The day is relatively warm at 42°. A bright sun is here but is sharing the sky with clouds. I can see a few hanging brown oak leaves swaying a bit. All in all, it is a pretty day.

Henry is doing better. He longer scratches his ear though he still shakes his head but hardly as often. Now I’m worried about Nala. She has been sick twice this morning. I hope it is a two on and done, perhaps an upset stomach as Henry blew my vet budget, nearly $400.00, and the vet is pay as you go. I’m keeping a close eye on Miss Nala.

My mother gave each of us a box of ornaments. They were some of the ornaments which hung on the Christmas tree every year when we were kids. They are colored glass, and each has a decoration etched in white. I always put them on my tree. They are memories.

The other day I saw a house with a picture window covered in white stenciled decorations. My memory draws flew open, and I remembered the picture window in our house when I was a kid. We’d tape on the stencils, dab them with a white sort of removable paint and carefully peel them off after everything had dried. The window was covered in Santa Claus, a bell, a tree, a snowflake and a candy cane. They seemed to shine in the sunlight. At night, the window and the stencils were highlighted in orange from the bulbs on the candelabra on the window sill below.

I remember the cardboard Santas and the cardboard trees. We’d tape them on walls or on other windows. Before taping, we’d peel off the yellow tape from years before. It came off easily but left permanent outlines on the back. They were like tree rings. We knew how many years we’d used those cardboard decorations.

Our tree stood in the corner between two windows. That was a good thing. I remember when the tree fell. My brother and I grabbed it and stopped it from falling completely to the floor. Our parents were out so we were forced to make-do. We each took turns holding up the tree until our parents got home. Then it was my father to the rescue!! He grabbed heavy duty string and wound it around the trunk while we held up the tree. He then attached the ends of the strings to each of the windows. The tree was safe, secure. Many, many years later my dog Shauna, my first boxer, pulled down my tree a couple of times. I knew the solution. I wound heavy duty string around the trunk and attached one end of the string to a window and the other end to a nail on the bottom of the fireplace mantle. My father had taught me well.

Today is more typical for December. It is in the low 40’s. The sky is cloudy with light grey clouds. They will hang around all day. I have the stirrings of a cold so I’m staying home. I have plenty of house and Christmas things to keep me busy.

Christmas always merited a countdown. The closer we’d get the more excited we’d be. We still shopped the Sears catalog just in case we missed something. We wrote letters to Santa. One year Santa sent us a telegram, a real telegram. On the top of it was a picture of Santa, his sleigh and all of his reindeer. They were flying over a house. Santa wrote it to the Ryan Children. We were reminded he was watching us to make sure we were good, as if we needed a reminder. He wished us a Merry Christmas and wrote he’d be seeing us. He signed it simply Santa. In a scrapbook somewhere in the eaves I have that telegram.

Back then, there were so many Christmas cards the postman came twice a day. We took turns opening the cards. My mother kept track of the senders making sure she had already sent one or needed to. We decorated with the cards. A string was hung across the wall over the couch. We’d put the cards on the string so you could see the fronts. We’d do the same on the wall behind the desk. My aunt used to send us kids a card. It was always Santa, and we’d place it on the tree mostly inside to cover the bare spots. I also remember a Coke-Cola Santa. He had a bottle of Coke in his hand. On the top of the card was an opening so you could hang it on the tree. He also covered bare spots.

I was always excited when my father spent a Saturday decorating the bushes in front of the house. I loved those lights. The bulbs were huge and always felt warm. The cord came through an open window to the plug, no timer back then. We’d race to plug in the lights as soon the sun started to go down. We’d also light the window lights, the candles. They didn’t have on-off switches. You had to turn the bulbs. They also got hot and turning them off burned your fingers a bit. I remember crawling under the tree to plug in the lights. I wonder now why we never had a fire as there were several plugs in only one outlet. I always thought the tree with its lights lit was the crowning achievement of Christmas decorations. I loved just sitting and looking at the tree. I loved that the house smelled of pine. I loved Christmas. Still do.

Winter is here, a colder winter, a colder December, than usual. The high today will be 28°. It is inside hoodie weather. I’m going to watch the world from through my windows. I have no reason to leave the warm, cozy house. The dogs too like the warmth of the house. I swear Henry runs into the house with his leg still in the air.

It is time for an update on the mice. I trapped over twenty from under the bed. The latest were tiny, babies I think. Last night was the fourth night of empty traps. Either I have them all or they have moved on with packed bags and a few cat treats for the trip.

I need a little Christmas. I haven’t even hung the outside lights to replace the ones the spawn chewed. I’m waiting for a warmer day. I think today I may bring up a few Christmas storage boxes from the cellar. I’ll do that for a couple of days. Christmas is coming, the goose is getting fat.

My town where I grew up was always festive at Christmas. Lights outlined the fire station, and Santa was on a ladder to go down the chimney. The town hall too was covered in lights. Garlands hung across Main Street. Bells in the center of the garlands swayed in the breeze. A stage was set up in front of the Children’s Corner, one of the up town stores. Each night carolers, from different schools, stood on the stage and sang for the shoppers. I remember being so proud standing there and singing. I was in the fifth grade. We sang from the John Hancock carol book. I still have mine. It is certainly worse for the wear.

I have a list of goodies I’ll make this year. I just need a few more ingredients, like oranges and lemons and sour cream. I’ll make my toffee, probably the most popular treat I make every year. I’ll make orange cookies. There were my mother’s favorites. She used to save some cookies just for herself. My mother used to make peanut butter balls, my favorites. She’d hide some in the freezer then bring them out long after Christmas as a surprise. My sister still makes them and generously sends me a tin full. I don’t put any in the freezer. They don’t last long.

Today is mostly sunny. It is in the 40’s. Tonight will be cold. That’s the weather pattern. Last night it rained enough I could hear it on the roof. Meanwhile, Henry was banging on the dog door and opening it with his head. He wasn’t happy when the rain started.

When I was a kid, the Sears catalog was required reading this time of year. It was thick and heavy and filled with pictures of toys and games and almost anything a kid would want for Christmas. I used to circle what I wanted and put my name inside the circle so there would be no doubt as to who wanted that toy, but it seemed every time I pored through the book, my choices changed. I’d cross out the old ones and circle the new ones. I’d make my list for Santa and even provide the item numbers so they’d be no confusion. I never thought it was odd to connect Santa and the Sears catalog. I just assumed he knew.

We used to make ornaments for the tree. My mother would fill the middle of the kitchen table with all sorts of ornament making stuff like scraps of cloth, glue, sparkles, string, construction paper, pipe cleaners, crayons and styrofoam balls. One year I made an angel holding a book of carols. She had a pipe cleaner halo, pipe cleaner arms and string for hair. She was voted the ugliest ornament. I put her on the tree anyway.

I used to love to color. We had assorted crayons in cigar boxes. Seldom did we throw away a crayon so they were all different lengths. The labels were gone so the crayons were just blue and red and green instead of colors like cerulean, melon or sienna. We had Christmas coloring books. That was about the only time I used the white crayon. It was for the beard, the fur on Santa’s clothes and the snow, but you could hardly tell. I used to layer the white.

I love Christmas carols. I’m already playing them in the car. I never think it is too early. Christmas carols have a short season and deserve more attention. Our uke concerts this month are all Christmas. We dress accordingly in red. We wear Christmas fascinators and bring lots of noise makers, lots of bells. Our concerts are an adventure.

My dance card for the week is uke heavy: practice, a lesson, a little concert for a friend, and two regular concerts. I changed my uke strap to Christmas and have a pile of stuff to take with me. I’m ready to welcome the season, musically!

The morning is a delight, a visual delight. The sky is a never ending blue. The sun is stark, sharp, as it often is this time of year. It is cold at 39°. The leaves on the branches are tumbling in the strong breeze. They are the leftover oak leaves. It is nap time for the dogs.

It was an exciting day yesterday. Henry went to the vets. I’m thinking a new Golden Book, Henry visits the Veterinarian. The cover can be Henry in a dog’s hospital gown with a white jacketed vet beside him holding a stethoscope.

Henry surprised me. I had put an afghan and my fleece cover on the back seat. He jumped right inside. He didn’t cry or have spit hanging. He laid right down on my fleece. At the parking lot, he pulled on the leash so I stopped every few feet to keep control. Inside Henry sat between my legs. He was fine in the exam room. He even let the vet check him. I had brought Henry because he kept scratching at his ear, shaking his head and gnawing on two paws. The vet dabbed inside each ear and checked under the microscope. Henry has infections in both ears. He has an allergic reaction on his feet causing the itching. They cleaned his ears and sprayed an anti-biotic into each ear. They gave me pills for the allergies, expensive pills, which he’ll take every day for a bit more than a week. They cut his nails. Henry was wonderful. As for me, I’m still reeling at the cost. The pills alone were nearly $150.00.

The drama was at home. Nala got out when I tried to go in. Henry pulled out of his collar and followed her. They ran across the street then back and forth. This was new territory for them. Henry got close once then took off again. I called and called and finally Nala came and went inside. Henry followed.

Duke, my childhood boxer, seldom came when called. He used to infuriate my father. He’d get out in the morning and follow kids to school so my father had to get him inside the house. I remember my father would be screaming and Duke would stop. He’d look right at my father then turn around and run again. My father would follow in the car. Eventually he’d catch Duke. My mother too would try to get Duke inside. She’d entice him by holding some bologna for him to see. Duke would run to her and grab the bologna leaving my mother holding just a corner. He was one smart dog.

My dance card is empty. I have nothing until uke practice on Tuesday. I figure I’ll do a bit of cleaning including washing the kitchen floor. The rest of the time I’ll be in sloth mode.

Happy Thanksgiving!

I’m watching the parade, a custom since my childhood. I remember sitting on the rug in front of the TV eating snacks. We always had tangerines, M&M’s and mixed nuts in the shell. The nuts were in a bowl, and we had silver crackers and silver picks to pull the nuts out of the shells. The walnuts took some strength. I loved the Brazil nuts. I have a bowl just like the old one. It is wooden and has holes to put the picks and the cracker. I fill the bowl with nuts every year and put it on the dining room table. I keep a bowl of M&M’s here in the den. They don’t last long. All I’m missing are the tangerines.

I still can remember how wonderful the house smelled of turkey. When I close my eyes, I can see my mother in the kitchen getting dinner ready. She’d stand at the counter and peel potatoes, lots of potatoes, and fill pots with the canned veggies, the peas, the asparagus, the corn and the green beans. The stove was small and every burner was filled. The turkey was on the rack at the bottom of the oven. The other rack had been removed to fit the turkey. We always had a big turkey, all the better for leftovers. We’d eat in the kitchen. The house had no dining room. The table and chairs were crammed against the wall. They didn’t fit all of us. My mother ate at the counter. My father carved at the kitchen counter. He was an adept carver. He was the fastest eater. He had a football game to watch. My mother and I cleared the table and washed the dishes and pots and pans. We didn’t have a dishwasher until much later.

Once everything was cleared we brought out the desserts. My father always had a piece of apple pie with a slice of cheddar on the top. I went for the lemon meringue.

The turkey lasted for days. First, we had a repeat dinner then we progressed to open turkey sandwiches covered in gravy and surrounded by veggies. Next came cold turkey sandwiches piled with stuffing and cranberry sauce. I loved those. I’d toast the bread and slather it with mayo. My father picked the turkey clean. He had talent for that. We’d have turkey salad sandwiches and, for the final meal, turkey soup, rich tasting from the carcass boiling for a while.

I’ll eat my turkey dinner around 2 or 3. It has everything including clam chowder and shrimp for the first courses. All the veggies are there, and there is plenty of gravy. I even have a roll. Apple crisp is the dessert. I have to admit, though, I’m missing the lemon meringue pie. Having that for dessert would be perfection.

I know somewhere there is sun, but there will be none here today. To add to dreary, a bit of rain is forecast for tonight, and it will rain tomorrow. It is in the low 50’s, but that strong breeze, dare I say wind, is still here making the air feel colder. None of us love this weather.

One of my strongest memories of Thanksgiving is how the aroma of cooking turkey filled the house especially when my mother would open the oven door to baste the turkey. She’d also steal a bit of the crusty stuffing hanging out of the bird, maybe as an award for the basting. The best part was it would get crusty again so I could also steal a bit. The turkey was always cooked in the same huge pan, the blue one with white dots. I don’t remember anything else cooked in that pan.

My father had two official Thanksgiving responsibilities. Both involved the turkey. He would pull the heavy pan out of the oven and put it on the counter. He’d then take the turkey out of the pan. It was a delicate operation. The turkey was huge and hot. He’d grab pot holders and hold the turkey on each side and hope for the best, that the turkey would stay intact. It always did. My father was also the official carver. He’d fill the plate with cut turkey, including the legs. He’d always say, “There’s more in the kitchen.”

I have uke practice tonight from the Christmas book. We have officially finished with bluegrass. Tomorrow I have my lesson, and we have our first Christmas concert. I need to gather my Christmas accessories, my fascinator, my red shirt, my Christmas socks and my red Converse sneakers. I also need my noise makers, the bells and buzzers. I’ll be festive and loud.

The day has yet to make up its mind between cloudy and sunny. The official weather report is partly cloudy, but right now I’d say it is partly sunny. The air is chilly at 46° because of the strong wind. We are all inside the warm house lazily passing away the morning.

When I was a kid, I always liked this week with only a couple and a half days of school, and you couldn’t even count the half as we didn’t do school work but usually colored turkeys or made Thanksgiving cards. I raced home thrilled to be out of school.

I remember the giant turkey defrosting in the fridge. It took up half the space. Wednesday was pie day. We always had apple, lemon meringue and sometimes pumpkin or custard pies. My mother would make the dough and roll it out on the counter. I remember flour covered the counter. I remember how wonderful the kitchen smelled. I can see the apple pie crust with just the right amount of brown. The lemon meringue was tall, and it too had just the right amount of browning on the top crests. With the pieces of dough left over my mother made turds, my father’s name for the pastry. She’d cut a piece of dough, add cinnamon and sugar then roll the dough and bake it. We didn’t have to wait for Thanksgiving to eat it. It was a Wednesday treat.

In those days there were no shortcuts. My mother made everything. One of my favorites was creamed onions. I remember she peeled every small onion. Her stuffing was always rich with sage, with Bell’s seasoning. I still use Bell’s. It always reminds me of my mother. No Thanksgiving was complete without mashed potatoes. My mother used a hand masher. I watched. She worked hard to get rid of the lumps. She always added milk and lots of butter. We had carrots, canned peas and, for my father, canned asparagus. None of the rest of us ate it. The cranberry sauce was decorated, at least I thought so back then. I didn’t realize the decorations were ridges from the can. Her gravy was the stuff of legend. As we got older and our palates expanded, my mother added more vegetables. She made my aunt’s squash dish. It became my favorite vegetable. Sometimes we had turnip, green bean casserole, another Thanksgiving staple, and baked sweet potatoes.

I have always loved Thanksgiving. It is a celebration of family, of all of us sitting around the table together, passing the food, filling our plates and enjoying each other’s company. We just needed each other and a few pies.