The weather hasn’t changed. I looked out the window when I first opened my eyes and saw the clouds. I didn’t want to get out of bed but Nala did so I had no choice. The deck is wet. It had rained sometime earlier. The day is warm at 47˚. More rain is supposed to hold off until tomorrow. I’m not enthusiastic about a new year which begins with rain.

Today I have no plans. I have actually vacuumed a couple of room already. The pet hair was taking over. I also cleaned down the stairs. I do feel quite accomplished. I know the dump is looming, probably Sunday.

I don’t make resolutions. I did once but at some point I decided a resolution was too much of a commitment. I used to smoke. One Friday I decided not to go to the store to get a package of cigarettes even though I had only four left. I never smoked again. It had been time to stop. Changes are mostly like that for me. They just seem to happen at the right time.

When I was in Ghana, I went back to visit my Ghanaian family in Bawku over New Year’s. My sister insisted I go to church with her on New Year’s Eve. I smiled and said yes, but inside I was feeling trapped. The church service would be long, hours long. It was, but it was amazing. The church was filled with people. The women wore their traditional dresses made with beautiful Ghanaian cloth. Many men wore fugus, smocks, while others wore kente cloth over one of their shoulders. The church was beautiful, a bright, lively scene with all those colors. The singing started first. After that the dancing began up and down the aisles. My sister tried to drag me into the dance, but I had no rhythm and that held me back. I did clap and sing from my pew. The minister gave a sermon about old sins and new beginnings. The Ghanaians nodded, the speeds of the nods determined how much they agreed with the minister. It was fascinating to watch. I even tried my hand at it!! I tried nodding and mostly did okay. I don’t remember thinking the hours were long to be in church. The time passed so fast. That whole experience is one I will never forget. It was joyous and warm and lovely.

When I was a kid, I never understood the hoopla of New Year’s Eve. As far as I could tell, the first days of the new year were no different than the last days of the old year, well, maybe a little colder, maybe not, but saying goodbye seemed silly to me. When I was older, I celebrated some years but not usually at parties. My friends and I did game nights. We’d pause at midnight, toast the new year, clink glasses and then drink our champagne. We’d go back to the game with our champagne glasses in hand. Of late, I am awake at midnight just because I am always awake at midnight. I keep an eye on the TV for the time, acknowledge midnight and say Happy New Year aloud into the air hoping it will be.

Today is warm at 47˚. It will stay cloudy and warm all day. Rain is a possibility tomorrow. We are stuck in an ugly weather pattern. Yesterday was another day like the day before it and the days before that. Today is the same, cloudy and damp. I am living in a Ray Bradbury short story, All Summer in a Day.

The weather is getting to me. I’m grumpy. I need a bit of sun to sweeten my mood. I gave the dogs their beef bones a little bit ago to keep them occupied. Nala is already tired from her bone and is falling asleep on the couch with her head resting on her bone. Henry is still gnawing.

I have a couple of errands today. I’d rather sit at home in my cozies and read, but I’ll dutifully complete my two errands and then I’ll need a nap.

When I was a kid, this week would have been a disappointment. With no snow, there was no sledding; with warm weather, there was no free skating at the swamp or the park. I rode my bike when it didn’t rain, but that wasn’t enough. The day was long. I’d ride to the library in the afternoon, looked through the stacks, pick a book then sit down to read at one of the long wooden tables. I always sat in a captain’s chair, the chair with arms. After a while, I’d take the books home, sequester myself in my room and read away the afternoon. That sounds just like my plans for today. Some things don’t ever change.

My house needs cleaning. I walk around with my eyes straight ahead so I don’t have to see the clumps of dust chasing me. My kitchen floor is hidden under muddy, but dried, dog prints. Rain is not predicted today so I might just bite the bullet and wash the kitchen floor, but I have an out. It may rain tomorrow bringing more paw prints.

My life of late has been quiet. My dance card is empty for the week. Mostly I’ve been home. I take my shower and change from set of cozies to another. I do everything I can to do nothing. Ponder that for bit.

We’re still stuck in an ugly day routine. Last night it rained. Today is still cloudy and damp but a bit warmer at 44˚. I have to go out for a few cans of dog food. It will be difficult. I am in total sloth mode. I have been sitting here just staring at the monitor for days, okay for hours at least. It just sits there and so do I.

When I was a kid, Christmas vacation fun depended on the weather. Rain was the worst. I’d be stuck inside with everybody else. When it was cold but pleasant, I’d ice skate. When I was little, I went to the swamp. It was a short walk through the woods from my house. The front of the swamp was open water and the best place to skate. We were there during the day. The bigger boys, the high school boys, took over in the late afternoon and played hockey. They sometimes had a bonfire right beside the water. When I was older, I’d walk to Recreation Park to the rink which the town put up every winter on the field. I’d carry my skates on my shoulder and walk to the rink with my friends. We chatted the whole way. I really liked skating at Recreation Park. The shed had a wood burning stove. It smelled amazing. The aroma wafted all over the rink and field.

It was at the park where I taught myself to skate backwards. At first I went really slowly, no gliding, mostly steps. In a while I could glide backwards, but I had to keep looking so I wouldn’t hit the wall or another skater. I got good at backwards. It was my one and only skating maneuver.

If we had money, we’d take the bus to the MDC rink. It had a heated area with benches and a refreshment stand and rinks outside, concrete rinks. It was always the best ice but it wasn’t as much fun. It was never haphazard.

I liked skating at the park best of all. I remember skating all afternoon. When it was time to go home, my feet had stopped recognizing shoes. My ankles hurt, my toes were a bit numb and my feet were tingly. It was a strange, funny feeling which wore off the more I walked, the closer to home I got. By the time I got home it was like I had never been skating at all.

Today is the usual, cloudy and cold with a bit of wind added to make it even more miserable. I saw stuffing from Nala’s latest victim blowing across the driveway section in the backyard. I am staying inside again. Outside is just too uninviting. I have no plans. I will take a shower and make my bed, my only exertions for the day. I have a new book, some cookies left and some egg nog still in the bottle; however, the kitchen floor is a mess of paw prints. I hope I can resist the need for clean.

After writing about being at my grandparents during Christmas time, I got to remembering. I remember I used to hang in the kitchen and listen. My mother and usually her two adult sisters would sit at the table with my grandmother. My grandmother always wore a housedress under an apron with a bib. Her slippers were bent down in the back and her stockings were rolled to her ankles. My mother and one of my aunts smoked. My mother and the same aunt who smoked usually had a drink. My other aunt was a bit prissy in her own way, one of her own ways, and she did not smoke or drink. They talked about all sorts of things. Christmas was foremost. Sometimes I got a little bored and went wandering but always ended back at the kitchen, the best spot for me. The only other choice was to watch football with my father and uncles, and I couldn’t pull that off, as if I knew anything about football back then. I was comfortable in and loved the kitchen. That’s what I mostly remember about Christmas at my grandparents back then. 

I do have some memories of my other grandparents, my father’s parents. After midnight mass, they’d come back to my house where my mother had prepared dips and snacks and drinks. My grandparents insisted they wanted to see us come downstairs to be surprised by what Santa had brought so we got awakened on purpose and were told Santa had come so we went downstairs. I was a kid. I didn’t know or care what time it was. It was late enough, or maybe early enough, for me. Santa had come. We got to play with our new toys for only a little while before we were sent back to bed. We all hated that, but we did fall back to sleep. I don’t have any memories of my grandparents ever leaving. We even slept a little later in the morning. I remember waking up and thinking about my presents and being so excited to get up and run downstairs. What an amazing way to wake up for any kid, even a kid who had played for a bit with some of her toys, to realize Santa had come and there were presents and surprises waiting under the tree and in my stocking.

I don’t have other Christmas memories with those grandparents though a dinner one night at their house was the usual custom. I’m just forgetting the exact day. I was young. 

Today has little to commend it. The rain is still here. The sky is a dark, dismal gray. All the expectations are gone. The surprises have been revealed.

I love my Christmas presents. Moe found neat little stuff like the uglies snowman and the plastic bride and groom to add to my collections. Sheila too knows me well. She found neat gifts. Bill and Peg sent some fun presents and my sloth calendar. Sloths are cute. Please don’t disparage if you haven’t seen them. Moe found an old Bolga basket with the leather handle totally wrapped. She does find amazing gifts in her travels. My presents are in a pile so I can go through them again later.

Christmas dinner was scrumptious, and I get to have it again today. I also have some sugar cookies and more breads and a box of See’s chocolates, cinnamon drops and cinnamon lollipops. I always think Christmas is delicious in so many ways.

When I was a kid, the day after Christmas was a slow day. All our presents were piled under the tree, and we played with them over the course of the day when we were home. Usually we went to East Boston to visit my grandparents as did everyone else, all the aunts and uncles and the hundreds of cousins. There was a gathering in the kitchen, usually the women around the table. The men were watching football. The cousins were running and chasing each other. They were all younger than I, mostly my sisters’ ages. I stayed out of the way. At some time, usually earlier rather than later, my grandmother called us all to the living room and she gave out presents. She always had presents for us every holiday. That quieted the troops down for a bit. Food was on the stove. Eat when you’re hungry was the rule of the day. By early evening, it was time to grab the gifts, load the car and head home.

We usually fell asleep on the way home. It had been a long couple of days and one long night. The house was dark when we got home. I remember we raced to the windows to turn on the orange candle bulbs. Someone turned on the tree and someone else the outside lights. It was quiet. We sat around watching some TV and checking out our gifts again. I remember going through my stocking one item at a time, making a small pile then putting each item back inside the stocking. I went to bed early. I was really tired.

Merry Christmas!

Outside is ugly; it’s cold and rainy. I left my Christmas lights lit all night so the yard never got dark. Down the street, my neighbor’s house was also lit all night with their house outlined in lights and a few inflatables on the lawn. We kept the street festive.

I have opened gifts from one sister and spoken to her to thank her for the great presents. I’ll open the rest of my presents when I finish here. The coffee is ready. I can smell it in the air.

When I was a kid, the first look on Christmas morning was over the bannister at the tree in the corner piled with toys in front and no floor space to the back. There was no particular order to the toys, to the piles, but I knew which one was mine, right away. Sometimes it was second on the left, partly in front. I remember the bike hid all the other presents. I remember another year when the Sorry game was leaning on another game. Another year I found toys after I had seen all the gifts. My mother had found them in the back of the closet. She sneaked them into my pile but I found them right away. We both laughed.

My mother artistically arranged all the toys in front of the tree. I remember dolls sitting in high chairs or sleeping in carriages and tea sets ready for the party. When I was older, the gifts were wrapped. They were the surprises, as good as Santa’s surprises. Our stockings were always the best, with little gifts falling over the top edge and spilling into a bag. They were all wrapped too. I loved my stocking. It was the stocking of legend.

The coffee is ready. I heard it beep. I’ll also have a bit of the bread my neighbor brought. I think it might be banana. That sounds like a good start to Christmas Day. Late in the afternoon, I’ll have my Christmas dinner. Right now it is on to the gifts piled in the living room.

Have a wonderful day and a Merry Christmas!

When I was a kid, this was the longest day of the year. I wanted it to be dark. I wanted to fall asleep. We’d start asking to go to bed round five. My mother would said no and continued to say no until the real bedtime. I always figured the fastest way for Santa to come was if I fell asleep early, but that didn’t happen. Once I was finally in bed, I tossed and turned and checked out the window every now and then for a weird light before I finally fell asleep. That Santa might have had a flight path never occurred to me.

I remember riding my bike to the store one Christmas Eve. There was no snow. I was getting either bread or milk. We always needed bread or milk or both. I was headed to the white store. I remember thinking Christmas Eve should be for loftier trips than to the corner store though I probably didn’t say loftier, maybe bigger, more important trips. After all, Christmas Eve is a special day unlike any other day.

This morning it snowed for maybe five minutes. The flakes were big and far between so only a few flakes stayed, but the amount doesn’t matter. It snowed on Christmas Eve, arguably a small amount for a miracle, but a miracle nonetheless, the most thoughtful of gifts.

A Christmas Carol was on TV Christmas Eves when I was a kid. It was the Alastair Sim’s Scrooge. It became my favorite. I was older then. Bedtime had less significance. I was excited by all the colors and lights of Christmas, anticipation, getting gifts and being surprised, but I could sleep just fine and there were no more peeks out the window.

Today is grey and cold. I’m going nowhere and I’m staying in my Christmas pajamas. I have a new pair, well half a new pair. The pants have a blue background and white silhouettes of deer, bears and wolves all amid a forest of different shaped white Christmas trees. I look festive. Groceries for the next few days were just delivered. Dinner for tomorrow will arrive later. The dogs each just had a frosted covered Christmas cookie. One got a hat and the other a decorated biscuit. The biscuits were from Wüfers. Henry licks his first while Nala just eats hers in no particular order. I have decorated trees for them for tomorrow and a few other small surprises, all decorated with icing. The cats are getting special treats and a couple of new toys with catnip. They both like catnip. Gwen is becoming furry again. She is starting to look better. I am so glad.

Tonight will be quiet, but I’ll scout around to find A Christmas Carol I haven’t seen. The films are getting more difficult to find, even the bad ones. They do make me chuckle, the bad ones. I’m on my third Christmas Carol today. This one is way different: All American Christmas Carol. Cindy, the Scrooge sort, has three kids from different fathers. She is described as trailer trash as she actually lives in a trailer with her kids and is on the brink of losing those kids. The ghosts are showing her why and how to be a better parent. It is bad but interesting all in one. I love the pink beauty salon and all the pouffy hair. Meatloaf is crazed. See the movie for more. If I can last, so can you!!

I leave you with one story from the annals of my family history. It was on Christmas Eve. We were all at my parent’s house in their small kitchen doing one job or two. My job was the shrimp dip, the rage at the time. I emptied the glass jar of sauce and shrimp into the blender and turned on the blender but forgot the top. The sauce flew all over the kitchen in a circle on cabinets and doors and through doorways. It was a mess. The clean-up took a long time though everybody helped. It is the year of the shrimp dip. That says enough in my family.

Enjoy your evening!

Thank you to all of you and to all of you goodnight.

Merry Christmas!!

This time of year even the littlest things seem festive. It’s like the whole world shines and sparkles. When I was a kid, I held this time in awe. As Christmas got closer, the excitement got greater, almost breathtaking. I seldom knew what I was getting. I’d guess and maybe nail a couple, but I loved the surprises the most, the times when the paper was torn enough to see the present underneath, a present I didn’t expect but loved right away. I try to do that for my sisters: find something they would never expect, a perfect surprise worth a yelp. I think I’ve got one for Moe this year, one she’ll never guess. Sheila is getting a gift drawn from a memory we both have. She’ll know right away and laugh. I love finding just the right presents.

Winter comes and goes. One day is in the 50’s and then for the next couple it’s in the 30’s . The nights always feel cold. The dogs help keep me warm, but they hog too much of the bed and sometimes the blankets. Their lives are leisurely.

Last night was cold, and it is still cold though the morning is sunny and pretty. My friends and neighbors have dropped by with goodies. A former student and her husband brought gingerbread and peppermint tea and an evening of memories. With my paper yesterday was a loaf of pumpkin bread. A bag of goodies was dropped off by a friend who was also a former student. I dove straight into that bag last night. My neighbor’s basket which she dropped off even remembered the kitties. One of my uke friends gave our little group of three a great gift, Covid Home Tests. Right now, I’m being ambidextrous: eating a cookie in hand while typing how happy and thrilled by all these thoughtful gifts.

My coffee maker didn’t work this morning. I hit the magic button and no red light. I moaned in anguish. I played with the button, the cord from the coffee maker and the cord in the outlet, all the repair tools at my disposal. One of them worked. I now have freshly brewed coffee, but I wonder if this is a warning.

I like to wrap presents. I try to alternate among different colors and patterns of paper. I have toppers for presents, small things like ornaments or cookies. We don’t use ribbons, not since some of the cats ate them. Most of the cats got old or moved on, but my sister now has kittens, rambunctious kittens, so no ribbons still.

I love Christmas music. When I was a kid, I don’t remember learning the words to the carols, but all of a sudden, I knew them. I think Up on the Housetop was the first one I remember knowing. We sang it enough in school, the first grade I think, that we learned the words. It was a song always sung with what’d I’d now call gusto. We also had spontaneous rhythmic hand movements. I sing it the same way now.

My car radio is on a station playing only Christmas carols. I always, or pretty much always, sing along. At lights, I sometimes notice other singers in the cars beside me. Sometimes we’re singing the same song. When I’m baking and working in the kitchen, I play the carols on TV and sing along with them too. I love the house ready for company, candlelit with soft carols playing. The house has a warm feeling in the flickering light.

I totally understand what Scrooge meant when he said, “I am as light as a feather, I am as happy as an angel, I am as merry as a school-boy. I am as giddy as a drunken man.” Christmas makes us all of those.

Today is becoming a pretty day. The early morning clouds are giving way to the sun and a bit of blue sky here and there. It is 40˚and will get even warmer, 45˚. It is too warm for December. Last night was cold and still. The air was wonderfully clear, and I could see the stars. Today I’ll see the sun.

I celebrate each solstice, but the winter solstice, today, is my favorite. When I was a kid, I was taught it was the shortest day of the year. Later, I learned it was also the longest night of the year, a bit eerier than the shortest day. Long nights are iffy. Some people I have known find nights long and sometimes unnerving. I really like the nights when everything is quiet and almost all the houses are dark. When I worked, I was forced to go to bed early as 5:15 was wake up time. Now I am up later into the night.

I love the Christmas lights shining around houses and bushes. I can have a mini-light ride just in my neighborhood. Usually I’m the only car on the road.

I watched another Christmas Carol film, the one with Reginald Owen my second favorite from the early years. This one is from 1938. I always thought the ghost of Marley looked exactly like a ghost should. The other ghosts looked liked people with magic powers, favorite sorts of reading subjects of mine when I was a kid. Touching the robes of the ghosts to move in time looked real to me. The sprinkling from the horn with the Spirit of Christmas Cheer by the Ghost of Christmas Present was the best. The light spread Christmas, some peace and joy. We saw toasts to Scrooge by the Cratchits and Scrooge’s nephew Fred, lovers of the season, not so much of Mr. Scrooge, but it was the final ghost, the dark ghost, the Ghost of Christmas Future, who turned Scrooge, scared him into understanding what his future would be if he didn’t change, didn’t celebrate Christmas with everyone. This version has my favorite Scrooge, the final Scrooge, an amazing giver. His smile beamed.

This is the time of year when memories seem to pop into my head. I still remember where the Christmas trees were in each house where we lived from the first time I remember, when I was around three or four, until the last time, six months before I was leaving for Ghana. After I came home, I’d visit my parents at Christmas, and I’d help my mother finish decorating the tree. One year and every year thereafter I was in charge of lights, an onerous task. It took a while and some new sets of lights to get the whole tree lit, but it was always beautiful, always in the same spot. My mother made Christmas grand.

This is a later morning than the last few. My mother would have said I must have been tired and needed the sleep. The dogs, Nala in particular, woke me up. She was crying at me. I dragged myself out of bed with thoughts of coffee and quiet dogs. I’m on my second cup and Nala is outside in the yard with Henry. He came in the dog door this morning, but I had to let him in later. Small steps, Henry. Small steps.

Today is another dreary, dark day, but not a rainy day. It is only 34˚, winter weather. I do have a box to mail, but I think it will not be today. I have around the house stuff to do. I have already given the kitchen floor a quick wash before the deep wash. It wasn’t mud on the floor this morning. Yuck!

On the last day of school before Christmas we usually had a party. Each of us had to bring something to share like cookies or chips or even a cake, and the goodie table was filled, mouth-droppingly filled. The nuns were believers in order through lines, endless lines, so it was the same for the party. We went up to the goodie table, aka the nun’s desk, one row at a time and put goodies on our plates then went back to our seats. We could talk and even more around the room so it really was a party.

My mother teased us about our presents. She was quite good at telling us nothing and driving us crazy. She teased us even when we were adults. She’d shake presents and give useless hints. One year I helped her wrap. She’d hand me a box. I’d wrap it then tag it. She’d give me the name. A few times it was mine. She thought that was pretty funny.

When I was a kid, this was the week of expectations. The closer we got to Christmas Eve the more excited we all were. I had made a list for Santa and circled the toys I wanted in the Sears catalog so I figured I was covered, but I only had guesses. I knew they’d be a new board game and some books, every year presents, but that was it. I didn’t even count the new pajamas and slippers we’d open Christmas Eve, just means to the end, to looking good for morning pictures.

I never noticed clouds the week before Christmas.