Last night it rained. I fell asleep to the sound of the drops on the roof. This morning everything is still damp, but the sun is breaking through every now and then, and I can see blue sky off to the west. Both are giving me hope for a nicer day. It is already 55˚. A strong wind is blowing and bending all the tree branches and the bushes in the back yard.

I have a to do list with four definite chores and one maybe. The maybe is the outside lights.

When I was a kid, decorations for Christmas were simple. We had the lights in the windows and strands outside on the bushes. Inside was the tree, but we also decorated the picture window. We used stencils and a spray which made everything white. I remember outlines of snowflakes, Santa and Christmas trees. We all took turns at the window. That everything was white was never a bother. The window was beautiful to us. A candelabra of five candles filled with orange bulbs shined below. Every Christmas bulb in the windows was orange back then.

The storm door had colored cardboard decorations taped to it. Santa was prominent. The Christmas tree was a close second.

In the living room, strings were strung across the walls. Above the couch was the longest. It was where the Christmas cards were displayed. Another string was across the arch leading to the kitchen. As more and more cards were delivered we strung more and more string. Most of the cards were sideways.

My mother had ceramic decorations. One set was four small Santa cups. The handles spelled noel. I found that exact set on-line and bought it. It goes on my dining room side table. Salt and pepper shakers were Mr. and Mrs. Claus. Mr. Claus, Santa, had curly hair which I always thought a bit strange.

We had plastic light-up figures, some inside and some outside. They were mostly Santas. I have a few of those lights, all different sizes. Many are Santas but a couple are tall candles. Everything still works.

My house at Christmas has all sorts of decorations in no particular style. There are the traditional, the same from when I was kid. There are also decorations from my travels. Others I bought over time. I have pianos that play, planes that light up and a Santa that flies around the tree. I love my house at Christmas.

It is warmish at 42˚. The sky is a deep blue and clear of clouds. The breeze is slight. Today is another lovely day. My plans are to stay home, watch a few Christmas movies and write out my Christmas cards. I am watching Santa Jaws. A great white is terrorizing a coastal community. The shark has bells on his tail and a Santa hat on his fin. Ho! Ho! Ho!

Last night I found out a back scratcher is a multi-use tool. My glasses fell into the small space between the table and the couch, a space too small for my hand but large enough to eat glasses. I moved the back scratcher back and forth under the couch, no glasses. Next, I moved everything from in front of the table, no small task and no glasses. The table couldn’t be moved so I had to tilt it. I could see the glasses behind the table in a pile of dust and among all sorts of fallen debris too far for my hand to reach. My handy dandy tool, aka the back scratcher, was perfect for the job. I hooked the glasses, but they fell back into the dust. Undeterred I tried again and finally snagged the glasses. I was triumphant. All in all it took me forty-five minutes.

The good news is about Gwen. She had her sugar level checked on Friday, our once a week vet trip. For the first time her count had gone down, and she’d gained a pound. The vet was quite pleased. She said we’d found the sweet spot. Her next check is in a month.

When I was a kid, in the fifth grade, we sang carols uptown in the square. All the schools were taking turns. A stage of sorts was placed in front of the Children’s Corner store. The stage had a grey base, and it sort of wiggled a bit when you jumped. We all jumped. The teacher in charge shut us down. I remember people stopping to watch and listen. I felt the same way a diva must feel during the aria. We were enthusiastic singers belting out each song. I thought we were wonderful.

When I was a kid, the mailman used to come twice a day before Christmas, in the morning and in the afternoon. Each time, the mailbox by the front door was filled with cards. My mother kept a small metal file box decorated with Christmas trees. It was filled with index cards each with a name and address. She kept track of her sent cards and who sent cards in return. If they didn’t send a card for a couple of years, they were off the list and relegated to the back of the box, an exile of sorts. My names and addresses were torn off envelopes and kept in an old card box. I just have to find the box.

Nothing about this morning is inviting. It is downright cold, only 37˚. I shuddered a bit when I went to get the paper. The sky is cloudy, a lightish grey cloud. Everything is still even the leaves at the ends of the branches. The dogs’ fur is cold when they come inside the house. I’m going out later. It’s a bundle up day.

My bedroom is filled with bags and boxes. In them are Christmas presents for my family and friends. Number one on my to do list is to divide the presents into families, keep a list of what for whom and then wrap the presents. I bought wrapping paper and tape the other day.

The controversy has always been wrapped or unwrapped under the Christmas tree from Santa. My family came down on the unwrapped side. It was because Santa had no time to wrap presents for all the kids. That made perfect sense to me. In all the cartoons, unwrapped toys were in Santas’ bag. Under the tree before Christmas were a couple of wrapped presents for each of us from our parents.

When I was a kid, Christmas programs appeared around the middle of December. My favorite was Suzy Snowflake dressed in a snow-white gown. She flew and had a wand she used to tap the window panes. Suzie always reminded me of the three good fairies in Snow White. She brought joy.

The story of my first Christmas in Ghana has one miracle. Every year I write about it. At Christmas time, it was the time of the harmattan. The days were blistering hot and sand blew in from the desert. Lips and heels split from the dryness. The sky was blurred from the dust in the air. The nights, though, were special. They were cold, down to the 70’s from over 100˚. I had a wool blanket on my bed. As it got closer to Christmas, I missed my family. I missed all the traditions. My house was decorated a bit, and that gave me some gladness, but I was still a bit down. One night I was lying in bed. The air was cold. I was snuggled under my blanket. All of sudden I heard a boy singing. He must have been in one of the compounds close to the school’s back gate, the one beside my house. He was singing We Three Kings. It was loud in the cold air. He sang every verse. I knew it was a gift. It was a Christmas present.

Today is a pretty day, a pretty winter’s day. The sun shares the deepest blue sky with white clouds. A breeze blows every now and then. I can see the hanging dead leaves sway a bit giving them a bit of life. It is warmish at 43˚. The dogs love being outside. They chase each other around the yard. Their ears are always cold when they come back inside the house. Right now they are upstairs having their morning nap on my bed. I’m going to have another cup of coffee.

I have such wonderful Christmas memories. My mother baked sugar cookies. She used the same cookie cutters year after year. I can still see the Santa Claus with a pack on his back, the angel with wings, a reindeer with antlers and a bell with a gong. She’d put racks on the counter and cover them with hot cookies right from the oven. We watched them cool. My mother would make frosting, put some in bowls and then color the frosting in each bowl. I remember green, red and white. When the cookies were cooled, we’d all sit around the kitchen table and frost them. I remember my sister Moe, the youngest, was quite generous with her frosting. Each of her cookies was thick with all the different colors. When we got to eat one, she always picked hers. She loved the frosting.

Some years we made ornaments. My mother put all the decorations on the table including the Styrofoam balls we’d decorate. Ribbon, pinecones, beads and whatnots filled the table. The glue was the old Elmer’s School Glue. My hands stayed sticky with glue which oozed from the top of the plastic bottle. My fingers stuck together. One year my ornament was chosen as the ugliest. I never did get a trophy.

Every year my father hung the outside lights. They were the big bulbs which got hot and melted any snow. He’d cover the bushes below the picture window and the tall bushes at each end of the front garden. We didn’t have timers back then so the lights had to be plugged in and out every night. I’d come home at night from somewhere like drill and just stand in front and look. I always thought our house was beautiful at Christmas.

The morning is warm, 51˚. The air is damp. The sun is muted by a cloudy sky, but every now and then its light shines through. The day has potential. A wind blows now and again, a wind strong enough to sway even the biggest branches. The dogs have been out most of the morning. Nala sits on the top step of the deck stairs and just watches. Henry comes inside. He never just randomly watches. Henry is the barker.

Yesterday I did my laundry. It only sat one day in the hall. That is so not usual, and I felt accomplished. At ten I had my uke lesson then got my hair cut, an unplanned stop. It was a good day.

This year I will have no big Christmas tree, only a tiny one with no ornaments and no tinsel garlands, just lights. I can envision Nala grabbing the tinsel and running with it trailing behind her into the back yard. I can see her playing dodge ball, or in this case tinsel ball, as I chase after her in the yard.

When I was a kid, I never noticed if the Christmas tree had bare spots where branches should be. With lights and ornaments, it was a wonder. Silver icicles hung down and swayed a bit when we walked by. The biggest ornaments my mother always placed were at the top of the tree. We put the rest of the ornaments wherever we could reach. The icicles were always last, and by then we were tired of decorating. Tossing bunches of icicles seemed to be the best way to finish, but my mother always stopped us. She told us the icicles should hang down one at a time like they do from the roof, from the gutters of the house. We didn’t care so my mother always finished. She was right about the icicles. They looked lovely hanging from the branches.

I dreaded my first Christmas in Ghana, my first Christmas away from home. My mother knew even though I wrote nothing about it. She sent me a package airmail which must have been really expensive. My Aunt Mary helped to pay for it, her gift to me. My mother told me she went to Woolworth’s in September for ornaments and such. They had to go down to the basement where Christmas was stored. I was thrilled when the package came before Christmas. In it was a small plastic tree, ornaments, a Christmas stocking, Christmas cookie cutters and brick looking crepe paper for a fireplace. Some of the ornaments came from our home tree. I remember a gingerbread house. I was so excited pulling each piece of Christmas out of the box. It brought joy for the season.

The morning is downright cold, only 32˚. The sun is just decorative but framed by a deep blue sky. Every now and then the wind blows. The dead leaves left on the trees blow sideways. The tree branches sway in the wind. The sharp, cold sunlight slices through the branches. The dogs are loving this weather. They have been out most of the morning. Nala, the thief, took some stuff from my bedroom into the yard, a new pair of socks and a phone I bought in Ghana. I saved both of them. My sister suggested I hide everything which might attract Nala’s slippery paws, but that would mean clearing my house and leaving only heavy furniture as there is no guessing what she’ll steal next.

I have to venture out today. I need more needles for Gwen’s insulin, and tonight is uke practice. It is a bundle up day.

When I was a kid, every day was pretty much the same, but I don’t remember ever being bored. The walk to school was different in every season. My favorite time was the spring when we could put away our heavy coats for light jackets. The morning air had a sweetness about it. In the fall I’d look for the prettiest leaves and carefully put them in my school bag. They would later be enshrined forever in wax paper. I’d shuffled my feet through the leaves on the sidewalks and kick the piles. The leaves almost jumped into the air. I remember mostly yellow leaves. The winter was my least favorite season. Even bundled up, I’d feel the cold especially when the wind whipped across the field below my street. Getting ready in the morning took the longest time. I had to get into my uniform and my warm socks. Next came my ski pants and a buttoned up sweater then my winter coat. My mother helped me put the coat on as I had to hold the cuffs of my sweater so they wouldn’t slide up the sleeve. Finally came my shoes or boots, whatever the day demanded. I’d shove my mittens in my pockets, but I’d pull them out if my fingers got cold. Winter was the bulky season.

I have a winter jacket I don’t wear. If it is only cold, I wear a hoodie. If it is freezing cold, I wear my heavy sweater, a bulky sweater. You can’t ever escape the bulky season.

The sky is still cloudy. The sun right now is taking a break, but it is warm at 44˚. Tonight will be a snuggle under the comforter night as it will get to the 20’s. I am declaring today a sloth day. Yesterday I washed the kitchen floor. Anything is better than laundry which still sits upstairs with the heap getting taller. Last night it rained. The paw prints are back.

After Thanksgiving, it was time to start Christmas. We checked the mail every day waiting for the Sears catalog. I remember the pages were brightly colored, but it was only the toy pages we cared about. Decisions were never made lightly and were seldom permanent. I’d circle what I wanted but keep looking until something else caught my eye and then I’d circle that. I’d put a K inside my circles. I didn’t want my choices to go to someone else. When I was little, dolls and their wardrobes and furniture were within most of my circles. As I got older, dolls were off the list. I wanted games and books and maybe a sled or new ice skates. I remember the year I got a Sorry game. It was front and center under the tree. Sorry is a forever game.

We had two closets in the living room. One was right by the door, and the coats were stored there. Between the living room and kitchen was a small space within an arch. On the left was the door to the cellar. On the right was another closet. It mostly held cleaning supplies. I remember one year I was getting a broom when I noticed a few brown bags on the top shelf. I had to investigate. Inside were three books, all part of a series. I knew they were for me. I read two of them. I just couldn’t help myself. I think I practiced being surprised so my mother would never know I’d read them. She never did find out, but that never happened again. I love surprises.

Catalogues have taken over. Sears is no longer. I get catalogues every day. They fill my mailbox, but I go through them all, each a Sears in its own right. I look for just the right gifts for friends and family. I circle my choices and put names inside the circles. Christmas habits are hard to break.

The morning is cold and grey. It is only 38˚. Scattered showers are predicted. Today is a stay home day. It is also a laundry day. The poor day has nothing redeemable.

When I was a kid, Sunday was a lazy day. After church I just sort of hung around the house, at least in winter. Sometimes I’d watch TV while other times I’d hide up in my room and read. My room was my private place.

I loved to read anything. I think I memorized the backs of all the cereal boxes. They were my breakfast read. When I was really young, I remember Nan and Bert and Freddie and Flossie, the Bobbsey twins. I remember they were rich. I envied their travels. They were the first chapter books I ever read.

Later on, I read the classics. Black Beauty made me cry. I still won’t watch a Black Beauty movie. When I was in the fifth grade, I got Little Women for Christmas. During a good part of that school year we were bussed to the next town for school until our new school was built. I remember reading that book while sitting in the back of the bus. Little Women led me to Little Men which I bought for 49¢ at the Children’s Corner, a kids’ clothing store uptown with a bookcase of Whitman books in the back. I didn’t stop there. I read Jo’s Boys, the end of the March story. My favorite book back then was The Wind in the Willows. I loved the river, the sun and the boats. Mole, Rat, and Mr. Badger were such amazing friends to Mr. Toad, the crazy Mr. Toad. Treasure Island set me aback a bit. Like Jim, I was taken in by Long John Silver. I thought he was a good guy. When I found out he was a pirate, I was crushed.

Robert Louis Stephenson was, for a long while, my favorite author. Besides Treasure Island, I read Kidnapped, Dr. Jeckyll and Mr. Hyde and The lost World. One year when we were in Maine for vacation, staying in Islesboro, there were a few books in the sun room, the one with the wicker furniture. One of those books was A Child’s Garden of Verses. I fell in love with poetry.

I loved mysteries. I read most of the Nancy Drew books. I also read the Trixie Belden mysteries. When I moved into my house, my mother brought down all my childhood books. One of them was the very first Trixie Belden I ever read, The Secret of the Mansion. Back when I was a kid, I wanted to be Trixie Belden and live at Crabapple Farm. I think in some ways I still do.

Today is cold. Outside even looks cold with a clear, steely blue sky dotted with white clouds. The breeze borders on a wind. The sunlight is sharp. Leaves are falling. The oak tree by the deck is almost bare. It is 37˚ but feels much colder. I have to venture out today, three stops. I dread the dump stop. With a wind whipping across, it feels like Siberian steppes must feel in the dead of winter. I’ll have to brace myself.

When I was a kid, even on the coldest days, I never wore a hat despite my mother’s demands. I’d take the hat and put it on to satisfy her but then tuck it away when I was out of sight. I did wear mittens, but mittens had a drawback. When covered with snow, they weighed hundreds of pounds.

When I was little, I wore ski pants. They matched my jacket. When I wore them to school, they went under my skirt. The ski pants made noise when I walked, a sort of swishing sound. In the confines of the cloak room, I’d take my shoes off first then the ski pants. They’d hang from a hook underneath my jacket. It took a while to get both of them to stay on that hook though sometimes the clothes on the hooks on each side held them up.

Outside my front door and below the steps was a small grassy hill. A street light shined on the sidewalk. When it snowed, I used to sit at the picture window in our living room and watch the flakes fall. I remember they sometimes fell sideways in the wind. I always hoped the snow would fall all night so in the morning I’d hear the no school whistles blast from the fire station tower. You had to count the whistles to make sure it wasn’t a fire alarm.

When I moved to the cape, I went to public school for the first time, the high school. My mother and I had to shop for school clothes that year because before that I had always worn a uniform. I actually remember my first day of school. I wore a black wraparound skirt and a madras blouse. I stood in the bus port by myself. I didn’t know anybody. My homeroom was the first room on the first floor. I sat in the back hoping not to be noticed. I feared being called the new girl, but I wasn’t.

This morning I kept asking Nala the time and the weather. When I heard nothing, I checked the connection. Still nothing. I was going to disconnect and try again when I realized her name is Alexa.

The morning is dreary but warm. It is supposed to rain all day, light showers. The dogs love being out, even in the rain. Last night Nala stole some candy off the table. I went outside and chased her. I was playing get you, and she was playing keep away. Below the deck is light from the spotlights but beyond is dark. I fell into a hole. Luckily, there was no sharpened bamboo. It was a Nala hole covered by leaves. I had run outside in a t-shirt and my slippers so after fifteen minutes I was so cold I gave up the game. I think Nala was disappointed.

My kitchen floor has a new layer of paw prints. Archaeologists would start stratigraphy and map each layer and check for artifacts. I was glad I didn’t wash it yesterday.

I got my booster on Wednesday. It only hurts when I touch it!

Dinner was delicious yesterday. I filled the air with a chorus of yums. I have leftovers, enough for lunch. I even have more apple crisp. What I don’t have is the toffee. Nala stole it.

When I was a kid, Friday suppers after Thanksgiving were open turkey sandwiches on toast and covered in gravy. Stuffing was on the side. I loved those sandwiches. The white bread was soft and absorbed the gravy. The stuffing was even better reheated. For dessert, I had lemon meringue pie.

I find myself yelling at odd plot details in movies. I’m watching Behemoth. The title gives the plot away. One of the characters, a teenage girl, refused to leave the restaurant where she worked until she’d saved the money in the register. The restaurant fell into a sink hole. She hasn’t stopped screaming. I keep telling her it is her own fault (which is a wonderful description given the earthquakes). The behemoth just rose from the mountains. Our hero is on it. His companion is screaming.

Spiders and snakes have never scared me even after I saw The Fly. The ending of that movie is still etched in my memory drawers. The fly with the human head is caught in a web with a spider advancing. He? It? was yelling, “Help me. Help me.” Someone did and smashed both the spider and the fly with a rock.