Winter has settled in well before its official start. Today is cold again, down to 30˚. Yesterday’s blue sky has been replaced by clouds, but my grandmother would say no weather is predicted, meaning no rain or snow. She had a narrow view of weather. 

My to do list just got a bit smaller. I chose the cookies I’ll be making this Christmas. I even made out the shopping list. I think, though, I’m just avoiding the guest room still piled with unorganized, unwrapped gifts. I’m starting to feel guilty as I really need to get those gifts to Colorado. I’m aiming for Tuesday. 

Last night I watched Krampus. I was trying to cut my sugar intake from all the Hallmark movies I’d been watching. Krampus is a demonic force who punishes those who have lost the Christmas spirit. He is helped by iconic Christmas symbols like gingerbread men and elves, all frightening creatures with sharp teeth. Today I’m back to Hallmark. 

My house has been attacked by dog hair disguised as dust. Clumps line the route from the couch to the hall to the kitchen and a second route up the stairs to the bedroom. I can never walk down the hall without stopping to pick up dust clumps. Brushing Henry doesn’t help all the much. I think it just stirs the fur to fall. 

When I was a kid, the Christmas tree was always lit. At night, it was the only light in the living room until my dad got home. He’d turn on the light which shined over his chair so he could read the paper and go through the mail. My mother always included the Christmas cards she’d open so he could see who sent them. 

My mother had a metal index card holder to keep track of addresses and Christmas cards sent and received. It was green with fir trees and stars. Some of the cards were a bit messy with changes of address written above the old address. My mother had a limit of two years of no cards received before she’d stop sending the cards, but my mother didn’t toss away the offender’s index card. She just moved it to the back just in case.

I am in no way as organized as my mother was. I have an old small cardboard box filled with return addresses, some in duplicate. I empty the box and write out cards then put the addresses back into the box. I’m thinking to organize by replacing all the return addresses with this year’s and marking them 2018. That makes me feel a little bit organized and accomplished.

Today is cold but lovely. The sky is a deep blue, and the sun is shining.

Right in the middle of getting my toast and second cup of coffee, I noticed the mouse in the trap. It was a very nervous wee grey mouse. I dropped everything and took it for a ride. Later I’ll reset the trap with peanut butter.

It is a stay at home Saturday. Yesterday I did all my errands including sending my Christmas cards so today is catalog the presents day and start wrapping Colorado so I can get those presents to UPS. Tomorrow is begin decorating the house day and finish Colorado. My to do list is shrinking day by day.

One year we got a telegram from Santa. It was delivered by itself, not with any other mail. Santa told us he was watching to make sure we were nice, not naughty. That got our attention. One year I sent a report card to my sister to use with Ryan, my nephew. It was to be left for Santa on Christmas Eve. On the report card were good behaviors and underneath each behavior was a square. My sister put a gold star for good behavior or a black star for bad in each square. When she had to add a black one, my nephew cried and begged her not to and promised he’d be good. My sister loved that report card, my nephew not so much.

I always think the tree is the most personal part of Christmas. My tree ornaments tell stories. Some tell of Christmases long ago. I can close my eyes and see the tree in the corner of the living room at 16 Washington Ave. I can see us gathered around while we decorated. The ornaments were in boxes on the couch, and we got to pick the ones we wanted to hang. I don’t remember if the tree was full or scanty or short or tall. I always thought it was beautiful. When I was older, the tree was in the corner of a different house. The ornaments were the same. They were tradition, the continuity from Christmas to Christmas. My tree always has some of those ornaments as do the trees of my sisters. On my tree are ornaments my mother made for me. They tell of her love of Christmas, the love she passed on to my sisters and me.

I take time to decorate my tree. I think about the ornaments and the memories they bring. I love to sit quietly and look at the tree. It is always filled with love and memories.

Winter days, even sunny winter days, have a starkness about them. The trees are empty of leaves. The garden has stubs of flowers. The lawn is littered with pine needles once green now brown. Only the winter birds are here; the rest have gone to warmer climes. Chickadees, goldfinches, titmice, nut hatches and winter robins stay and are frequent visitors to the feeders. I keep the feeders filled.

My Christmas lights seem to have minds of their own despite the timers. One set out front and one set on the deck didn’t light at first so I had to turn them on and off. Now they light on time but turn off too early. I’m okay with that.

Remember that mouse on the stairs a few weeks ago? (That almost sounds like a Christmas tale but it’s not.) I noticed a few mouse droppings in the kitchen which totally grossed me out. The mouse had found its niche. I emptied and cleaned a kitchen drawer then put peanut butter in the trap and put it on the kitchen floor. I’m happy to say the mouse is gone, not to its heavenly reward, but to a field down the street. The creature was in my have a heart trap last night so I took it and released it into the wild with all my well wishes.

During our ride, I noticed how many houses are lit up for Christmas. Some are all white while others are all different colors. Down the street some lights wind around a tree trunk in bands of colors. I paused at that house. On my street three houses are lit. Another house with a lit fence faces the street. I’m thinking this will be a banner year for lights.

My house needs to be decorated. My list of cookies and ingredients has to be made. My cards have to be addressed and sent. My gifts need to be checked on the list. I need to buy my tree. I’ve been waiting on that last one as I’ve ordered new tree lights. Last year’s strands went outside. Usually I am daunted by such a long list but not by this one. I find every bit of Christmas joyful, and I’m looking forward to those cookies.

The morning is downright cold. I hurried to get my newspapers from out front and ran across the street to get yesterday’s mail from my box. The house felt wonderfully warm when I got back inside and, even better, the coffee was ready. I took my time with the papers and even toasted an English muffin. It has been a fine morning.

When I was a kid, I hated walking to school on really cold mornings, especially cold, windy mornings. We were bundled and layered, but we still got cold. Our cheeks got red and sometimes even a bit chafed by the wind. On days like that, I was happy to get inside, to the cloak room.

My school was old and had an assortment of sounds, and we knew every sound. The radiators hissed. The wood floors creaked when any of us walked on them. Windows rattled in the wind. The nuns wore beads around their waists, what we thought of as an early warning system, and we could hear the clacking of the beads one against the other when the nuns got close. Sitting at our desks we were never really quiet. We didn’t dare talk, but we moved our feet under our desks and shuffled papers; we were always restless.

My house too has familiar sounds. The pine floors creak. Hot air blows out the floor registers in the winter and cold air blows out in the summer. Ice cubes drop into the container below the cubes and water runs to replace the fallen ice. Henry’s nails click on the kitchen’s tile floor. The coffee maker beeps when it’s done as does the microwave, but the microwave is persistent and keeps beeping until I open it. I find that annoying.

Henry is a barker, a howler at times. I’m glad for that mostly but not so glad when he barks at car doors or at trucks beeping as they back up. I always look out front regardless. The other day when he barked it was the UPS man leaving a package. Henry got a biscuit for his vigilance.

Today is warm and lovely. The breeze moves only the dead leaves and the smaller branches. I have to go out today, and I’m glad to go as the rest of the week will be quite cold.

When I was a kid, December days lasted forever. The closer we got to Christmas, the longer the day. When Santa Claus began his appearances every afternoon on TV from a New Hampshire station, the excitement only heightened. We started coloring nativity scenes in school. At home, we decorated the house and windows. Many of the decorations were cardboard. Most were pictures of Santa and his reindeer. We spent hour after hour looking through the Sears catalog and rewriting our lists for Santa. We complained of catalog hogging and not getting our turns. Writing lists for Santa was the highest priority.

My mother loved this time of year as she had a hold on us. She threatened to tell Santa when we were fighting and being bad. That stopped us. None us wanted coal even though I don’t think we even knew what coal was, but as it was part of the Santa threat, we knew it had to be really bad. We never got coal. Santa must have been generous in overlooking our transgressions.

I have ornaments my mother gave me, and I have several pieces exactly like those we had as kids. I found them here and there and at antique shops. One set is four Santa cups. The handles spell out noel. I always wanted the O. I have a few ugly elves I always put out, some angels and a slew of Santas (I’m taking liberty here and saying slews is the collective noun for Santas). All of the Santas are from the 50’s. Some of them light up. I like those the best.

It is getting close to decorating time. I always say I’ll bring up one bin a day, but that never happens. Once I get bitten by the decorating bug, I bring up bin after bin. I love my house after I’ve decorated. It looks and smells amazing.

The first sounds I heard when I woke up were the drops of rain. By the time I rousted myself out of bed, the rain was heavier, no more drops. I went downstairs and started my morning rituals: I made coffee, fed Henry and raced to get my newspaper. I settled in and started reading. My day had officially begun.

Henry is gnawing on a marrow bone. It keeps dropping off the couch. On the floor below the couch are indentations in the wood from the bone. I hid the bone. He went looking for it. I felt sorry and gave it back. There are three more indentations.

When I was a kid, we lined up for baths on Saturday nights. My two sisters took one together, and my mother used to stay in the bathroom to monitor them. She also did all their hair washing. After my sisters were finished, my mother combed their hair. The problem was their hair was filled with snarls, and No More Tears didn’t exist yet. My sisters screamed, and they cried. It was torture listening. I used to block my ears so I didn’t have to hear their pleas.

Around this time of year, my town used to string Christmas decorations across Main Street. The whole string was covered in greenery. Bells were in the middle. They were white with specks of gold and were lit up every night. The fire station was outlined in lights, and Santa was poised to go down the chimney. He was atop a small ladder, befitting for a fire station.

I loved to go uptown and look in the windows. There was a Grant’s, a Woolworth’s, three drug stores, a biscuit and cheese shop, a small diner like restaurant, a men’s store, the Stoneham Spa, a bakery and a fish market. A police box was in the street where the roads met. The square was a delight at Christmas.

Today is dark and dank, a raw, chilly day. Rain is predicted. I have to go out and do a couple of errands. I’m going to the library and the bank. I may also get my flu shot, late for me this year. I do need go to the dump, but I’m saving that for tomorrow. Today can’t have all the fun.

Yesterday I got my first Christmas cards. Both are photo cards. Now I’m thinking I ought to get my own cards ready. I’ve had them a few weeks. I don’t get any where near the cards I used to, and that makes me a bit sad. I love picking out and sending cards but receiving them is even better. One of the cards I got is from my niece, nice to know the next generation of my family is following tradition, but I admit I’m not really surprised. My family’s Christmas is filled with traditions.

Today I get to open number 1 of my Advent calendar. It is filled with chocolates. I remember I gave one to my nephew years ago. He figured out how to get all the chocolates from the bottom of the calendar.

My holly bush has turned into a holly tree. It is almost as tall as the pine tree beside it. Originally the bush, as it was back then, was planted in the front beside another holly bush. When I came home from school one day, I noticed someone had dug up and stolen the better looking bush so I moved this one for safe keeping though it was a bit stringy and far less appealing than the stolen bush. The tree has lots of berries so I’ll be cutting some branches to decorate the house.

My father and his sister, my favorite aunt, used to have a Christmas tree thing going. My parent’s tree was always tall and beautiful so every year my aunt wanted to know how much the tree had cost him. My father only knew what my mother had told him, and she shaved off a few dollars, okay a little more than a few, because her trees were so expensive. My aunt scoffed at the price my father quoted, but he swore that’s what it cost not suspecting my mother’s trickery.

My father would have been 92 today.  The first thing I did was wish him a happy birthday!

This morning my car windows are glistening in the sun. They are covered with thick frost. I am so glad I don’t have to go anywhere. The sun will do the defrosting.

My lights had been eaten by a spawn of Satan. A wire was chewed through so all 100 lights got tossed. I have only one set left which I suspect won’t be enough. I’m thinking the spawn will be back so I’m going to buy a few more sets. I wish, contrary to the season, that I could make the wire give a small jolt to the spawn.

When I was a kid, all our Christmas tree lights were big, colored bulbs which got really hot. We used to have to turn them on and off by crawling under the tree to get at the outlet to push in or pull out the plugs. In our windows were candles with orange bulbs. In the picture window was a five bulb candelabra. We had to twist all the bulbs on and off. Turning on was easy but turning off hurt because of the heat of the bulbs. We used to wet our fingers before we turned those bulbs off. I remember we raced to the windows wanting to be first at turning on those windows lights. We never raced to turn them off.

When I watch all the Christmas baking shows, I always wish I could be as talented as the bakers are in decorating cakes and cookies. We used to frost our sugar cookies but they were all red or green. Santa had no beard. We did add jimmies, either red, green or multi-colored to the tops, but that needed no talent. All we had to do was shake the bottles and try not to be too heavy handed.

One year I bought a decorating set with an icing bag for the frosting and a variety of icing tips for the bag. I lined up my sugar cookies and filled the bag with white icing so I could outline each cookie before I frosted it. It was a total mess. I squeezed the bag so much the icing came out the top and not through the tip. My clothes were covered in icing. The counter was covered in icing. The cookies had blogs of white icing.

I scraped off the icing and frosted the cookies in not only the traditional green and red but also gold, really yellow but gold sounds so much classier. Santa was all red. The trees were all green. The reindeer were brown. Brown? The box of food coloring told me how: 2 red, 2 yellow and 1 blue. I had become a maestro of colors!

From my den window I can see a deep blue sky and branches from the tallest pine being tossed by the wind. Today is warmish at 40˚ but the wind is making it feel just a bit chillier. I have no plans for today. Peapod, my cleaning couple and Skip, my factotum, are all coming today. One panel of the fence has fallen so Skip needs to pick it up and try to reconnect it to the rest of the fence. Henry didn’t notice. Gracie would have jumped over the fallen fence and taken off. She was cunning. He is still a bit nervous.

Looking at some foods, I figure the first person to taste them was either foolish or brave or forced at the point of a weapon. The artichoke, for example, is ugly and almost looks lethal. One of those leaves might have done some damage yet some brave fool took the time to figure out how to eat the thing. I’m not an artichoke fan so if it had been me facing the artichoke, I wouldn’t have made the attempt: today, no artichokes. The same thing with lychees. I just wonder how many brave souls lost their lives trying to extend our palates.

One of the vegetables I really enjoyed when I was in Ghana was called the garden egg. It had the same shape as an egg and was only slightly bigger. I mostly had it in stews, and it was delicious. Come to find out, it is related to the eggplant, sort of a little sister, but it is white or yellow.

I used to feed my cat in Ghana tins of mackerels in tomato sauce. It was gross looking and smelled too fishy, but that was about as close as I could get to cat food, and he, my cat, loved it. My students were a bit taken aback that I would buy food for my cat. Their cats were not pets and mostly ate whatever was left over. When I brought my cat home, it took a while before he would eat cat food. I think he missed the tomato sauce.

Henry still jumps up and barks when a bell rings on TV. He howls at the sound of car doors closing. He barks at the UPS man but sticks his nose out the door when I open it to take the package. Sometimes I can’t find the reason for his barking. I have told him about the boy who cried wolf, but he doesn’t seem impressed.

Today is the fall day I would choose if I had a menu of days. The sun is shining and glints through the naked branches. My dad would have said there’s a nip in the air, but it’s still warmish for late November. Earlier, I went on the deck to fill the feeders and stayed outside, reluctant to leave the sun. The ground in the backyard is covered in yellow leaves. The tall weeds are wilted. I can see through to the back neighbor’s house, and last night I could see all the way to the end of the street to my friends’ deck and their lit Christmas tree. After I filled the bird feeders, I sat for a bit. It’s a lovely day.

My outside Christmas lights were lit for the first time last night. The deck rail, the front fence and the backyard gate are decked out for the season. The back gate is white lights, and there’s a giant white star. The front fence and deck are multi-colored lights. There’s a small tree with giant ornaments all lit by a spotlight. I kept going to the windows last night to look at the lights.

Sadly, the sun is now gone, my perfect day is ended. It is cloudy and getting darker. We had rain all last night, and I think we’ll have rain again.

When I was in college, I had to go to the Trailways bus terminal in Boston to get the bus to Hyannis. The terminal was behind a western bar which had a giant wagon wheel as a front decoration, and it was alongside an alley walkway. Around the corner was Jack’s Joke Shop and a flower shop. The terminal was small. It had lockers all along the sides, wooden benches and ashtrays with sand. A magazine stand was beside a tiny tobacco kiosk. The terminal also had a lunch counter, the sort with pies in glass containers and old, weary looking waitresses. It served every meal but was still a lunch counter. The ticket counter was along the right back wall. When it was cold, bums, as we called them back then, would wander through the terminal to get a little warmth before they were escorted outside again. I smoked in those days, and I remember once, after they called my bus, I put my cigarette in the sand and one of the bums walked over, took it out and smoked it. I was more astonished than appalled.

I usually fell asleep not long after we’d leave the terminal, and I generally slept until Plymouth. Crossing the Sagamore Bridge made me feel as if I were already home. In Hyannis, I’d call my dad who would come and get me. It was always good to be home.