The first thing I do every morning is let the dogs loose. After that I light the trees, the Santa’s and the stars. The house twinkles.

I see and feel the cold just by looking out the window. It is a perfect day to stay inside and bundle under the afghan on the couch and read with a couple of dogs beside me keeping me warm.

We had a dusting of snow last night then rain then freezing cold. The road is rutted with ice. The low today will be 17°. The high will be 32° as if that can be described as high.

My mother used to tease me about presents. She’d tell me knew what I was getting, and how much I’d love it. Even when I was an adult she’d tease. It was always one of the fun traditions of Christmas.

We always had an Advent calendar with little doors which were numbered 1 to 25. We’d take turns opening the day’s door. The 25th was always the manger scene. The other doors had toys, Christmas trees and an angel or two. The higher the number the closer we got to Christmas and the more excited we’d get. I remember counting the unopened doors so I knew how far away Christmas was.

My mother always put a few wrapped presents under the tree. I think she did it deliberately to drive us crazy. We’d shake and squeeze the presents hoping to guess what they were. The pajamas, destined to be opened on Christmas Eve, were easy. My sister knew what many of the other presents were. She could see through the small hidden hole she had torn in each present.

Every year the school had a Christmas fair. It was up the street at the town hall. We walked there in class lines in twos accompanied by the nuns, but once we’d arrive, the nuns let us loose. The big hall had tables filled with gifts and cookies. My mother would give us money to buy gifts and lunch, usually a hot dog. The best table was the children’s table. It was loaded with gifts to buy which were a dime or a quarter. One year my sister bought my mother a Christmas cactus. It was kept on the end of the kitchen table by the window. It got enormous over the years and flowered every Christmas. It lived for 60 or 65+ years.

Today I still need to fill the bird feeders as I couldn’t in the rain. I hope to build the gingerbread house I bought yesterday, and I have a Christmas jigsaw puzzle to put together. I also have my book. The day will be filled.

Last night it rained, but the morning is clear and bright. It is in the 40’s. Tonight will be a bit more wintry, down to the 30’s. By Saturday, that will be the daytime temperature. It’s a perfect time to snuggle under a blanket on the couch. I’m thinking a cup of cocoa in hand with Marshmallow Fluff floating on the top would hit the spot.

When I was a kid, the mailman came twice a day during the Christmas season. Our mailbox was filled with cards each time. We’d take turns opening the cards then hang them on the string strung across the living room wall behind the couch. My mother had a card box filled with index cards with names at the top. She’d keep track of sent and received cards. If a couple of years went by with no card, my mother would stop sending a Christmas card to the miscreant. Their index card was banished to the back of the box.

I’d lie on the floor in front of the tree and go through the Sears catalog time and time again. I wanted to make sure I didn’t miss anything, and I wanted to keep my list for Santa up to date. No clothes ever made the list, no self-serving kid ever wanted clothes at Christmas.

We watched Santa Claus on TV in the afternoons. He was on a station from New Hampshire. He’d chat, show toys the elves had made and sometimes read a book. He’d countdown the days until Christmas Eve, his big day. I remember on that day he’d get the reindeer ready and remind us we needed to be asleep before his arrival.

Christmas lights brighten every room in my downstairs, even the bathroom. I go around every night turning them on. The tree is always first. I light it then stand awhile just looking at the tree. It always delights me. The table lights, the fireplace lights and three Santas are next. I leave the lamps unlit. The room is magical. The room is lit with Christmas.

My house smells like Christmas. The aroma of pine fills the air. Cinnamon, cloves, cranberries and orange rinds simmer on the stove. It smells almost good enough to eat.

Sorry about yesterday. It was late afternoon when I got home, and I needed to decorate my tree. I’m happy to say it is ready for ornaments. The lights and tinsel are on the tree. It took me a while to get the tinsel just right. I also added popcorn and cranberries strings, stars and a strand of colorful balls of yarn. The tree is perfect.

It started raining around two this morning. It is gone now, but the rain left the day dark and damp; however it does have a saving factor. Right now it is 53°.

When I was a kid, I always wanted a white Christmas. Snow at Christmas seemed magical. After all, Santa had a sleigh. How could we build Frosty without snow? Even Scrooge had snow. I’d look out the window hoping for a miracle. Sometimes I got one.

In Ghana, where I lived, Christmas was harmattan time when hot, dry winds carried sand from the Sahara. The days were often hazy, and the sun was hidden. The dryness chapped my lips and my heels cracked. I slathered everything with lotion, but I had to walk on my tiptoes for a while. One good part of the harmattan was the bugs disappeared. Another was the dry heat during the day which made the, sometimes, 100° more bearable, but the best parts were the nights. The temperature dropped sometimes as low as the 60’s, and I swear it got down to the 50’s a few nights. I was cold. It was the most wonderful feeling. I bought a wool blanket, still have it.

When I had a party on Christmas Eve my first year in Ghana, my house was filled with Peace Corps volunteers going north. They had stopped in Bolgatanga, where I lived, to get transport as Bolga was close to the northern border of Ghana and what was Upper Volta, now Burkina Faso. Toward the end of the party, some of us went outside behind my house and sat and talked. The night was magnificent. The sky was so filled with stars the darkness had disappeared. The air was chilly, a wonderful feeling after the heat of the day. It was then we realized that this night filled with stars and a bit of a chill might just be the same as that night in Bethlehem. We sat quietly for a bit then went back into the house.

That first Christmas so far from home was unexpectedly amazing.

The heat is blasting trying to ward off the cold. It is 31°. The car windows are covered with frosty looking snowflakes. The grass crunches underfoot. It is indeed a winter wonderland.

My tree has already filled the house with the sweet aroma of pine; however, it is still undecorated. I hauled so many boxes up and down yesterday I ran out of steam. Today I have a concert so I will decorate later. The lights are ready to be strung.

I caught Nala in the act of stealing a shepherd, one with a sheep across his shoulders. I yelled for her to stop, and she ignored me as usual. I followed her outside calling her a bad dog and asking her to drop it. Nala hates being called a bad dog especially when she is guilty of something. She stops, wags her tail and her body, the way only a boxer does, and drops her pelf. The shepherd was saved! The nativity is now under wraps.

When I was a kid, every day was agony, another day to wait until Christmas. Time stretched out seemingly forever. In school we sang Christmas carols and practiced for the play of the big day, the birth. We practiced the Bible verses about the trip to Bethlehem, the announcement from the angels, the surprise of the shepherds and the birth in the stable. We had to memorize our lines. They were exact from the Bible. They weren’t easy. I was an angel. I told the shepherds.

When I was a kid, I never doubted the existence of Santa Claus. Maybe if I had stopped to think, I’d have caught on to the ploy. Naughty or nice list? Santa sees you when you are sleeping and when you’re awake? What parent wouldn’t use the threat of Santa? We were good out of fear.

My mother told me I knew all the words to ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas when I was little. I got the meaning of the story. I just didn’t know what all the words meant. I remember being perplexed when the man opened his window threw up the sash. Why did he eat it in the first place?

Today is mostly sunny with a blue sky and a few clouds. Today is also cold, 32°, but it is winter and mid-December. At least there is no wind. My tree is coming inside. My boxes of decorations are up from the cellar, but I still need to carry up part of the tree stand and the box of tree lights. I think that will make a total of nine or ten trips up and down the stairs. I need a Sherpa.

When I was a kid, decorating the tree was my favorite Christmas tradition. We each had our parts. My dad brought in the tree and secured it in the tree stand. He put on the lights but only after untangling all the strands. He was not a patient man when it came to puzzles like Christmas tree lights. The rest of us were the decorators. My mother was tasked with putting the garlands on the tree. They were made of foil and were different colors. We had red and green and silver and a few odds ones with colored beads. Her next task was to place the large ornaments at the top of the tree away from danger. After that we all decorated. Our heights determined where we put the ornaments. My sisters filled the lower branches, my brother and I the middle and my mother the top. My father watched. His jobs were done.

Last to go on the tree were the controversial icicles. Other than my mother, we usually tried to toss the icicles in bunches on the branches. We were tired by the time it came to icicles. Putting them, one at time, on the ends of the branches seemed an endless task. My mother would take the bunches off the tree and place them one a time. Every year she told us the same thing. They are supposed to look like real icicles, like the ones which hung down from the eaves of the house. We did that for a while, tired of it and let my mother do the rest.

I remember the finished tree. It was covered in colored lights, the shining garlands and all the different ornaments. When I would stand back to take it all in, I was filled with awe. It was the most beautiful tree.

When I decorate today, my heart will be filled with all those memories. I will stand back and still be filled with awe.

The morning is pretty but cold, the low 30’s. The high for the day won’t be much better. It is a bundle up day.

I have just about finished decorating. Last will be the tree I bought yesterday. It sits outside in a bucket filled with water. Before it goes up, I need to move furniture and bring up my tree stand from the cellar. That will probably be tomorrow.

Nala has sunk to new depths. Yesterday I heard her drop something substantial so I went to check. She picked up the unknown object and ran out the dog door, her acknowledgement of guilt. I followed. She saw me and ran to back of the yard. I have learned to ignore her and check later. When I went to check, I found a wiseman from my old nativity set. I also found a lamb. That dog has no respect.

When I was a kid, I never really minded winter. I walked to and from school every day no matter how cold. My mother made sure no bit of cold air could penetrate the bundling. On the coldest days I wore ski pants under my skirt. It wasn’t the best fashion choice, but it was warm.

We went to see Santa Claus. I remember being in the line at Jordan Marsh. It was always long. Jordan’s had the best Santa. He looked exactly the way I expected. We never minded the wait to get to Santa because the Enchanted Village was along the walk. The village had amazing scenes of houses and shops and snow and sledding. It was animated and every scene was elaborate. It was, I learned later, Victorian. In the inside scenes, the rooms were dressed for the holiday. Families were dressed in their finery. The women and girls wore long dresses. Boys sometimes wore sailor suits while men wore jackets and ties. Outside the people wore coats, and the little girls’ coats were elaborately embroidered. Boys wore hats with flaps. Girls wore round hats sometimes with flowers. The shops were filled with goods. I remember the pies in the bakery, the ice cream in the shop and the toys for sale in the windows.

We were filled with wonder.

In the last few days, I have been thinking it might be time to build the ark. It has been pouring constantly for a couple of days. Last night, the rain, coupled with the wind, sounded fearsome, threatening. The dogs stuck their noses out the door and turned right around to stay inside the house, no dumb animals there. Imagine my surprise when I woke up and saw the morning. It is sunny and 42°. The wind is slight. It is a lovely day.

My house is beginning to look a lot like Christmas. I decorated yesterday but still have more to do. I will finish today and then get my tree this afternoon after my concert. After I wrestle it into the house, I’ll try to get at least the lights on it.

Oh no! Santa is no longer among the living. His round little belly is strewn about the yard. His bundle of toys is gone. Consequently, Nala has moved to the top of the naughty list, but I will shoulder some of the blame. I didn’t put old St. Nick up high enough.

I fear for my tree. I may have to have naked lower branches.

When I was a kid, our tree was in the corner of the living room where the TV usually was. The stand was one of those metal ones with the screws which held the trunk tightly in the stand. My father used to put up the tree. He’d have one of us, either my brother or me, hold the trunk while he’d be under the tree on his stomach tightening the screws. He’d keep checking to make sure the tree was secure then we could let go. Mostly the tree was held fast except for that one time.

I remember when the tree fell. It could have fallen left or right or backwards and been braced by walls. No, of course not. It fell slowly forward out of the stand to the rug. I saw it fall. Ornaments fell onto the floor, a few broke. My parents weren’t home so it was up to my brother and me to save the tree. We got it upright by pulling the trunk. We tried to reset the stand but couldn’t. The screws were too tight. The only thing we could do was hold the tree upright. We took turns.

When my parents got home, my father hurried to grab the tree. We explained what had happened. The stand was tilted to one side. My father did his best to get the tree secured in the stand then he had the solution. He attached a wire to the trunk on each side of the tree then strung the wires to the locks on the windows beside the tree. One of us held the tree while he saved it. That tree did not fall again.

The morning is damp and dark, a leftover from last night’s rain, but it is warm, 46°. I’m going to decorate today. I started yesterday by hauling my scrub pine tree from the cellar. I had to do it one step at a time and use both hands to hold it. I was afraid it was an accident waiting to happen but it didn’t. The tree is in the corner of the dining room, its usual spot, and is lit. I put a small tree skirt around the bottom. It grew legs and moved to the kitchen. I wonder how.

The tricky mouse is still on the loose. This morning the trap was empty and still had peanut butter. That mouse is a bugger.

Christmas has always been special to me. That started when I was a kid. I remember sitting at the kitchen table making ornaments. My mother had all the decorations, pipe cleaners, lace, ribbon, do-dads, bottles of Elmer glue and styrofoam balls, on the table. I remember I decorated what I imagined was an angel. Pipe cleaner arms held a small cardboard book of music. I made a halo, also out of a pipe cleaner. A few gems decorated the front. I even added hair made from string. I thought it a masterpiece. It was voted ugliest ornament.

I was good at decorating sugar cookies. My mother made the cookies using aluminum cookies cutters. We had Santa, a reindeer, a bell, an angel and a tree. My mother made the frosting and colored it red and green. She left some white frosting, beard white. There were small, round cinnamon candies for buttons. I remember using a toothpick to put lights on the decorated tree. I got artsy and added frosting string to connect the lights. I had come a long way from the ugly angel.

We made construction paper chains to circle the tree. We cut thin strips of paper, glued each strip to make a circle then glued the circle to the chain. I loved seeing anything I made on the tree. All pride aside, I even used to put my ugly angel on the tree. When I first bought my house, I had very little money left over after paying the mortgage. I did buy a tree that first year, but I had very few ornaments and only a couple of lights strands. I decide to make a construction paper chain. I glued the circles together and put them on the tree. The look looked so festive and colorful. I used to sit in the living room just to look at the tree.

I remember one night. I could hear the sound of paper. When I looked at the tree, I could see of some of the rounds had come apart. The glue hadn’t held. I took the chain off the tree and stapled the rings together and put the chain back on the tree. Disaster avoided.

My hand-made ornaments got better the older I got. I even made ornaments for Christmas gifts. My friends and family loved them. One year my mother gave me my award winning ugly angel. I put that on the tree every year.

Last night was downright cold. My car was covered in frost this morning. I gave thanks that I no longer have to scrape windows before work. The morning is already getting warmer. We are up to 42°. We’re having a heat wave. Where’s my Hawaiian shirt?

My dance card is filled with uke this week. Tonight is our Christmas party, Tuesday is practice, Wednesday my lesson followed by an afternoon concert and on Thursday and Friday more concerts. My house is nearly bare of decorations. I need to find time in between my uke events to Christmas my house. I’m starting today.

I’m the mouse in the maze, sort of. I set the trap yesterday morning. When I checked later, the peanut butter was gone and so was the mouse. I figured he was sitting in the cabinet full and happy. Being an eternal optimist, I refilled the trap. This morning, the sassy rodent had struck again. The peanut butter was gone. I made a couple of adjustments in the trap and reset it. I want that mouse. He’s mine.

Winter was inevitable. Even as a kid I knew that. It was the season of bundling. It was walking to school in the cold mornings and seeing my breath, my sort of personal winter, sort of icy, fog. The walk to school in winter was quiet. My friend and I whispered without even realizing. Frost covered parked car windows. Houses still had their lights on to counter the winter morning darkness. I remember how happy I was to get to school, to the warm building.

During my first year in Ghana, I was dreading Christmas, my first Christmas ever away from home. Nothing was familiar. Fir trees didn’t grow. Houses and streets weren’t decorated with lights. I heard no greetings of Merry Christmas. It was the harmattan, hot, dry days and cooler nights, no hopes of a white Christmas. I didn’t write home about what I was feeling, but I think my mother knew. She sent me a box of Christmas spirit. She and my aunt paid the postage to send it airmail, a not so small fortune. In the box was a fir tree, not tall but perfect regardless, decorations for it, some from the family tree, brick crepe paper to make a sort of fireplace, a small Christmas stocking, Christmas cookie cutters and sprinkles. In that box, I found Christmas. I could see it, but most of all, I could feel it.

Night owls don’t miss much. Around 2:30, I let the dogs out before bed. A light snow was falling, a dusting left only on the deck, not the driveway. The dogs left paw prints. This morning the snow is gone, done in by the warmth, now 48°. The sky has dark clouds. The wind is strong and blowing all the branches of the pines and oaks. Rain is predicted.

When I was a kid, the first view of each winter’s snowfall was glorious. I remember yelling, “It’s snowing,” and running to the picture window to watch, to see the snow fall in the light of the streetlight at the end of the front yard. The flakes seemed to glitter and shine in that light. Sometimes a wind blew the flakes sideways. The heavier the snow the happier I was. I had visions of the morning fire alarm sounding its no school signal. My sled could come out of hibernation. Winter was now official.

I remember building the first snowman of the season. He was usually small and had dirt and grass embedded in his body. I gave my snowman a face and stick arms, a bit of personality. That first snowman stood on the grass in front of the house but seldom lasted too long.

I loved when my father pulled our sleds behind his car with a rope tow. The street was plowed but a slight layer of snow stayed on the road. He’d drive his car back and forth, up and down the road. Usually two of us would sit on the sled for the ride. It always seemed fast but never was. It always seemed safe and always was.

I remember when my sled morphed into a toboggan. I was older. We’d toboggan on the golf course, the one with hills. We loved the hills and bumps and being a bit air lifted from our seats. We’d stay all day, walking up the hill pulling our toboggan and flying down the hills.

I don’t remember when I became an adult and snow stopped being fun. It was something to shovel, to clear off the sidewalk and free the car. One thing, though, never disappeared, the joy of no school. I’d listen to the radio and cheer when my school where I taught was on the list.