Today is mostly sunny. It is in the 40’s. Tonight will be cold. That’s the weather pattern. Last night it rained enough I could hear it on the roof. Meanwhile, Henry was banging on the dog door and opening it with his head. He wasn’t happy when the rain started.

When I was a kid, the Sears catalog was required reading this time of year. It was thick and heavy and filled with pictures of toys and games and almost anything a kid would want for Christmas. I used to circle what I wanted and put my name inside the circle so there would be no doubt as to who wanted that toy, but it seemed every time I pored through the book, my choices changed. I’d cross out the old ones and circle the new ones. I’d make my list for Santa and even provide the item numbers so they’d be no confusion. I never thought it was odd to connect Santa and the Sears catalog. I just assumed he knew.

We used to make ornaments for the tree. My mother would fill the middle of the kitchen table with all sorts of ornament making stuff like scraps of cloth, glue, sparkles, string, construction paper, pipe cleaners, crayons and styrofoam balls. One year I made an angel holding a book of carols. She had a pipe cleaner halo, pipe cleaner arms and string for hair. She was voted the ugliest ornament. I put her on the tree anyway.

I used to love to color. We had assorted crayons in cigar boxes. Seldom did we throw away a crayon so they were all different lengths. The labels were gone so the crayons were just blue and red and green instead of colors like cerulean, melon or sienna. We had Christmas coloring books. That was about the only time I used the white crayon. It was for the beard, the fur on Santa’s clothes and the snow, but you could hardly tell. I used to layer the white.

I love Christmas carols. I’m already playing them in the car. I never think it is too early. Christmas carols have a short season and deserve more attention. Our uke concerts this month are all Christmas. We dress accordingly in red. We wear Christmas fascinators and bring lots of noise makers, lots of bells. Our concerts are an adventure.

My dance card for the week is uke heavy: practice, a lesson, a little concert for a friend, and two regular concerts. I changed my uke strap to Christmas and have a pile of stuff to take with me. I’m ready to welcome the season, musically!

The morning is a delight, a visual delight. The sky is a never ending blue. The sun is stark, sharp, as it often is this time of year. It is cold at 39°. The leaves on the branches are tumbling in the strong breeze. They are the leftover oak leaves. It is nap time for the dogs.

It was an exciting day yesterday. Henry went to the vets. I’m thinking a new Golden Book, Henry visits the Veterinarian. The cover can be Henry in a dog’s hospital gown with a white jacketed vet beside him holding a stethoscope.

Henry surprised me. I had put an afghan and my fleece cover on the back seat. He jumped right inside. He didn’t cry or have spit hanging. He laid right down on my fleece. At the parking lot, he pulled on the leash so I stopped every few feet to keep control. Inside Henry sat between my legs. He was fine in the exam room. He even let the vet check him. I had brought Henry because he kept scratching at his ear, shaking his head and gnawing on two paws. The vet dabbed inside each ear and checked under the microscope. Henry has infections in both ears. He has an allergic reaction on his feet causing the itching. They cleaned his ears and sprayed an anti-biotic into each ear. They gave me pills for the allergies, expensive pills, which he’ll take every day for a bit more than a week. They cut his nails. Henry was wonderful. As for me, I’m still reeling at the cost. The pills alone were nearly $150.00.

The drama was at home. Nala got out when I tried to go in. Henry pulled out of his collar and followed her. They ran across the street then back and forth. This was new territory for them. Henry got close once then took off again. I called and called and finally Nala came and went inside. Henry followed.

Duke, my childhood boxer, seldom came when called. He used to infuriate my father. He’d get out in the morning and follow kids to school so my father had to get him inside the house. I remember my father would be screaming and Duke would stop. He’d look right at my father then turn around and run again. My father would follow in the car. Eventually he’d catch Duke. My mother too would try to get Duke inside. She’d entice him by holding some bologna for him to see. Duke would run to her and grab the bologna leaving my mother holding just a corner. He was one smart dog.

My dance card is empty. I have nothing until uke practice on Tuesday. I figure I’ll do a bit of cleaning including washing the kitchen floor. The rest of the time I’ll be in sloth mode.

Happy Thanksgiving!

I’m watching the parade, a custom since my childhood. I remember sitting on the rug in front of the TV eating snacks. We always had tangerines, M&M’s and mixed nuts in the shell. The nuts were in a bowl, and we had silver crackers and silver picks to pull the nuts out of the shells. The walnuts took some strength. I loved the Brazil nuts. I have a bowl just like the old one. It is wooden and has holes to put the picks and the cracker. I fill the bowl with nuts every year and put it on the dining room table. I keep a bowl of M&M’s here in the den. They don’t last long. All I’m missing are the tangerines.

I still can remember how wonderful the house smelled of turkey. When I close my eyes, I can see my mother in the kitchen getting dinner ready. She’d stand at the counter and peel potatoes, lots of potatoes, and fill pots with the canned veggies, the peas, the asparagus, the corn and the green beans. The stove was small and every burner was filled. The turkey was on the rack at the bottom of the oven. The other rack had been removed to fit the turkey. We always had a big turkey, all the better for leftovers. We’d eat in the kitchen. The house had no dining room. The table and chairs were crammed against the wall. They didn’t fit all of us. My mother ate at the counter. My father carved at the kitchen counter. He was an adept carver. He was the fastest eater. He had a football game to watch. My mother and I cleared the table and washed the dishes and pots and pans. We didn’t have a dishwasher until much later.

Once everything was cleared we brought out the desserts. My father always had a piece of apple pie with a slice of cheddar on the top. I went for the lemon meringue.

The turkey lasted for days. First, we had a repeat dinner then we progressed to open turkey sandwiches covered in gravy and surrounded by veggies. Next came cold turkey sandwiches piled with stuffing and cranberry sauce. I loved those. I’d toast the bread and slather it with mayo. My father picked the turkey clean. He had talent for that. We’d have turkey salad sandwiches and, for the final meal, turkey soup, rich tasting from the carcass boiling for a while.

I’ll eat my turkey dinner around 2 or 3. It has everything including clam chowder and shrimp for the first courses. All the veggies are there, and there is plenty of gravy. I even have a roll. Apple crisp is the dessert. I have to admit, though, I’m missing the lemon meringue pie. Having that for dessert would be perfection.

I know somewhere there is sun, but there will be none here today. To add to dreary, a bit of rain is forecast for tonight, and it will rain tomorrow. It is in the low 50’s, but that strong breeze, dare I say wind, is still here making the air feel colder. None of us love this weather.

One of my strongest memories of Thanksgiving is how the aroma of cooking turkey filled the house especially when my mother would open the oven door to baste the turkey. She’d also steal a bit of the crusty stuffing hanging out of the bird, maybe as an award for the basting. The best part was it would get crusty again so I could also steal a bit. The turkey was always cooked in the same huge pan, the blue one with white dots. I don’t remember anything else cooked in that pan.

My father had two official Thanksgiving responsibilities. Both involved the turkey. He would pull the heavy pan out of the oven and put it on the counter. He’d then take the turkey out of the pan. It was a delicate operation. The turkey was huge and hot. He’d grab pot holders and hold the turkey on each side and hope for the best, that the turkey would stay intact. It always did. My father was also the official carver. He’d fill the plate with cut turkey, including the legs. He’d always say, “There’s more in the kitchen.”

I have uke practice tonight from the Christmas book. We have officially finished with bluegrass. Tomorrow I have my lesson, and we have our first Christmas concert. I need to gather my Christmas accessories, my fascinator, my red shirt, my Christmas socks and my red Converse sneakers. I also need my noise makers, the bells and buzzers. I’ll be festive and loud.

The day has yet to make up its mind between cloudy and sunny. The official weather report is partly cloudy, but right now I’d say it is partly sunny. The air is chilly at 46° because of the strong wind. We are all inside the warm house lazily passing away the morning.

When I was a kid, I always liked this week with only a couple and a half days of school, and you couldn’t even count the half as we didn’t do school work but usually colored turkeys or made Thanksgiving cards. I raced home thrilled to be out of school.

I remember the giant turkey defrosting in the fridge. It took up half the space. Wednesday was pie day. We always had apple, lemon meringue and sometimes pumpkin or custard pies. My mother would make the dough and roll it out on the counter. I remember flour covered the counter. I remember how wonderful the kitchen smelled. I can see the apple pie crust with just the right amount of brown. The lemon meringue was tall, and it too had just the right amount of browning on the top crests. With the pieces of dough left over my mother made turds, my father’s name for the pastry. She’d cut a piece of dough, add cinnamon and sugar then roll the dough and bake it. We didn’t have to wait for Thanksgiving to eat it. It was a Wednesday treat.

In those days there were no shortcuts. My mother made everything. One of my favorites was creamed onions. I remember she peeled every small onion. Her stuffing was always rich with sage, with Bell’s seasoning. I still use Bell’s. It always reminds me of my mother. No Thanksgiving was complete without mashed potatoes. My mother used a hand masher. I watched. She worked hard to get rid of the lumps. She always added milk and lots of butter. We had carrots, canned peas and, for my father, canned asparagus. None of the rest of us ate it. The cranberry sauce was decorated, at least I thought so back then. I didn’t realize the decorations were ridges from the can. Her gravy was the stuff of legend. As we got older and our palates expanded, my mother added more vegetables. She made my aunt’s squash dish. It became my favorite vegetable. Sometimes we had turnip, green bean casserole, another Thanksgiving staple, and baked sweet potatoes.

I have always loved Thanksgiving. It is a celebration of family, of all of us sitting around the table together, passing the food, filling our plates and enjoying each other’s company. We just needed each other and a few pies.

When I woke up this morning, the day was lovely. The sun was bright and had that fall into winter sharpness. The sky was a deep blue. When I went out front to get the Sunday paper, I was surprised when the air felt chilly. It had appeared warmer through the window. Since then, though, clouds have taken over the sky and the world outside my window looks bleak. Showers are predicted for later. I’m thinking today is a perfect day to stay home, watch a movie and eat some popcorn, all the while staying cozy.

My dance card is empty today. Yesterday’s concert was wonderful, the last of bluegrass. Though it rained, we still had nearly a full house. The audience even stayed around for the full set.

Popcorn has always been a favorite treat. I remember my mother putting oil in a pot on the stove and adding a couple of test kernels. When they popped, she’d add the rest of the kernels, cover the pot and start shaking the pot on the burner. Shaking was essential as the bottom kernels would burn if you didn’t shake. She’d shake with one hand and hold the cover with the other hand to ensure no popped corn escaped. Every now and then she’d raise the cover to check on the corn, and popped corn would fly out of the pot. We’d chase the kernels down to eat them. We’d hang around in the kitchen listening to the popping sounds. When we heard fewer kernels, maybe one or two, we knew the corn was popped. My mother would empty the pot into a bowl and add melted butter and salt. She was quite generous with the butter, less so with the salt. My mother, to prevent arguments, would often divide the popcorn into smaller bowls, one for each of us.

I remember Jiffy Pop. It was a foil covered pan with the oil and kernels inside. It had a handle to hold on to while you shook the pan. I loved watching. As the kernels popped, the top expanded around and up. It sort of looked like a dome, like the capitol dome. After the popping stopped, you tore the top of the dome and ate the popcorn right from the pan, but, of course, not until after the melted butter had been added. You can still buy Jiffy Pop. Nothing about it has changed. Maybe it is time again to be entranced by the growing top of Jiffy Pop.

Today is another cloudy day. It is also another day in the 40’s. I think we’ll have the same temperature all week, but with sun, no more clouds. That seems perfect for fall days.

My mood matches the weather or maybe the weather matches my mood, cloudy either way. That reminds me of the age old dilemma, which comes first, the chicken or the egg, the mood or the weather. We know the cart comes before the horse but which is which? I am watching a Hallmark movie hoping to jump start a better mood. I know the movie will have a happy ending and all will be right with the world.

I did finish my chores yesterday, an accomplishment. I even vacuumed the hall and dining room. Today I have no lists so anything I do will be an accomplishment.

I didn’t have any chores when I was a kid. My bed was unmade in the morning when I left for school but made when I came home. I did have to hang up my school clothes as I only had the one blue skirt and one blue tie. I did have a couple of white blouses. My shoes went into the closet, my school shoes next to my church shoes. I did my homework in the afternoon if I had any.

My mother always made dinner. My father was never home during the week for dinner. In my mind’s eye I can see him coming through the front door wearing his top coat and fedora. Dinner was always a meat, usually hamburger in some variation, a vegetable and potatoes, mostly mashed potatoes slathered in butter. We’d grab a couple of cookies for dessert. Oreos were the favorite. They went quickly. We always grabbed Oreos in a bunch.

I wore uniforms to school for almost my entire schooling. When we moved to the cape, I wore regular clothes for the first time. I also did my first back to school clothes shopping. I still remember the first outfit I wore to school. It was a Madras blouse and a wraparound black skirt. I felt a bit self-conscious.

Today is a stay at home day. Today is a stay in my cozies day. Reluctantly, I have also designated today the first cleaning day as I’ve decided to clean a room a day. The lucky room for today is the living room.

Today is a typical late fall day. It is 45°and cloudy. Through the window, the day looks uninviting. I’m happy to stay home.

When I was a kid, the time between Halloween and Thanksgiving was quiet. It was routine. The days were the same over and over. Weekdays were spent in school. Even the classes were in the same order every day except for art which was only once a week. We sat at our desks except for lunch and bathroom breaks. I remember those after lunch bathroom breaks. We were in single lines, boys on one side and girls on the other. We went in when someone came out. We couldn’t even talk in line. The nuns had perfected the LOOK. Once you got it, you stopped whatever you were doing. Afternoons after school were sometimes spent outside but this time of year were mostly spent inside watching TV. It was too cold to be outside. It was time to hibernate.

My neighborhood was filled with kids. Most houses had multiple kids. The backyard of every house was one big grassy hill shared between the houses up the hill and the houses at the bottom of the hill. One mother was a lawn tyrant. She claimed the lawn beyond the clothes line area was hers. She even put wooden stakes with string attached around the lawn. She’d scream out her kitchen window at any kid who dared to cross her lawn. It was greener than any other part of the yard because she watered it. The rest of the yard, the hill, only got water when it rained. In the winter younger kids sledded down the hill. No one started down the hill at her patch of yard. They started at the top behind the other houses. We older kids sledded down the street, a huge hill. We were a bit more reckless.

I have one more uke event this week. We are playing at the turnip festival on Saturday. That is always a fun time.

What a pretty day it is with a bright sun and a clear blue sky. The temperature will stay in the mid-40’s. The breeze is slight. Only the leaves at the ends of the branches are moving.

When I was a kid, my grandparents were quite different from one family to the other. My father’s parents weren’t warm people. His mother, my grandmother, wore flowered dresses and black shoes with clunky heels. She’d wear the clear bonnets and clear shoe covers, the ones with a button, when it rained. She wasn’t a good cook. She always wore an apron with a bib which had a front pocket and tied in the back. I remember going there on Thanksgiving evenings for supper. The dining room was right by the kitchen. She had dark furniture, but a wall with windows and a glass door gave the room light. She always wheeled a basket to the First National when she grocery shopped. My grandfather was short and stout. I remember him always wearing a suit and a fedora when he left the house. He had an imposing presence despite his height. They lived in the same town as we did.

My mother’s parents lived in the city. They always seemed to have an open house on Sundays which was filled with family. My mother was one of eight so it was a big family. My grandmother also wore an apron, but what I remember most are her slippers. She’d roll down her hosiery to the tops of her ankles and walk on the backs of those slippers. She’d shuffle a little when she walked. The kitchen was where the women were. It was on the bottom floor. It wasn’t very big. My grandmother made pasta, and it sat in a pan on the stove, a self-service meal. I loved that you grated your own cheese. She had a great backyard. I loved the city, the bakery down the street, the corner store and the house which sold Italian ice out the window. I loved wandering around near the house. I used to walk up a few streets to where my grandparents had originally lived. I remember that house well. Beyond that, a few more streets up, was a small park. I’d sometimes sit on a bench and read. I enjoyed going to East Boston.

My week is busy, uke busy as usual. I have practice, a lesson and two concerts. We are still doing bluegrass, but Christmas is coming. We’re practicing those songs tonight. I do love Christmas music.