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.

Today is yesterday with a breeze and maybe sometimes a wind. The rain is supposed to hang around for a while. The dogs go out, but I’m content to stay warm and dry inside. I’ll watch Hallmark with its happy endings.

When I was a kid, I had a book of Christmas stories which included A Christmas Carol so I read it and read it again every few years. That it was a ghost story made it even better. I still love watching the different films. Alastair Sim is my favorite Scrooge followed by Patrick Stewart’s. Yesterday I watched Seymour Hicks in the 1935 film. I think that is my third one so far for this Christmas. I have also seen it twice on stage. At the second play, in Boston, I was waiting for Scrooge to put on his pants and be as merry as a schoolboy, but he never got the chance. We had to exit the theater because of a fire alarm. My mother, sister and I were outside in a matter of a couple of minutes because we were in the orchestra seats and right by an exit. People from the highest balcony seats were still exiting fifteen or twenty minutes later. It was a false alarm. I was thinking that was a good thing as were the orchestra seats.

I didn’t realize it as I was growing up but we were making Christmas traditions. I remember we went on a light ride every year. I even still call it a light ride and always go on one or two as does my sister. I wow out loud. Decorating the tree started with my father putting it in the stand then he’d untangle the lights strands, check bulbs and finally put the lights on the tree. Once he was done his part he’d sit, have a snack and watch TV while we, the rest of us, decorated. We started with the garlands and ended with the icicles, my mother’s job. Frosting cookies took an entire afternoon. Being creative couldn’t be rushed. I remember the vinyl tablecloth my mother used to protect the kitchen table from the inevitable mess.

We used to go to Boston but not every year. The Common was beautiful with the bare branches of the trees lining the sidewalks covered in lights. Frog Pond was open for skating. We never did but I always wished we would. My father would buy some popcorn so we could feed the squirrels. The greedy little beasties would form a circle around us and beg. I was young enough still to think how neat it was a wild creature would take food from my hand. I even think I giggled.

This morning I slept late, at least later than I have been. I think it’s the darkness of the morning, the gray skies and the still, sort of creepy branches. It rained a bit earlier and showers are predicted for later. It will be sort of warm at 44˚.

I have no lists for today, neither inside nor outside. I have possibilities. The house still needs decorations. So far I have tried a Nala proof Christmas, but I underestimated her. That trick she used of bending over the staircase to grab the gnome is not one I would have anticipated. Now I shut bins behind doors, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she figured to how to use the knobs. She watches everything. I did finish wrapping and packing my sister’s box yesterday and only have a little bit of wrapping of my friends’ box left. I want both boxes out on Monday.

My mother always taunted us about our gifts. We said taunted. She said teased. When we were kids, she’d ask if Santa would think we were naughty or nice. What kid ever said naughty? When we were adults, she still teased and she’d give hints about our gifts, vague hints of little or no help. We all, my sisters and I, inherited Christmas from our mother, all of it, especially the teasing.

When I think about Christmas and being a kid, it’s colors and lights I most remember. Houses all over our block were decorated with the big colored bulbs, some more elaborately than others. My father was sort of in the middle. Most Main Streets were hung with swags circled in lights from one side of the street to the other. In the center was a decoration. I remember bells were hung one year.

I never tired of lights no matter how many times I saw them. My mother, my father and I, when I’d visit for the weekend, would sometimes take a light ride together. We all still ooh’d and aah’d. My mother packed a treat for our ride, eggnog in the thermos, crackers and dip in the bag.

When I’m driving to usual spots this time of year, I try to take different routes, some routes longer than necessary, but I don’t want to miss any Christmas. I don’t want to miss a house all lit or trees strung one to another with different colors. I have a couple of favorite houses I manage to see once a week. They are worth it.

I have four boxes stacked in my living room. Each is filled with gifts from friends and relatives. Usually those gifts are artfully displayed under my beautiful, uniquely decorated tree. Alas! This year they’ll sit in those boxes until Christmas morning. No poking at the presents this year. I know better than to open the boxes.

Today is perfect and hardly winter. It is 57˚ and not even nine o’clock. The sun is surrounded by a cloudless blue sky. The breeze is ever so slight. It’s almost a deck day.

Last night my world went dark, at least my Christmas world. A front outlet had gotten wet so one side of the fence lights and my cow and donkey didn’t work. I ran to the hardware store for a new extension cord so I could connect the unlit lights with the lit lights on the other side of the yard (Confused yet? Just wait. There’s more). When I plugged the new cord into the other cord, every light died: the lights out front, the floodlight, the giant star always lit and the deck lights. I knew it was more than the new extension cord. I yelled in frustration then called my friend Shane, the electrician. He came right over and got to work. It took a bit, but he solved the problem, and my yard was again bright with lights; however, there were casualties. The outlet outside the back door, the forty five year old outlet, stopped working and the timer connected to it also died so Shane had to move the plugs around the corner to a deck outlet. I have lights. I have a new timer. All is right with my world.

Tonight I’m constructing my gingerbread house. It is a big one so I bought all sorts of extra candies for decorations. The only difficult part is where to put the finished house out of reach of Nala. I’m leaning toward the mantle, but with my luck, she’ll push over a chair, stand on it and eat the house. I can see the walls come tumbling down.

When I was a kid, everything about Christmas was exciting, but the tree was my favorite. Every year it stood in the same corner. When I’d come downstairs in the mornings, I could smell the pine all over the house in every room. I’d stand in front of the tree and rub my hand up the small ends of the branches. The soft needles sprang back into place. My hand smelled like pine. At night the glass ornaments reflected the lights. They’d spin when we walked by the tree. It was a tiny light show. It was beautiful.

Yesterday was winter. Frost covered the windshield. Today is late fall at 54˚with rain. I could see my breath yesterday. Today a sweatshirt is more than enough. I have a couple of errands and a bit of shopping. The shirt which arrived yesterday is missing. I have checked the whole house and the yard except for the back forty. A gnome has met its demise. I found fluff hanging out of Nala’s mouth then I found the body bereft of stuffing. This year outside is Christmas. Inside is batten down the hatches.

The box with presents yet to be wrapped and sent is in the bathroom. I shut the door when I leave. When I’m home, I listen for the bells wrapped around the top of the box. When I hear them ring, I know Nala is afoot and an angel got its wings.

The lights in my front yard are lovely. The ornament tree is highlighted. The little library is covered in lights. The front door has a string of snowman lights around the giant Merry Christmas metal ornament. The fence shines with colored bulbs. Everything outside is festive.

When I was a kid, December was the longest month. It crawled from day to day. It seemed Christmas would never come. As we got closer to vacation, the school day got longer and longer. I sat with my eyes glazed over through lesson after lesson. My attention was elsewhere. The last thing place I wanted to be was in school doing arithmetic.

When I lived in Ghana, in Bolga, Christmas time had the strangest weather, sort of yin-yang. It was hot, dusty and dry all day but, at night, it was chilly. I was glad for the wool blanket I had bought. It was scratchy, but it served its purpose well. That same wool blanket now rests on the back of the living room couch. My friends have the same blanket. It was a market buy.

Christian Ghanaians celebrate Christmas. They spend all morning in church. They are fervent. The trees are odd, no fir, but sometimes branches from mango trees decorated with paper. Dinner isn’t special. Usually it is a light soup with fufu or T-zed. My dinner was the usual. I ate chicken and mashed yams, tuber yams, not sweet potatoes. Other than tomatoes and onions, the only other vegetables were canned. I remember peas and carrots, mushy peas and carrots. My house was decorated though I didn’t have a tree.

The school was empty of students, only staff remained. When I watch A Christmas Carol, the Christmas past scene with boys riding in coaches or on wagons yelling and waving as they leave the school always reminds of my students leaving. Buses heading south came to school to pick up the students. The buses were filled. My students waved and yelled Merry Christmas out the windows. I waved back and wished them a safe journey.

The morning is cloudy again. The clouds seem to sneak back at night. Earlier morning was a little chilly, but it is now getting warmer. The high today will be 50˚. The winds have disappeared leaving hardly a breeze. I need a yard clean-up again. I see torn paper, a can and the remains of a box. Nala has been trash picking.

My house is getting cleaned. Maria started upstairs. Skip, my factotum, is here to put up the outside lights and, I hope, to take the trash. Having help makes me feel a bit regal. I’m still waiting for the butler to bring me coffee and warm croissants with marmalade on the side, lemon marmalade.

Most of my Colorado presents have been wrapped. The couch is covered in festive bags filled to their brims. My hope is to send them tomorrow. The only presents left are for friends and for my other sister.

When I was a kid, Christmas took forever to come. I remember the advent wreath with the four candles. A candle was lit for every week of advent. Yesterday three candles would have been glowing. We used to take turns lighting the candles and fighting as to whose turn it was. My mother was the ref who made the call. I was into lighting the candles and fighting for my turn so their significance was lost.

By this time in December, our house would be Christmas ready. All the cards would be strung from one wall to another. The tree was lit in the growing darkness of the late afternoon, and we raced to turn on the window candles. We watched Santa on TV on a station from New Hampshire. He told stories, sang songs and played with toys. I remember watching him get ready to leave on Christmas Eve.

My mother waited until closer to Christmas to make her cookies. Our favorites were always the sugar cookies. She made other cookies. I remember chocolate chip cookies, and I remember her pies, apple for my father and lemon meringue for the rest of us. From the leftover crust she made turds, that’s what my father called them. They were rolled dough with cinnamon in the middle and baked in the oven. If I make a pie, a rare occasion, I make turds and think of my father.

The wind howled last night. I could hear branches brushing the side of the house. The dogs were out and back quickly. They ran close to the ground. Today is still. The sky is grey, but sun is predicted. It is in the mid-forties but feels cold. Two of my chores for today are domestic. The kitchen floor is lost under paw prints from the last two rainstorms, and I have to change my bed before the sheets walk away.

Yesterday I was in a wrapping frenzy. I concentrated on Colorado gifts. I got all the kids but one done, and today I’ll wrap his and Moe and Rod’s presents. I want them wending their way west by Tuesday.

My den is a mess covered with bags, gifts, wrapping paper and a couple of bins. Walking in and out has the potential for disaster. Nala checks the bags when she is heading for the couch.

This morning my yard was filled with snow, not really snow but rather pillow fluff, compliments of Nala, the destroyer of worlds. She must have been bored as she stole a small pillow from my bedroom. I found the cover which is filthy, but I think it will return to its pristine condition when I wash it. A bit ago I heard a box hit the steps. Nala dropped it in the midst of the steal. I have moved the cat gate across the top of the stairs. I hate having to do that as both dogs like to nap on my bed, but I don’t trust Nala.

When I was a kid, Christmas could never come soon enough especially after our house was decorated, and the tree was in its place in the corner of the room. We used to lie under it to be surrounded by the lights and the aroma of the pine. I remember one time the tree fell. My parents were out doing errands. My brother and I took turns holding the tree up by the trunk until they got home when my father took over. He attached wire on two sides of the trunk then wound the wire around the locks of two windows. They held.

My mother used to wrap a couple of presents for each of us and put them under the tree. We knew what the presents were, new pajamas and slippers to wear on Christmas Eve so we’d look good for the pictures Christmas morning. We were never excited at the thought of opening those presents.

My plans for today were thwarted by the rain. It was to be outside lights day; instead, it is inside wrap presents day. Yesterday I brought all the gifts down from my bedroom in tubs then I divided them into bags for each person. Only one tub is still upstairs. I’ll bring that down when I have room for it. Last night my back ached, but it was no never mind. I felt quite accomplished.

If I were to list the worst possible catastrophic failures, on top of the list would be loss of heat in winter. Second would be no electricity. The third happened this morning. My coffee maker shut itself off, and it wouldn’t stay on unless I held the little lever. Every time I let go, the brewing ceased. I raised my head and howled. I tried again and again and finally persistence held forth. The light went on, stayed on, and the coffee dripped into the carafe. I danced in glee. The dogs watched in horror.

When I was a kid, the Christmas lights were huge and multi-colored. They were the old if one bulb was bad the whole strand wouldn’t work. I remember my father cursing the lights as he checked bulb after bulb. Finally, he figured out what he needed to do. He replaced every bulb then tried the old bulbs one at a time. He found success.

Our tree had bubble lights. They stood up almost like candles on the ends of the branches. We used to sit on the floor to watch those lights so we could yell out when the first one started to bubble.

I remember how hot those bulbs got. My brother and I used to play who could hold the bulb the longest. The winner had pain, red palms and bragging rights. I still love colored lights. They go on my front fence and the top of the deck rail. On my tree, white lights go inside up the trunk so they shine like stars. Colored strands of lights are wound around the rest of the tree. I have a set of new bubble lights. I sit and watch until the first one bubbles. It’s a Christmas tradition.

We were promised a warm day. That didn’t happen. Today is cold and raw. I had hoped to hang my outside Christmas lights, but that will happen another day. I went out for breakfast and met friends. It was a fun morning. You can’t beat a day which starts with friends and breakfast.

Yesterday I did make it to the dump. I thought there should have been fireworks and a parade; instead, I guess I’ll just have to celebrate an empty trunk and an empty backseat. I have started bringing all the Christmas presents downstairs so I can sort and wrap. So far we’re talking three filled bins with four more upstairs.

My yard got its final clearing today. I watched four guys with leaf blowers attacking on all sides the same pile of leaves in the driveway. Henry was the soundtrack. He barked the entire time. The worst was when they cleared the deck. Henry was barking fiercely at the back door. Nala was on the deck and afraid so the guys stopped. She ran into the house. My yard now looks so neat and clean and ready for winter.

When I was a kid, the parish had a Christmas fair every year. My mother used to help. I remember getting out of school early and walking two by two in classes from the school to the town hall, a block away. Once there, the nuns let us loose. My mother gave us money for lunch and to buy a few presents for the family. Lunch was always a hot dog with a small bag of chips and a small coke. I wandered from table to table. The favorite table was for kids buying presents for parents. Nothing was expensive. We’re talking a dime or a quarter. I could buy my father a white handkerchief. He always kept one in his back pocket. My mother was more difficult. I sometimes bought her perfume which I suspect she never used. I can’t imagine how a dime bottle of perfume must have smelled. My sister Moe bought my mother a Christmas cactus one year. It lived on the kitchen table near the window for years and years. It had flowers every Christmas. I think it still lives with one of my sisters.

When I’d get home, I’d admire the gifts I bought. I was so proud. I’d ask my mother for wrapping paper and tape. I remember sitting on my bed wrapping all the presents then putting them under the tree. There was no disguising which presents were mine. They were the small presents wrapped in feet of colorful paper.