we rode. Only once in a while did we all do a bike trip, a planned trip sometimes with a picnic. My bike got left behind.

One of the best things I did in Ghana was during my second year when we were allowed to buy motos, motorcycles. I bought one in Tamale ( tarm a lay), 100 miles and at least 2 1/2 hours away. I had to learn to ride the moto before I bought it. The dealer gave me a start, brake, shift and stop lesson. I took off, drove on the left and rode the 100 miles with one stop to rest and a few stops to gape. I would get a helmet from Peace Corps but on that first ride, no helmet. I will never forget the exhilaration of that trip. I rode through towns and villages. I dodged goats and sheep. I stopped just to look, just to admire what going slower and more deliberately gave me. It was the best trip ever until the next best trip ever. I could ride far on back roads, laterite roads. I went places I didn’t know were there before. I shopped in a small market just to shop. I drank newly brewed pito while sitting on the bench in the pito house. I took my time. That was how remarkable having a moto was.

Now, I still like rides once I get up and about. The Christmas lights are brighter this year and more houses are lit, more colors and bright bulbs are keeping the darkness at bay. The cape has very few streetlights. Within a short time outside will be dark again, but here inside, I have white lights on the fireplace screen. In a basket I have lit gourds, a couple from Ghana. The dining room table has a set of lights in the big dough bowl. The lights are set among pine cones, strawberries, a piece of driftwood, a cloth star and a collared, tagged Steiff boxer, a weird addition I know but he does seem to fit.

The lights are soft, warm. I love the way the lights feel. My house is winter lit.

Today is partly cloudy, but it is the partly sunny part which draws my attention, catches my eye. It is the first glimpse of the sun in a few days. It is cold still, only 32°, but there is no wind. The house is so quiet. None of us are stirring.

After Christmas our toys stayed under the tree for a few days. I remember playing games lit by tree lights. There was a bit of a red glow cross the board. Supper was casual, mostly leftovers. We ate desserts as we played. We had plenty of sugar cookies and spritz cookies. We ate our chocolate Santa’s. The head was the first to go. He was hollow.

I remember how empty around the tree looked after we put our gifts away. The tree would stay through Little Christmas. It was lit every night and was the centerpiece for the living room. Only one lamp, the one on the table by the window, was lit. The tree was bright enough. The whole house smelled of pine, especially the living room. I loved walking down the stairs in the morning and smelling the tree all around me. It is what I always miss most after the tree comes down.

This morning I dined on the decadent. I had my usual coffee and toast, but on the toast I spread black mission fig jam, delightful fig jam, a gift from a friend. I wasn’t eating toast from the paper towel on the table. I was eating figs, pure fruit with a touch of sugar, orange purée and lemon juice. My breakfast had been elevated. In my mind’s eye, I’m wearing white gloves, a small tiara, a dress of muted Christmas colors and holding a delicate butter knife for spreading the jam on my toast. I am using a tea cup and saucer for my coffee. They actually match. I am staying in again, being lazy and cozy. I have enough animal for today, but I have to go out dog food tomorrow. I also need bread and maybe a dessert.

During vacation week, the weather determined what we did. If there was snow, we’d go sledding on our street, a long hill. When we were older, we used the toboggan on the golf course where the hills came quickly and the toboggan zoomed. We held on for dear life. My friend Jimmy was on the end and nearly fell off a few times. We held his legs. Sometimes we ice skated. We would stay close and skate at the swamp until the boys came in the late afternoon to play hockey. Other times we went to Recreation Park to the town’s rink put up every winter. The shack had benches and a wood burning stove. Pairs of shoes were all over the floor of the shack and under the benches. The rink was circular and made of white painted wood. It was about 4 blocks from my house. I remember how my feet tingled in my shoes on the way home. I remember how tired I was. I remember a cup of hot chocolate at the end of a day of skating.

Late yesterday afternoon it started to snow, nothing startling. It snowed on and off during the night, and the ground is covered, two or maybe three inches covered. This morning the dogs plowed through the yard. Nala zoomed while Henry took his time. I am enjoying my morning coffee after a late start to my day.

It is downright cold at 28°. The high will be 30°. Snow flurries are predicted. They were around earlier but not since this morning. I keep checking.

I was seldom, maybe even never, disappointed with Christmas. When I was a kid, Santa had my list, amended several times, and my most wanted gift, my number one on the list, usually ended up under the tree. When I was older, I once in a while wanted something specific and told my mother but mostly I had no list. My mother was the best shopper. She bought stuff I didn’t know I wanted until I got it. She went through antique shops. She loved church fairs. She loved finding unusual gifts. We all do. She passed that along. I have fun shopping for gifts.

I always started my new book on Christmas night. When I was little, my mother chose the books. I usually got two. Classics were what I read. You know Heidi, Treasure island, Little Women and so many more. I would find a comfy corner, grab a few cookies and settle in with my book. When I was older, I gave my mother a list of books I wanted. I remember the year of Alive. I immediately started reading and didn’t leave my corner of the room. My mother suggested I stop reading so the book would last longer. She missed the point of the corner and the speed so I gave her a bit of a condescending smile and kept reading.

My sister gives me a new book every year. This year it is Robin Cook. Last night I started reading. The house was quiet. The dogs were asleep and both were dreaming. Their legs moved and they barked without opening their mouths. I watched them settle. I got comfortable and read a long time. I know! I know, slow down.

Last night I had Christmas dinner leftovers, skirt steak, carrots, sweet potatoes and butternut squash. It was a grand meal. It was worthy of Christmas.