The morning is cloudy. We have a wind alert with possible 45 mph gusts. All the tree trunks are swaying. The smaller branches are being blown in clusters. I wouldn’t be surprised to lose another pine tree. They have such shallow roots. It is 37°, but the wind makes the air feel chillier, down into the 20’s. Both rain and snow are predicted, but not any snow accumulation, dashing the hope for a white Christmas. When they first went out, the dogs romped. Nala ran round and round in the backyard. She came inside panting. Henry did a short run. Both are now sleeping on the couch.

Any kid will tell you the longest day of the year is not the summer solstice. It is Christmas Eve. Night never seems to come. I remember trying to convince my mother I was exhausted and needed to go to bed around five or six. It didn’t happen. We sometimes watched A Christmas Carol, the one with Alastair Sims, my all time favorite. Even now I watch it every year. When I finally went to bed, I decided I would stay awake to catch Santa. That never happened. I was too tired and Santa was too stealthy.

We had sort of an attic, actually more of a space with wood planks and insulation between them. The upstairs hall was small. Around it were three bedrooms and the bathroom. In the ceiling was a trap door leading to the pseudo attic. A ladder was there once the door was opened. One Christmas, activity in the hall woke me up. My father was on the ladder handing presents to my mother. I heard sort of a tinkling sound. It was one of those push toys which spun and played music. I knew it was for my youngest sister. I couldn’t go back to sleep. After my parents had gone downstairs, I sneaked down the stairs to watch them put out the presents. I only watched for a little while then went back to sleep.

Yesterday I shopped for dinner. I had been given money and gift cards so I filled my carriage. I bought snacks for tonight and food for my Christmas dinner. I splurged and bought a beautiful piece of beef, squash, carrots and mashed sweet potatoes. I bought decorated cupcakes for dessert. I bought a chocolate Santa. I bought treats for Nala, Henry and Jack. We are all going to celebrate.

I thank you all for always dropping by, and I wish you the merriest of Christmases.

Today is cloudy and cold. Light rain is predicted. That seems so bah-humbug, but the adult me is happy about the forecast. The child in me is disappointed.

We’ve always called today Christmas Eve Eve. On our Advent calendar for the 23rd, shepherds and a lamb or two were often inside the little door. They were getting ready for the big day. We always knew that on the 24th, the Nativity was inside the door flap. The shepherds and angels were always there. I remember many of our Advent calendars had silver glitter. Some always fell off when you opened a door. We used to take turns opening the little doors.

My mother baked all the traditional sweets for Christmas. Always, there were sugar cookies and spritz cookies. I have her spritz maker. It took me a while to learn to drop the dough so the cookies were the perfect shape. I color mine red and green. Sometimes the dough is both colors when I switch from one color to another. My mother made pies, always an apple and a lemon meringue. One year, when I was an adult, my mother made bread in the shape of a gingerbread man and also made biscotti.

I remember one year we had a two week Christmas vacation. The school district was trying to save money by not having to heat the buildings. I went right away to my parents’ house. It was the best time. Every day, my mother and I baked cookies, all sorts of cookies, even new ones we’d never made. While the cookies were baking, we’d play Big Boggle. My mother would have her signature drink, whiskey and coke. I’d have egg nog and Kahula. After the last cookies came out of the oven, we’d clean up the kitchen and keep playing Big Boggle. We used to put the new cookies on Christmas plates on the dining room table for everyone to taste. We ran out of Tupperware containers. They were filled with cookies and piled under the table.

Today I need to do a bit of shopping including buying a good piece of meat for my Christmas dinner. That description of the meat had my sister and me roaring laughing. That is what my father always said. I don’t remember the last time I heard it, this dad memory. It just popped right out of memory drawer. I’m so glad it did.

The one day of warmth is gone. Winter is back. It is in the 30’s. I’d complain, but that does no good; however, there is a saving grace, a gift from Mother Nature. Despite the cold, the morning is a marvel with its deep blue sky, lots of sun and the stillest air. It is just lovely.

Yesterday’s wind split the pine tree once standing just inside the backyard. One large branch fell on the gate but didn’t do any damage. The top of the tree fell outside the yard just beyond the fence. I didn’t even hear a thing. I only noticed last night when I let the dogs out just before we went to bed. I saw something lying in the yard by the stairs. I thought Nala had brought stolen goods outside, but she was wrongly accused. There were couple of small branches lying by the gate then I saw the big branch and the split tree.

When I was a kid, after the walk home from school, I was usually cold despite the winter coat, the pink long underwear to my knees, the knee socks, the hat and the mittens. As soon as I’d get home, I’d shed all the layers and get into my pajamas. I’d lie in bed under the blanket and read. The lamp on the headboard lit the pages of my book and helped keep me warm. I got cozy.

Every Christmas morning, I’d grab my stocking, sit on the floor and take out one gift at a time to give each its due. I remember a coloring book and crayons. I’d find hand games like Jacks and Pick Up Sticks nd sometimes colored pencils. They’d be a wooden paddle with a red ball attached by a long elastic. Sometimes there’d be a pair of Christmas socks. Chocolate Santas were usually at the bottom of the stocking. A small stuffed animal or cloth doll always poked its head out of the top. My mother was the queen at stuffing a stocking.

The weather today could get extreme with winds gusting past 40 mph. Right now the tree trunks are bending, the oaks and the scrub pines. The wind is howling. Power outages are possible. It is raining but warm at 55°. I have to go out later. I need a couple of life’s necessities, dry dog food and cream.

When I was young, I was a firm believer in Santa Claus. I never questioned the anomalies back then, but as I grew older the doubts appeared. Seriously, all in one night? I remember my mother told me that Santa was magical. He could manipulate time. How big was his book of good and bad children? How could he know all of the children in the world? Yup, Santa was magical. Flying reindeer? Some squirrels flew so why not reindeer? My mother took us to see Santa every year. We knew it wasn’t the real Santa but a stand-in who could communicate with the real Santa who was home in the North Pole making toys with the elves. I remember my mother reading A visit from St. Nicholas to us. I had a few questions. Why did he eat the sash? It was no wonder he threw it up. There were words I didn’t understand but my mother explained. The reindeer were the coursers. The luster of mid-day meant the night was bright. Where was Rudolph in the litany of reindeer? My mother’s answer made sense: he wasn’t needed yet. The lines about the leaves and the wild hurricane meeting the obstacle in the sky totally threw me. I just listened. Santa, however, was perfect, exactly how I knew him. I loved how his belly shook like a bowl full of jelly and how he quickly filled the stockings then up the chimney he rose. I wished I had been the one instead of papa to see Santa.

I don’t remember when I knew for certain Santa Claus wasn’t real. At first, I couldn’t imagine my parents affording all the toys we found under the tree, but as I got older, the doubt became reality. I wasn’t traumatized. I even kept up the pretense for my younger sisters as believing in Santa was one of the best parts of Christmas.

I have several Santa’s for decorating. A few are the light-up plastic Santa’s from the 50’s. On my tree, a Santa and his reindeer are lights that hang on different branches and circle the tree. I have a needlepoint Father Christmas pillow I bought in London then needlepointed for my mother as a Christmas present. It came to me when she passed. I put it way up high so Nala can never find it. I have a Santa playing the piano. Who knew he was musical? I have so many more Santas they take turns as decorations each Christmas.

Nobody asks, but I really still do believe in Santa. Just look round.

Yesterday, the snow was melting, and all I could hear was dripping. It was warm, in the mid 40’s. It felt like spring after all the freezing days in a row. My flannel shirt was enough. The dogs stayed out longer. Nala did zoomies. Henry watched. Today should be the same but probably without the zoomies.

Spiders’ webs crisscross the walls. I haven’t ever seen bigger webs in the house. They look like they belong somewhere scary and haunted, a place kids avoid by walking across the street. I have been wandering from room to room dispatching said webs with my long handled duster.

I made food gifts for my friends. My kitchen hasn’t been that busy in a few years. I filled gift bags with my English toffee, home-made vanilla, chocolate chip and peanut butter cookies. I even tucked in one of those John Hancock Christmas Carol books we all remember. I bought them on e-bay.

I can close my eyes and see the living room in the house where I lived the longest growing up. It wasn’t a big living room. One wall was a picture window with smaller windows on each side. The other long wall was where the couch sat. The TV was in the corner of the room. It was in a big cabinet far too big for the small TV. Every Christmas we moved the TV so the tree could sit in that corner. On the wall behind the couch, Christmas cards were displayed on a string which stretched from one side of the wall to the other. A desk was right by the front door. Beside the desk was a closet. My father always hung his top coat there and put his fedora on the shelf. Sometimes we hung more Christmas cards on the wall behind the desk.

At Christmas time, on the shelf of the picture window was always a candolier with five orange bulbs. The windows on each side held a candle, also with an orange bulb. That seemed the popular color. Our stockings were hung on a small bannister near the bottom of the stairs. The living room was the only room decorated for Christmas.

Every morning we’d open the advent calendar. I remember the excitement mounting day to day as we got closer to Christmas. It made us almost giggly.

The morning feels warm at 33°. The sun is bright, and the blue sky is cloudless. The snow is crusty. It crunched under my feet when I made my way to the car. I finally cleared off the car’s windows and roof. Because I have no scraper, I used a dustpan. It worked better than a scraper as it also cleared the chunks of snow I scraped. The car is ready to go.

Yesterday I made a batch of cookies, chocolate chip cookies to give away. I, of course, had to taste them. They were so good I even had a couple for breakfast. Today I’ll make another batch, peanut butter cookies, then I’ll wrap up the gifts for my friends. The counter is filled with all the finished food gifts and the Christmas bags and wrappings. Once the peanut butter cookies are done I’ll wrap everything.

One year when I was in the seventh or eighth grade, I got an outfit for Christmas. It was a skirt, a white sweater and a gold medallion on a thick chain. Right away I tried it on. It fit perfectly. I decided I would wear it to mass, but it was too early to go to church so I went back to bed and didn’t even change. When I woke up, it was still morning dark, and I was already dressed so I knew I could make the first mass of the morning. That was my favorite Christmas morning walk. I saw no cars or other people. The only sound was the clicking of my shoes on the sidewalk. The morning felt solemn. Some houses were well lit while others were still dark. People were sleeping. I guessed they must be old people. The church was dimly lit. Only a few old ladies sat on the pews in front of the side altar. The priest was by himself, no altar boys. The mass was quick. My walk home was in the sunlight.

Another Christmas, when I was in high school, I got the best gift. It was when I was well beyond the toys for Christmas age, the age when I wanted clothes and books and records. I remember the Christmas when I got the best outfit, the one everyone was wearing. I got a pair of stirrup black stretchy pants, ski pants thought I never skied. I got a bright pink angora sweater. It was fluffy. I also got a ski parka with a zippered front pocket. It had a cord hemmed around the bottom. My mother had outdone herself. She had found the perfect gifts. I couldn’t wait to wear my outfit. I wanted everyone to see.

I would not describe the world as a winter wonderland. It is cold and breezy, only 21°. The snow has crusted. Walking on it makes a crunchy sound. I tried to clear my car but didn’t do well. All my scrapers were left in the crashed car. My broom, my alternate tool, got some of the snow off the car, but a layer of really crusty snow still stays on the windows and needs to be scraped. I was hoping the day would be warmer so the sun would melt the window snow, but it isn’t so I am housebound for the meantime. I missed a concert yesterday and will miss one again today. I’ll figure something out.

When I was a kid, on days like today, I’d be really cold walking home from school. I’d run to my bedroom, take off my school clothes and get into my cozies. That’s when it all started, my love for being cozy. I’d jump, well, not literally but poetically, into bed and snuggle under the covers until I was warm. Sometimes I’d get drowsy and fall asleep. It was the best sort of nap.

The dogs are napping beside each other on the couch. Nala is leaning against me. Henry is curled into a ball. Both are deeply asleep. I aspire to nap like my dogs.

From the time I was little, I knew Christmas magic. It was all around me. Colored lights on bushes and houses shined brightly through the deep winter darkness. The house smelled of pine and cookies baking. Wrapped presents under the tree lent mystery to Christmas though the new pajamas for Christmas Eve were easy to identify. They were always the presents we could open on Christmas Eve. We wanted to pick a different one, but we never won that argument. We’d squeeze and shake the other presents but usually couldn’t figure them out. My sister Moe was adept at making small holes in the presents and figuring out what they were. She made holes in all the presents. I used to love sitting in the living room with only the tree lights, the window lights and the flickering TV screen lit. The tree was the brightest of them all.

We have snow. It started around one with small flakes. Right now the flakes are huge and sporadic. I keep watching. They mesmerize me. We probably have a couple of inches, but some spots have less. I can see my walkway. Let it snow, let it snow!

I am a busy elf. I have started my Christmas goodie making. Yesterday I finished my toffee. While I was finishing the candy, my dogs sat below the counter drooling. I gave them a piece without the chocolate thus perpetuating their drooling.

When I was a kid, by this week, most of the Christmas preparations were finished. All that was left was the baking. My mother set whole afternoons away for the cookies. One of them was spritz cookies. My mother operated the press. You pushed the dough in the press down to the medal plate at the bottom. Each plate had a different design like a wreath or a tree. We never decorated them except my mother would add food coloring to the dough so the trees were green and other cookies were red. I have family stories about spritz cookies. My father only ate the non-colored cookies. He said the food coloring changed the flavor. We just smiled and nodded. One year I gave my mother an electric spritz maker. It went rogue. Dough flew all over. She never used it again. When my sister and her family from Colorado came for Christmas, she had made all sorts of cookies. I too had made cookies. We both made spritz cookies. They were part of our family Christmas lore. I have my mother’s press. I make the cookies every now and then. I color the dough.

Sugar cookies have always been my favorite. My mother had tin cookie cutters with a sort of handle on the top. Now they call them vintage. She had Santa with a pack on his back, a tree, an angel with wings, a reindeer and my favorite, a camel. She’d do the mixing and the rolling, and we’d do the pressing and the decorating. The kitchen smelled so wonderful while the cookies were baking. She’d pull the cookies sheet out of the oven and put them on the counter. We always begged for one. She’d give us one still warm from the oven. It never disappointed. We’d decorate after the cookies had cooled. That was the most fun.

Today I have some more Christmas to make. I won’t tell what as some of friends need to be surprised. Christmas is filled with surprises.