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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.

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.