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.

Last night it was mostly misty rain, but sometime during the late night the rain got heavier. Right now it is still damp and cloudy and showers are forecast; however, there is a plus as it is warm, near 50˚.

Henry is now known as the dog who peed on the floor while signing up to see Santa. He didn’t mind the dogs, but all the people made him nervous so he peed. Despite that he did get quite a few compliments. Handsome dog was the most common.

Early this morning Henry and I both jumped when the alarm clock sounded because neither one of us is accustomed to hearing it. Every other morning I sleep until I wake up and Henry is right there with me. This morning it was 6:30, the middle of the night to me. I know a nap is coming.

My factotum is here putting up the Christmas lights. A couple of my neighbors have theirs already lit each night so I thought I’d join them. I’m also thinking of bringing up a bit of Christmas every day a box at a time.

When I was a kid, everyone had real Christmas trees. The tree lights were big, colored bulbs which quickly got hot to the touch. Those lights went on first. They were my father’s only contribution and his worst nightmare, his bête noire. They were tangled and didn’t always light because of a single burned out bulb. I remember he cursed a lot. The garlands were next, and my mother always put them on the tree. She draped them just so. Finally we got to put the ornaments on the tree. Most were glass. I always liked the colored ornaments, the blues, the purples and the reds. I have some of those old ornaments for my tree, a gift from my mother. She also gave each of us one of the big ornaments, the ones we couldn’t touch, which she always put on branches close to the top of the tree to keep them safe. Last to go on were the icicles. They were made of lead, and if carefully and individually put on the tree they’d hang down like real icicles.
The icicles around now are mostly plastic and float in the breeze of anyone walking by the tree. I don’t put any on my tree. If the tree had holes, my mother would put a cardboard Santa or a Rudolph card in the space. I do the same thing.

The traditions from my childhood are a part of my Christmas every year. I know it is the same for my sisters. We always thank my parents for that.

Last night it rained. It was a gentle rain at first as Henry’s wet fur was how I knew it was raining. Later it poured. I was lying in bed and could hear it on the roof. Today is dark and damp. The clouds are rain clouds so more is coming. I have one errand today. Henry is having his picture taken with Santa.

When I was really young, Santa came to our apartment in South Boston. I have a picture of me on Santa’s knee. The look on my face is pure wonder. My brother was too afraid to leave the bedroom so there are no pictures of him with Santa. It is probably a good thing as I suspect he was always on the naughty list.

Going to Boston at Christmas time was wonderful. The Common was filled with lights, and reindeer were in a fenced-in pen. That was the first time I was ever so close to reindeer. I remember their antlers and the color of their fur. I also remember the clouds in the air from them breathing out their noses.

We went to Jordan Marsh to see Santa and the Enchanted Village. The line to get to Santa was long, but we didn’t care. We were enthralled by the Enchanted Village. It was all along the route to Santa, sometimes on both sides. There were houses filled with people, toy shops, animals, people skating and shopping and so much more. All of the characters moved. Their heads swiveled or bowed, their hands worked on toys, and the shoemaker fixed a shoe. I was so excited. I had never seen anything like that before. Jordan Marsh, according to my mother, always had the best looking Santas. I don’t remember what any of them looked like. I just remember being in awe. He was the real Santa to me.

Today will be on and off cloudy. It is 40˚ which is warm enough. The sun will make an appearance, but I don’t care one way or the other. I’ll adjust. Besides, the sun isn’t warm anymore. It is mostly a backdrop.

The moon last night was huge and beautiful, and I could easily see the face of the man in the moon. He was smiling.

I don’t know if kids read nursery rhymes anymore. I know my mother read them to me all the time so when I wrote about last night’s moon Hey Diddle Diddle jumped into my head. I never questioned how a cow could jump over the moon or whether a cat could really play a fiddle or a dog laugh, but I did wonder why the dish ran away with spoon.

When I was a kid, my mother read Treasure Island to my brother and me at bedtime. I remember not wanting to go to bed and wanting more of Long John Silver. I hated when  bedtime seemed to come far too quickly. We always begged for more, just a chapter or two, and once in a while my mother gave in and kept reading. When I could read by myself, I right away read Treasure Island. When I was 8 or 9, a TV program called Treasure Island, The Adventures of Long John Silver started. Long John was more likeable than not. He was no rogue, no traitor. I remember he had a gravelly voice and said pirate things like swabs, slimy squids and mutinous maggots. I loved that show.

I read all the classics when I was a kid and still have a few of the books I got for Christmas. Even back then I treasured books and took great care of mine. They are in wonderful condition except the paste on their bindings has dried so the bindings are loose. Also, the pages have yellowed. I was ten when I got Little Woman. My school bussed us to the next town that year, my fifth grade year, while they were building a new school so I read Little Women on the bus.

I read before I go to sleep. Some nights I read for an hour or more. When I know I’m tired, I check how many pages until the chapter ends. I swear that’s a hold over from when my mother read to us. She always finished the chapter before she turned off the light.

Today is a cold day. I’m staying home, doing laundry and finishing the book I’m reading. I’m not at all tempted to leave my warm house. I’ll do that tomorrow.

I am a pet person from a family of pet people. All of my memories seems to include one pet or another. We had two Woolworth’s painted turtles which lived for years in a bowl on the counter in the kitchen. The bowl had a fake plastic palm tree on a small island where the turtles used to sit or lie or whatever it is turtles do. Whenever we killed or wounded a fly, we gave it to the turtles. When the last turtle passed away at the advanced age of four or five, it was given a solemn funeral and buried in the woods in a tobacco tin lined with cloth. Lots of goldfish came and went. They lasted a short while before taking their final journeys through bathroom pipes to that great ocean in the sky. Duke, the Boxer, who died when he was fifteen, was the pet we had the longest. He was also the best pet we ever had. When I was a junior in high school, we got Gideon the cat. He used to love the car and would sit on the back of the front seat with part of him resting on my dad’s shoulders. Once he bit my father on the nose. We almost had an accident. Gideon was the first in what became a long line of cats.

I am without a cat for the first time in I don’t remember how long. In Ghana, my students gave me one, and he, Tas, came back with me. Maddie and Fern were both rescues. I picked them because they were dog friendly. Both were five when they came home. I know Henry is cat friendly. He paid no attention to Maddie except to try to eat her food. A cat is in my future plans, but I want to spend more time with Henry by himself. He is still a work in progress.

Most of my siblings and their families have pets. None of us can imagine our lives without one or usually many. They ignore peculiarities and offer unconditional love. You can’t ask more than that.

Happy Thanksgiving! I wish you a day filled with love in the company of family and good friends. As you gather around a bountiful table, give thanks for all we have been given.

It is really cold, and the wind doesn’t help. The sun is just a prop, but I am comfy and warm. I’m watching the parade and having my coffee with the Danish I bought yesterday, an apple Danish. Henry is eating a decorated turkey biscuit. He licks off the frosting first. He is now ready for a nap. I am going out later for dinner at my favorite restaurant, The Ocean House.

Thanksgiving seems to be the one holiday almost all of us celebrate and turkey is universal. Eating meat, though, is not a prerequisite. Celebrating and feasting with friends and family are the only givens. Of all the holidays, I think Thanksgiving carries the most traditions from generation to generation. The food seldom changes. Some dishes are added, but family favorites reappear year after year. No one dares to leave one off the menu.

When I was a kid, my mother was always up early, when it was still dark. She was getting the turkey and the stuffing ready for the oven. The turkeys were always huge. She used a blue enamel roasting pan with little white dots. The turkey just about fit. My mother periodically basted the turkey and always pulled off the crisp end of the stuffing to eat. The windows fogged in the kitchen. The house smelled divine. It smelled of turkey.

For summer rains, and winter’s sun,
For autumn breezes crisp and sweet;
For labors doing, to be done,
And labors all complete;
For April, May, and lovely June,
For bud, and bird, and berried vine;
For joys of morning, night, and noon,
My thanks, dear Lord, are Thine!

For loving friends on every side;
For children full of joyous glee;
For all the blessed Heavens wide,
And for the sounding sea;
For mountains, valleys, forests deep;
For maple, oak, and lofty pine;
For rivers on their seaward sweep,
My thanks, dear Lord, are Thine!

For light and air, for sun and shade,
For merry laughter and for cheer;
For music and the glad parade
Of blessings through the year;
For all the fruitful earth’s increase,
For home and life, and love divine,
For hope, and faith, and perfect peace,
My thanks, dear Lord, are Thine!

~~John Kendrick Bangs 1862-1922

I want to give my thanks to all of you who have made Coffee a community.

Today is raining, the rain promised by the weatherman. The sky is really dark. A breeze is blowing the upper branches, the ones filled with the dead leaves. It is all and all an ugly day.

Here in New England every season has its own wardrobe. Fall is a warm sweater. It’s shoes and socks and cozy clothes for the chilly nights. Winter is the layered season, a sweater and a warm shirt under a heavy jacket. It’s mittens and hats and fleece lined boots. Winter is a blanket on the bed. Spring is a bit of winter and a spark of summer. It’s a warm jacket on a chilly day or a lighter one on a sunny day. It’s an open window and fresh air. Summer is sandals and short sleeves. It’s cotton weather. It’s a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. Right now some days are both winter and fall. The daylight hours are warm at 50˚ while the dark nights are chilly at 35˚, but that will change later in the week. Thanksgiving may be the coldest on record.

Jigsaw puzzles are a favorite of mine. I started young with huge pieces in an eight piece puzzle and worked my way up to the larger puzzles. My favorite size is 500 pieces because the finished puzzle fits perfectly on my table. My mother used to have one in process on the dining room table, and everyone, on the way to the kitchen, always stopped to try and add a piece. I gave my mother a new puzzle every Christmas, and my sister continues the tradition. Last year it was snowmen. I enjoy doing the puzzle while watching TV. It’s a perfectly fine way to spend an evening.

With the change in season, the house becomes my refuge from the cold. I stay by myself more. I plan trips I may never take. It’s the planning I enjoy. I read, sometimes all day. Nothing is better than a book you just can’t put down. Some days I stay in flannel cozies and slippers. I nap on the couch under a warm, comfy afghan. I feel content with my lot. I’m thinking it can’t get much better than that.

Okay, I’m tired of clouds. Last night was beautiful with a bright moon and a clear sky. What happened after I went to sleep? The sky is now a dull grey. If it were a person, I’d think it boring. Nothing is moving, not even the smallest branch. Even a little wind would have added a bit of drama to the day. My plans too are boring. I’m going nowhere. I’m just going to catalog my Christmas presents so I’ll know what I have and what I need.

Last night I took my socks off and left them on the floor. This morning one had disappeared. Henry, I thought. Well, I found the other sock downstairs. I know it didn’t walk by itself. Some time during the night Henry brought it downstairs. I missed it all.

Henry now barks when a bell is rung on TV. I tried to explain that barking was unnecessary, but he was barking so loudly he didn’t hear me.

I have odd memories of events which happened when I was really little. They seem to have no context and stand singly. One memory has to do with a pond and a half submerged row boat. I remember water lilies and leeches and my mother screaming. I can still see white Adirondack chairs standing by the water, and I have a hazy memory of my father’s aunt. I don’t remember my great-grandmother, on my father’s side, but I can still see the narrow wooden stairs in her house which connected one floor with another. I do remember my great-grandfather, on my mother’s side, who used to sit by the giant heater in my grandmother’s living room. He scared me, and I’d run by him as quickly as I could. I didn’t remember why I ran until my mother told me he once took my Easter basket away.

At 37 Washington Ave., the stairs had a landing. I remember playing there with my dolls. I was probably no older than five or six as we were still there when my sister, five years younger than I, was born. 16 Washington Ave. was where we moved shortly after that. I always think it funny that the houses are remembered by their numbers.

I have tons of memories of Christmas though most of them have jumbled together over the years. For some reason, though, I remember the ice skates. They were old ones, the kind that buckled to your shoes. When I first woke up, they weren’t under the tree. Later that day they were. When I asked my mother, she told me I must have missed them, but I knew I hadn’t.

This last memory stills make me laugh. I wore braces for years, including the ones where tiny elastics were stretched from my lower to my upper braces. I remember sitting behind my father in the car and talking when one elastic flew out of my mouth and hit him in the back of the neck. He swatted his neck like he’d been bitten by a wasp. I suppose I must have said something, but I don’t remember it. Maybe I just laughed.