Winter is here. The high today will be 38°. It’s a pretty day but one best seen through the window from the warm and cozy house. I’m in my comfy clothes. The dogs are upstairs napping on my bed. Jack is sleeping in his kitty teepee. He curls up in a ball and falls deeply asleep.

I have a mouse. The dog biscuit bag has a small chewed hole. I found my have-a heart trap which I’ll set with peanut butter. It has been a long time since a mouse has taken residence. My brother used to say no house has only one mouse. I’m hoping to be the exception.

When I was a kid, I never minded the cold. I liked walking to school on crisp mornings when I could see my breath. What I did mind was being bundled in layers because when I’d get to school it took a while to unbundle. I used to stick my scarf and mittens up the sleeves of my coat. If I wore boots, I’d take them off with my shoes inside then pull out my shoes. I hated boots. You needed the strength of the Hulk to get them back on. I’d pull and pull. My shoes always got stuck at the angle. For the fun of it, I’d sometimes walk around with the boots flopping.

My favorite memories of the house in winter are of the radiators. They hissed and gurgled. I’d watch the steam rise from the nozzle like part on the left side. The water gurgled through the metal loop looking parts of the radiator. I had a radiator under the window on the wall across from the end of my bed. I’d sometimes sit between the bed and the radiator to get warm. I’d put my shoes to dry under it. My mittens went on the top.

The morning is cold, a crisp cold. The sky is mostly gray with a slight tinge of blue. Today will be in the high 30’s so I’m glad for no wind. I have to go to the dump, the cold, always windy, Russian steppes dump.

When I was a kid, after Thanksgiving, when December rolled around, it was time to start thinking about Christmas. I’d spend hours going through the Sears catalog trying to figure out what I wanted. My choices changed every time I looked. I’d circle the gifts, always on the toy pages. I’d use a pencil and put my initials next to my choice. When I changed my mind, and I always changed my mind this early, I’d erase the circle. I never looked through the clothes pages. Christmas was not for clothes.

I remember the threat of Santa Claus. That threat took the place of, “I’m going to tell your father when he gets home.” My father just yelled. Santa put you on the naughty list and gave you coal. My mother was the best threat giver. She had us all scared that we’d find nothing under the tree. The closer we got to Christmas the better we were. The advantage went to my mother.

I’d watch my father when he’d decorate the bushes outside the house. The light bulbs were colored and large. Nobody used white lights back then, not even in windows. I remember the year of orange bulbs in the front windows, one in each side window and a five bulb candolier in the picture window. The candles were white plastic with fake drippings and were so light they had to be taped to the windowsill or they’d fall to the floor.

I’m amazed at the number of houses already decorated for Christmas. I’ll do mine when we get a warmish day. My neighbor’s house was lit up last night for the first time. He has white light wreaths in every front window. I drive slower this time of year so I can see all the lights, especially the lights shining through windows from the Christmas trees inside.

It is cold but today is a wonderful day to take a ride. The sun is framed in a deep blue sky. The air is still. I do have a couple of errands to finish if I am so inclined. I do need bread.

The Ryan household is in the middle of a computer crisis. A while back my MacBook Pro stopped charging so I started using my iPad; however it has developed the same issue. I will try to get my PC fixed and hope the iPad keeps on chugging. If I am unlucky, Coffee will be on a forced hiatus.

I think I may be maligning Nala. I know she is guilty of theft but maybe not as much as I suspected. Yesterday I was doing a bit of cleaning. My stuffed toy sloth fell out of a basket to the floor. When I went to pick it up, it had disappeared. Henry had stolen it and carried it into the hall.

I think I am in danger of being drummed out of the sloth family. Yesterday I vacuumed a couple of rooms and watered the plants. Today I needed to find a folder so I attacked the three baskets under the table in the den. I filled two bags with recyclables and another bag with trash. I neatened every basket. I then vacuumed the den and hall. I am exhausted.

My father picked the turkey carcass clean. He was a master at it. He left little on the bone, only a few bits for the broth when the carcass boiled. I think turkey soup was my favorite left over. Warm bread for dunking made the meal almost heavenly.

I don’t remember when we started decorating for Christmas, but it was never early enough for me. We had ceramic Santas, Noel cups and cardboard decorations which were the first to come out of the boxes. The nativity went up without baby Jesus. He didn’t appear until Christmas. The tree was last. My father always picked out our tree even though he wasn’t the best tree picking expert. Cost was part of his decision. The tree always had bare spots. He unraveled the lights, clumped together in a box. He was never patient. I remember the bulbs were big and got hot. Once the lights were on the tree, he was done. That was his contribution. The rest of us carried on. My mother was always the last to finish decorating. She was the icicle lady, one strand at a time.

The morning is a delight, sunny and still. It is in the mid-40’s. The air smells sweet. I had a surprise at the bird feeders. A goldfinch has found the thistle. He joins the chickadees, the nuthatches and the titmice dining off my deck. I have to fill those feeders today. The birds are always hungry.

Yesterday was a great Thanksgiving. I accepted an invitation for a late dinner at my friends’, my former neighbors, house. It was a wonderful evening. We sat around the kitchen table chatting, drinking mimosas and eating all the traditional and a few not so traditional foods as my friends are Brazilian. We bemoaned the election as both friends had voted for Kamala. I saved my own dinner for today. I also cooked the turkey, the big one which could feed a small army. I’ll be eating turkey for days. The dogs got the innards. They were thankful.

When I was a kid, my favorite after Thanksgiving lunch was a toasted sandwich filled with turkey, stuffing and cranberry sauce. Sometimes it was slathered with butter and other times mayonnaise. My favorite supper was turkey covered with gravy on a piece of bread with stuffing on the side. Finally, the remnants of the turkey became turkey salad and turkey soup. I never got bored with turkey.

We were a game family. We played cards and board games usually at the kitchen table. I remember starting with Chutes and Ladders and Candyland. They were easy so we could move our own pieces, As we got older, though, the games got a bit more complicated. I loved Go to the Head of the Class. The pieces were small cardboard heads on stands, and the board looked like a classroom. You moved on desks from the bottom to the top. A question book was divided into difficult categories so my parents got hard questions. I still have our original game and all the pieces. The question book has yellowed.

The all time best game was and is Sorry. We still play it but with more vindictiveness than we ever conjured as kids. Our language tends to be salty. We keep track of wins and losses. We make fun of the loser. The adult game of Sorry is not for the thin skinned or for the tender hearted.

My dance card is empty until next week. I could make a to-do list, but I’m feeling like a sloth and to-do nothing seems the better choice. I have scheduled a nap.

Today is a melange of posts from Coffee’s past Thanksgivings. Some posts you might remember, but they are so a part of my Thanksgiving memories they need to be here. I remember and miss dearly my mother and father. These memories keep them close.

Happy Thanksgiving!

I wish you all a day filled with family and good friends. As you sit around the table enjoying a good meal and each other, think of all your gifts and blessings and give thanks.

On Thanksgiving morning when I was a kid, we’d all be sitting still in our pajamas in front of the TV watching the parade. We’d be noshing, as my mother would have said, on tangerines, mixed nuts in the shell and M&M’s, plain M&M’s. I liked the Brazil nuts but not the almonds. The aroma of the turkey would have already filled the house. My mother woke in the early morning to stuff it and put it in the oven. Every year it was a huge turkey, good for days of leftovers. My mother filled it with sage stuffing, still my favorite. While we watched the parade, my mother stayed in the kitchen peeling vegetables. Potatoes were always first, and there were plenty. My father’s asparagus, canned asparagus, was put in a small pan on the back burner. My mother peeled the small pearl onions for creamed onions, one of my favorite vegetables. Niblet corn and sometimes carrots filled out the menu. All four burners had pots filled with vegetables. I especially remember one pot because I think my mother had it forever. The pot had a dent and a black spot on the side which never disappeared. It usually held the potatoes. I remember the heat and steam when my mother opened the over to baste the turkey with butter and steal a bit of the crusty stuffing, hers by right of being the cook.

Befitting the occasion, we sat in the dining room. The table always looked lovely covered in a holiday tablecloth and set with special dishes. I can see my father at the head of the table. He loved gravy and mashed potatoes. He loved the canned cranberry sauce. He loved asparagus right out of the can. My favorites were creamed onions and a special squash dish, a recipe from my aunt. The table groaned with dishes. Passing those filled dishes around the table took some maneuvering with the table so tightly packed with food.

My father ate quickly so he could get back to his football games. The rest of us sat at the table to finish eating. Soon enough, the table emptied, and my mother and I tag-teamed for the cleanup. I cleared the table, and she loaded the dishwasher, and we both cleaned the kitchen. After everything was cleared, we brought out the pies. The always pies were apple and lemon meringue. Sometimes they’d be blueberry, pumpkin or sweet potato. My father went right for a huge slice of apple pie with cheddar. I had lemon meringue.

I am grateful today for so many things but especially for these memories filled with family. I love my family and my friends who have become family. I hold my Coffee family close. We have never met but that’s no never mind. You don’t need to be related or even have met to be family. I am so thankful for the life I have been lucky enough to live. Today I’ll miss family and friends. It will be a quiet Thanksgiving but still a celebration. I’ll wear my turkey earrings, sumptuously dine and maybe even get dressed.

The morning is cloudy and chilly. The air has the feel of late fall. Yesterday’s wind is gone. It will rain today.

I have only two uke events this week, practice tonight and a concert tomorrow. We are starting to practice Christmas music. December is heavy with concerts.

Last night I watched a Christmas Carol film I hadn’t ever seen. It starred Fredric March as Scrooge and Basil Rathbone as Marley. I did some hunting and found it had been a television episode in 1954 of a program called A Shower of Stars. It was under an hour. The story had music, wandering Carolers, a duet with Scrooge and Belle and Tiny Tim singing by the Christmas tree in the Cratchit house. To accommodate this music the ghosts had far shorter visits, especially the ghost of Christmas yet to come who brought Scrooge to Tiny Tim’s grave. The stone only read Tiny Tim. Despite the shortened length, I enjoyed my first Christmas Carol of the season.

My grandmother had a couple of brothers. I met them both, Uncle Otto and Uncle Henry. Sue was Uncle Henry’s wife. Every time I saw her, she was wearing one of those big round hats women in the 1950’a wore. She never really talked to me or anyone. She just sat on the couch and smoked. My father used to visit Uncle Henry. He’d bring him cigars and magazines. Everyone thought Uncle Henry was poor, but he left Sue a lot of money when he died. My father took me on one visit. Uncle Henry gave me a book of Christmas stories. I still have it.

Thanksgiving smells of pies baking and of turkey slowly roasting in the oven. When my mother would open the oven door to baste the turkey, the aroma would fill the house. That made the wait until dinner almost unbearable.

Today is windy. It will be in the high 40’s. The sun and the blue sky will be around all day. I have some errands, and I think I’ll take a ride. The chickadees are back and have joined the titmice in flying in and out of the feeders. They don’t go far. They fly to nearby branches where they eat. I also saw a few nuthatches and a giant blue jay. A spawn waited on a branch for its opportunity to hang from the feeders and eat all the sunflower seeds. Nala dissuaded him of that. He was off and running.

When I was a kid, I thought idioms were truths. The nuances of the English language were lost on the young me. Money certainly didn’t grow on trees. That seemed silly. Everybody knew that. When I first heard break a leg, I was shocked. What a horrible thing to say. My father would say someone was a good egg. In Africa I saw the actual difference between a good egg and a bad egg. One floats and the other drops to the bottom of the bucket. Never pick the floater unless you’re going to use it to egg someone on. I’d pick a piece of cake over easy as pie. I remember interviewing a candidate for a secretarial position. In answering one question she said, “That hit the nail right on the nose.” How do people know when clams are happy? They don’t smile. That was always a bit of a puzzler. I’d prefer to take the cake, not the bull by the horns.

Some things are a dime a dozen while others are just a drop in the bucket. You can have an ace in the hole and another up your sleeve. You can be all ears and all thumbs. I am the latter, sort of a bull in a china shop. Curiosity killed the cat despite its nine lives.

Idioms are colorful. They are versatile. Some go out of fashion, but new ones take their places. I am a fan of idioms. They are the bee’s knees, the cat’s meow, just the ticket, top notch and usually hit the bull’s eye.

Yesterday’s rain has given way to a bright, pretty day. The sky is a deep blue. A now and again wind blows the tallest branches of the pine trees. It will be in the 50’s.

Yesterday was a good day. Nala met with Santa who seemed inclined to forgive her nefarious ways. I sort of won a turkey. I was the first. My radio station, Koffee FM, was broadcasting from Agway. They were giving away turkeys every 15 minutes. Mine now sits defrosting in the fridge. It is big enough to feed a small town. The Turnip Festival concert was excellent. We had a huge number of players and a wonderful audience. They loved the bluegrass music. Christmas tune practice starts this week.

When I was a kid, I didn’t like many vegetables. My mother cooked what she thought we’d eat. I never tasted Brussels sprouts, turnips, spinach, broccoli and so many more. The list is long. I ate carrots hidden by my crafty mother in potatoes. I ate celery because I didn’t know it was a vegetable. I ate potatoes, fried and mashed. I never gave their status a thought. I loved summer fresh corn, but I also ate kernel corn and creamed corn. I just didn’t like the way creamed corn spread all over my plate. Baby peas were my favorite veggie. It was always on the Thanksgiving table.

I never saw a live turkey. I saw pictures. I also never saw a live chicken. As far as I was concerned they came wrapped and ready for cooking. The turkey had its innards, its giblets, liver and heart, and its neck, stuffed into the cavity. My sister cooked her first turkey with them still inside. My other sister was a bit taken aback when she found out we didn’t stuff the head. In Ghana I had to buy my chickens live. I picked out the ones I wanted in the market, the ones destined for the table. Chickens were never pets. We didn’t get friendly. They were dinner.

Well, the weatherman was right. It did rain yesterday, and the rain continues today, but I have no complaints. All rain is welcome.

Today is busy. My inner sloth is screaming in protest. I have to leave shortly to take Nala to see Santa. She is my only dog without a Santa picture so I’ll remedy that today. She has a list of what she wants, but if I were Nala, I’d be a bit worried about possibly being on the naughty list. The other day I had to do another trash pick-up in the yard. She was so brazen she picked up some trash from my pile and ran with it. I had to trek to the way back of the yard where she had left it. That sounds like the naughty list to me.

When I get back from Santa, I have only a short while before I have to leave for a uke concert in Eastham for the turnip festival. We are playing bluegrass.

On the days before Thanksgiving, my mother was busy getting ready for the big day. Because she didn’t learn to drive until she was in her 30’s, my mother had to wait for my father to take her grocery shopping. Friday was her usual shopping day. I remember my father lugging in all those bags filled with the usual groceries and also the fixings for Thanksgiving dinner. The turkey was so large it took up the whole bottom shelf of the fridge where it defrosted. That took days. My mother would put a few groceries on the counter and on the floor because there was no room anywhere else.

The baking started a few days before Thanksgiving. My mother always made a few pies. For my father, she always made apple. He loved it with a slice of cheddar cheese. Lemon meringue was my favorite. I know it isn’t a traditional Thanksgiving dessert, but my mother baked it for us. Sometimes she made pumpkin, blueberry or custard.

Part of the preparation was my mother would hunt down and wash the serving dishes she only used on holidays. I remember the glass pickle dish and the dish she used for celery. A wooden bowl with crackers and picks was for the assorted nuts. I found the same type bowl years ago at an antique store and bought it. I always put it on my table right near the pickle dish I bought.

It is always before Thanksgiving and Christmas when I most think of my mother who made each of those holidays so special. She was in the kitchen for days. I used to be her sous chef. We’d chat the whole time and listen to music. Those were the best times.

The morning is clear and bright but best seen from inside the house. The wind is cold. I filled the bird feeders earlier, all 5 of them, and couldn’t wait to get back inside for a cup of hot coffee.

Despite the sun and blue sky, showers are predicted. I am a bit skeptical. It rained all day yesterday and last night. The rain was heaviest at night.

When I was a kid, our neighborhood was filled with kids. We lived in the project, not a brick city project but a project of duplexes with front yards and flower beds. We moved from South Boston to the project when I was almost five. We lived at the top of the hill. After my sister was born, we moved to a larger duplex. All my growing up was in that house. It was on the corner close to the top of the hill. We had a bigger front yard than the other houses. It was a grassy, little hill. Most fathers were World War II vets, my own included. Most kids were younger than I, only a couple were older. My best friend lived at the of the top of the hill in our first duplex.

I have so many memories of living in that house. Every Christmas the tree was in the same corner. We had to move the TV. My father’s favorite chair was by the picture window. There were two closets almost right beside each other. One held coats while the other was a sort of junk closet. The furniture was always in the same spot. It was never rearranged. The upstairs hall was small. My bedroom faced the backyard. It was right beside the bathroom.

My memory drawers hold all of my life in no certain order. The earliest days are now a single picture or a simple memory. The longer stories have faded. I am always surprised when a memory jumps, triggered by a smell or a picture or even a taste, from one of those drawers. Mostly they are small memories, not spectacular events. I think those are the most treasured.