Today is a lovely day to say goodbye to one year and welcome another. The air is so calm the backyard could be a painting, a still life of pines and oaks and brown leaves. The sun is wonderfully bright. The sky, in Crayola speak, is the color blue sky, okay, I even looked it up. If I were a year, I’d love this as my last day.

I have a concert tonight. There are two today, but I can’t leave the dogs alone for so long and way pass their dinner time to go to both concerts. I wish I could. I really enjoy concerts, and these are our last concerts for a bit.

I don’t make resolutions. I used to when I was young, but now, I’ll just keep who I am. I’m content.

I don’t remember when I last partied on New Year’s Eve. I do remember it was a neighborhood progressive party, one where each house served a different course for dinner. I was after the appetizer stop. I offered chili, Texas chili without beans. Two houses later we finished off the meal with dessert. We played games that night. We toasted the new year and raised our glasses high. I think in the history of New Year’s Eve celebrations that one was perfect.

I remember another year when my mother and I did first night in Reading, the next town over from my mother’s. It was their first, first night celebration. We wandered all over town, warm enough in our layers. We stopped at just about every venue. We had donuts and hot chocolate at one stop. We lingered there. We saw a few bands and a bit of a play. We had a wonderful night. I loved spending it with my mother.

I’ll be home tonight. I’ll raise my glass, happy for another year. They are all so precious now.

The rain started last night. It was loud on the roof, a sound I love. This morning the rain was light, almost misty at times, but had since gotten a bit heavier. It will be around most of the day. I was surprised when I let the dogs out at how warm it is, 50°. I do need dry dog food and dog biscuits, but I haven’t decided whether to go today or tomorrow.

When I was a kid, the tree was lit every night after Christmas through New Year’s. The smell of pine filled all of downstairs, but I knew, after New Year’s Day, the tree was doomed, destined for the trash heap. My mother thoughtfully waited until we were back in school before she undressed the tree, before she took down the ornaments and lights. It was a shock to come home to an unlit, undecorated tree standing against the wall. I remember how dark the living room looked and how naked the corner was after my father unceremoniously dumped the tree in the trash outside. I have a picture in my head of the first trash day of the new year. Trees leaned on trash cans up and down the street. Icicles blew in the wind. I felt sad.

Growing up, I never understood the hype around the new year. For me, it was the last day of vacation, not a day to celebrated. Once back in school, I had to remember to put the new year’s date on my papers. It took a few days to shake off the old year.

I don’t celebrate the new year now. I sort of just let it happen. I’ll turn a year older. My head won’t notice but my body will. I used to haul in 50 pounds of cat litter. Now I drag in 20 pounds. I always think I can do what I used to do but I can’t, but that’s okay. I get another year of trying.

It rained during the night. Today is cloudy and dark, but it is warm, mid 50’s. I have no choice but to go out. The larder is empty, no bread, no cream, no cheese, nothing. I need to shop. It is dump day, finally. I have a few more things to load into the trunk. One is a box of litter from Jack’s room upstairs. It is heavy so I take it downstairs one step at a time. Today I miscalculated. I thought I was at the bottom of the stairs but was three steps away. I stepped down on nothing and hit the deck. I cut my hand. It was not an auspicious start to the day.

When I was a kid, I loved my Christmas pajamas. They were usually two piece flannel with a top and bottom. I also loved my new slippers. The tops were wool and the bottoms leather. I always felt cozy. I love cozy. It has become my lifestyle.

I loved the new books I got every Christmas. I remember the year of Little Women. Once I started it, I couldn’t stop reading. I loved Jo the best. She was fearless and outspoken. She was always a bit messy with her skirt askew. I could see myself as Jo. This Christmas, as with every Christmas in my memories, I got a new book. It is from my sister who continues the tradition. It is the new Patricia Cornwell. A perfect choice.

We always hoped for snow and ice for the week after Christmas. That meant sledding and ice skating. We lived in a perfect sledding spot, close to the top of a long hill. We’d pull our sleds to the top, jump on and whiz down the hill. At the bottom of the hill was a road and a fast ride down sometimes had our sleds crossing the road into the field. Any kid already at the bottom would watch for cars. We’d drag our sleds back up the hill for another run. We’d be at it all day until the sled rope had a layer of ice, our mittens were soaked, and we were cold. We’d go into the house through the cellar where we’d leave all our wet clothes. The sled was left upright in a pile of snow. My mother made us cocoa with a dollop of marshmallow. I’d let the marshmallow melt across the whole top of the cocoa before I drank it. I always got a marshmallow mustache.

The rain is back. It started early. It is a warm morning and will get warmer, as high as 44°, winter warm. It will be rainy all day. Today will be my dump day. I’m thinking the rain will keep people away. On Saturdays, usually, you have to wait in line to dump your trash. It is a strange world where you wait in line to dump your trash.

Christmas always brings back so many memories. Last night I sat looking at the tree for a long while. I’d see an ornament and remember. My friend Michelle, with whom I served in Ghana, visited once and gave me three round ornaments from Ghana. They are covered with decorated leather, red and black worn leather. She said I would use them as she never has a tree. They are always on my tree. One year my mother and I went to Italy. I bought a Pinocchio wooden ornament for her in Florence where Carlo Collodi, the author, had lived. She bought me the same ornament. The hand stitched and cloth ornaments are away from Miss Nala’s reach. Sherlock Holmes and Mark Twain are papier-mâché busts. Twain has a book. Eleanor Roosevelt, Edison, George Washington, Hitchcock, Queen Elizabeth, King Henry and a lady who holds a sign, Vote for Women, are all at the top. Captain Hook and Peter Pan hang beside each other. The Wicked Witch from the West is near Hook.

One of the unexpected ornaments is a glass bust of Ruth Baden Ginsburg. She is wearing a bit of her robe and a lacy jabot. Fun ornaments are from Panama, a crab, a croc, a seahorse and an ugly Santa with string hair. Every Christmas, when I decorate the tree, I get to remember the family I’ve lost, the friends who are gone, the travels I’ve taken and all the other Christmases.

When I was a kid, after Christmas was quiet. Our gifts stayed under the tree for a few days, and I’d sit under the tree playing with them or reading a new book. The lights reflected on some of my gifts. It was warm under the tree from the big colored bulbs. Sometimes I fell asleep.

One of the sure signs of the end of Christmas was turkey soup. We had eaten the turkey dinner on the big day, had another dinner the day after, ate open turkey sandwiches awash with gravy, ate other sandwiches with turkey, cranberry sauce, stuffing and toasted bread. My father would bare the turkey of meat, and turkey salad sandwiches were next and were delicious. My mother would then make the soup. After that, the bone was unceremoniously trashed.

The morning is lovely with sun, finally, and a deep blue sky. It is warmish at 39° with no wind. The temperature will even hit the low 40’s. I’m staying home today as my errands can wait for another day. My to-do list has only one chore, vacuuming. I’m still working on my jigsaw puzzle. In the middle of the puzzle is a giant reddish door with a wreath. That is slowing me down, but I’m determined to finish it.

When I was a kid, I remember sitting by the tree looking through my presents again. Opening them on Christmas morning had been a bit frenzied so I took the time to check everything out. That’s when I’d find the surprise. My mother would remember hidden gifts she had forgotten. She would slip them under the tree behind our opened gifts. We’d find them and think we had missed them. Once I found a really old pair of ice skates with leather straps. One strap went over your toes while the other went across your ankles, no keys, nothing to tighten. The skates were from the 30’s. I wish I knew what happened to them.

Christmas dinner was turkey, a repeat of Thanksgiving. We’d eat around one o’clock as did just about everyone else I knew. After dinner, we’d go to my grandparents’ house. The house was filled will relatives, aunts, uncles and cousins, hundreds of cousins. My grandparents always had a present for each of us and a chocolate Santa. My father and the uncles were together watching TV. My mother and the aunts were in the kitchen. It was always that way. I remember it was dark when we left for home. I’d sometimes fall asleep and be surprised when the car stopped, and were home.

Christmas vacation was for a week. We’d play outside as often as we could. If you got a new sled, you wanted snow. New figure skates demanded ice. Dry streets were perfect to ride new bikes. On days when we were stuck inside we’d play the new games we got for Christmas. A new game was always front and center under the tree every Christmas. My all time favorite is still Sorry.

Last night I sat in the living room just looking at my tree. I thought how beautiful. How lovely with so many ornaments filled with memories.

I found a cross-stitch of Santa Claus my mother had sewn and given to me not quite finished. It was in a basket under the table. It needed to be stuffed and stitched close. I did that then put it on my tree. Every time I see it I think of my mother who gave us all Christmas.

Usually my day off is Wednesday, but because yesterday was Christmas, I decided to muse a bit then post my memories of Christmas. I then decided today would be my Wednesday so no Coffee today. We’ll talk tomorrow.

Take Care!

The morning is cloudy and cold. We still have a bit of snow on the ground, mostly on lawns, but calling it a white Christmas would be a stretch. The first thing I did when I came downstairs was to turn on the trees and room lights. The house looks festive and Christmassy. I have presents to open, and the dogs are getting a special treat, a large frosted dog biscuit with HoHoHo on the front. I haven’t told them yet. It’s still a surprise.

My favorite Christmas morning was when I was either 11 or 12. My brother and I were up early when it was still dark. Everyone else was asleep. We got dressed and walked to church, to the first mass of Christmas morning. That had nothing to do with devotion. We just wanted to get mass out of the way so we could go back and open our presents. On the walk, no cars were on the road. Some houses were lit. People were awake. In the stillness, we could hear our footsteps. The church was almost empty. It was barely lit. Some ladies were sitting in front of one of the side altars. None of them were together as they sat singly in the pews. We sat behind all of them. The priest came out by himself, no altar boy. The mass was still in Latin. We could barely hear the whispered voices of the ladies as they gave their responses. We also whispered so as not to call attention to us. The mass was quick, no sermon, so we were on the way home quickly, our obligation finished.

One mother knew just the right gifts to give us. I don’t remember ever being disappointed. I remember being surprised. Her stocking stuffers were fabled. When I was a kid, I knew what I’d always find, crayons and a coloring book, small games, new socks and chocolate candy, but there was always the unexpected. I’d take out one present at a time. When I was older, my mother wrapped all the stocking stuffers, and I still took out one present at a time.

I loved my presents from my sisters. I had so much fun opening them. My sisters have inherited my mother’s gift giving gene. One sister found an original Ding Dong School book. They both gave me cloth ornaments, Santa’s belt and Ben Franklin. I got a few old kitchen tools, and so much more. Both sisters gave me gift cards.

Today will be quiet. I have a special Christmas dinner for this afternoon and a couple of new books, one being the new Patricia Cornwell, and I still need to finish the jigsaw puzzle, but I am making progress. One of my friends gave me cookies and peppermint bark, and my sister gave me a box of chocolate and cinnamon lollipops from See’s Candies so I’m set for goodies. I foresee a wonderful day. May your day be filled with wonder, joy and love.

Merry Christmas, my friends.

The longest night, for any kid, was not the solstice. Christmas Eve was truly the longest night. We used to think going to bed early would make the night pass faster, but my mother thought after dinner was a bit too early. She was right. It was never easy, despite the time, to fall asleep. I could hardly wait for Santa to come.

My parents always went to midnight mass. When they’d get home, it was time for Santa to come so they’d collect the toys from their hiding places and put them in plies around the tree. When I was really young, my grandparents, who also went to midnight mass, would come to my house so they could watch us see our presents. That meant waking us up long before morning. We’d sort of stumble downstairs. The toys were all around the tree. I didn’t know where to look first. My gifts were in the front, in the middle. I remember one Christmas when a giant doll sitting in front caught my eye. I sat and hugged her for a while. My grandparents would leave, and we’d have to go back to bed. It was misery leaving all those wonderful toys under the tree until morning.m

My favorite Christmas Eves were when my mother and I were the only ones awake. I’d pick a present for her to open and she’d do the same for me. They were special presents, the best presents, the ones we knew each of us would love. We’d have a drink and watch a Christmas movie, but one year we watched Christmas horror, a slasher movie, dark comedy, Jack Frost, about a serial killer embodied as a snowman. We watched the whole movie. I admit we did laugh. My trees and candles are lit. I’m going to put my outside lights on all day and night, a celebration. The weather is a bit dismal, shaky, a mixture of rain and snow. The low will be in the 30’s and the high in the low 40’s. I have to go out later. I need to pick up my Christmas dinner and a few groceries. Tonight I’ll build and decorate my gingerbread house then put it up really high. I’m making progress on my jigsaw puzzle. Right now I’m watching It’s a Wonderful Life which I watch every year. It and A Christmas Carol are traditions for me. I can’t even remember how many times I’ve seen them, but that doesn’t really matter. <!– /wp:paragraph – Happy Christmas Eve!

Today is Christmas Eve Eve.

The sun is among the missing but could appear later. I see glimpses of blue. The high today will be 30° which is, I suppose, warm in comparison to the last few days. I have a concert, the last Christmas concert, this afternoon.

We have a little snow from the other day and from a dusting last night. It will never melt. I take baby steps anytime I go outside because the walk and deck are covered in ice, craggy ice which crunches underfoot.

When I was a kid, Christmas brought wonder and joy. It touched every sense. I remember walking down the stairs in the mornings and smelling the tree, the sweetness of the pine. The tree’s aroma filled all of downstairs and even gave upstairs the hint of pine.

Colored lights were everywhere breaking through the winter darkness. The more lights the greater the delight. Every car ride was a light ride. Our tree lit up the living room. The orange window lights shined on the snow when we had a white Christmas. Our living room with just the tree lights lit was awe filled.

The kitchen smelled of cookies baking. The traditional cookie was always the sugar cookie. We got to roll the dough, press in the cookie cutters and finally decorate the cookies. My mother would put a vinyl tablecloth on the table, the better to contain the mess. Bowls of white, green and red frosting were front and center on the table. Colored sprinkles were in bowls on the table. We were traditionalists. Santa wore red, the angel was white and the tree was green. I used a toothpick to dot the trees with colored lights of frosting. Every cookie was a masterpiece.

My mother had a hi-fi. Back then, some stores and companies sold Christmas records so my mother bought a few and played them on the hi-fi. One of the albums was from Grants and a couple were from Firestone. They were the soundtracks for our cookie making. I have those albums, and I have a turntable so I get to hear them again. In my car, I have been listening to Christmas carols since after Thanksgiving. Their season is so short I never tire of them.

I’d walk by the tree and run my hand up and down a branch. The needles got sharp and would sometimes prick my fingers. My hand would smell like pine. I remember Christmas cards with a felted Santa’s suit and sometimes a felted bag. I remember rubbing the cards. They often went on the tree.

I still love being surrounded by Christmas.

Right now it is 20°. We have snow showers. Last night was even colder, down to the teens. What was frozen is still frozen. The birds are at the feeders. When I filled those feeders yesterday, I had to walk across the frozen deck. I went ever so slowly. For the rest of the day, I was a sloth.

Every morning my Alexa wakes me up at 9:30 with a cheery good morning. She tells me the time, even though it is the same every day. She tells me the weather, the high and the low, for the day. She gives me a random fact. Most mornings I then get out of bed. Alexa does her job well.

In Ghana I didn’t have an alarm clock. I had my students. Every morning was filled with sounds. They cleaned the school compound before their morning bucket baths and before their classes. I could hear the swish of the hand brooms as they tidied the ground. The brooms were short and made from grass. You had to bend over to use one. It was the sweeping outside my window which usually woke me up. My students kept my dirt tidy. I could hear chatting though I didn’t know what my students were saying as they spoke to one another in their own languages. Students stood in line for their bucket baths. I could hear the sound of the water when it first hit the metal buckets. That was the last morning ritual.

I love walking around inside my house with all the lights lit. The tree in the living room is my favorite. It does have a dark spot because I couldn’t put the star on the top of the tree, but that’s no nevermind. The scrub pine tree in the dining room has one of the old plastic Santas and an old candolier with three orange bulbs on the floor in front of it. They are two of my favorite decorations. Both of them bring me back to Christmas when I was a kid.

I remember each of the two windows flanking the picture window had a plastic candle with fake plastic candle drippings. The picture window had a five candle candolier. All the candles had orange bulbs. It seemed every house had orange bulbs in the windows. My sister thinks that the orange makes the light look like a flame. I think she’s right. The candoliers were in a plug difficult to reach so we turned the candles on and off by twisting the bulbs. On was easy. Off was not so easy as the bulbs were hot. We used to lick our fingers first so we wouldn’t get burnt.

I remember it was a race to the windows to turn on the bulbs. The race was a bit slower to turn them off.