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“And finally Winter, with its bitin’, whinin’ wind, and all the land will be mantled with snow.”

December 18, 2011

No question about it. Winter has arrived. Today is the coldest day so far at 30°, and we have snow. When I woke up, only the deck had a dusting, but since then, the snow has started falling more heavily and can no longer be described as flurries. The ground is getting a light covering. The sky is white-gray, and the day has a dismal look about it, but we’re warm and cozy, and that’s all that counts. My tree is lit and looks beautiful shining through the darkness of the day.

If I were a kid, I wouldn’t get my hopes up for a free day tomorrow. The snow won’t accumulate as the size of the flakes is a giveaway to the impermanence of the storm.  When you’re a kid, a snowstorm is a good one only when there is enough for snowmen, sledding, snowball fights and a day off from school.

I always wanted a white Christmas. It seemed to me that Santa’s sleigh would do its best work on snow-covered roofs, and Santa did, after all, live at the North Pole where it was snowy all year-long. It felt wrong to see grass and streets on Christmas Eve.

When I lived in Ghana, there was never hope of snow. The only time it felt chilly was during the harmattan around this time of year. Nights dropped to the 70’s, and the mornings were cold. Sometimes I swear there was even a crispness to the air. My students hated the harmattan. They had to layer to face the cold mornings to finish their chores. Some wore as many as three sweaters.  I loved that sensation of feeling cold and at night I’d snuggle under my wool blanket. In the mornings, I’d sometimes wear a sweatshirt until the sun rose a bit more in the sky. I’d sit on my porch with my giant mug of coffee and watch the small children cut across the school compound to their primary school just outside the front gate. We always said good morning to each other. It was a daily ritual I loved.

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“Like snowflakes, my Christmas memories gather and dance – each beautiful, unique and too soon gone.”

December 17, 2011

Last night was cold, but today we’re back up to 50°. The sun is in and out of the clouds making the day bright but not sunny. I have to refill the feeders later and I’m glad my fingers won’t freeze. Earlier was already warm enough for me to stand outside for a little bit watching Gracie. She ran like a crazy dog around the yard, came in and got her snack, always two biscuits, then she flopped down on the couch for her morning nap. That’s where she still is. One cat, Fern, is on the couch in the living room, and the other, Maddie, just went down the cellar. I suspect she might be mouse hunting.

Later I have some shopping to do so I’m gearing up to fight the crowds at the supermarket and curse the wagons left in the middle of the aisles. My list is small and for that I am thankful. I hate grocery shopping.

Gracie and I went for a ride to see the lights the other night. I was far more enthused than she. I pointed out to her all the wonderfully lit houses, lamented the dark ones and laughed a bit at the “at least they did something houses.” I saw lit Christmas trees through windows and a few plastic Santas on lawns. Those Santas reminded me of my childhood when plastic Santas were the newest Christmas decorations. I have a few myself I’ve collected over the years but haven’t used them in a while. I think next year they’ll be perfect for the deck. It will be like a Santa convention.

When I was young, we used to string popcorn for the tree and a couple of times we added the cranberries. We’d sit at the kitchen table with the bowl of popcorn in the middle for us to share. It took a delicate push to get the needle through without breaking the kernel, but no matter how gently we tried, the table was usually strewn with broken pieces of corn kernels. We’d munch as we worked figuring the popcorn was as much for eating as threading. When our strands were ready, we’d each take our own and place it on the tree looped from branch to branch. We’d then step back to admire our work and how pretty it looked on the tree. When Christmas was over, the strands went outside for the birds.

We stopped doing popcorn when my dog Shauna decided the Christmas tree was for snacking. We caught her eating the popcorn enough times that we gave up before she pulled the tree down during her snack time. Shauna was a great one for sniffing out treats from just about anywhere. She always found her present under the tree. She’d pull it out from the pile and unwrap it then settle down to eat her present. She was always on Santa’s nice list.

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“When we recall Christmas past, we usually find that the simplest things – not the great occasions – give off the greatest glow of happiness.”

December 16, 2011

I was surprised at how warm it felt when I got the papers this morning. The day, from the window, looked cold. The sunlight is steely, and there is a wind blowing even the biggest pine tree trunks back and forth. Last night it rained, and the drops pelted the door and windows. Gracie wasn’t too happy when she had to make her last trip outside before bedtime.

Around this time of year, my school, St. Patrick’s Grammar School, held its annual fair. It was a really big deal and it was held at the huge meeting room in the town hall which had moveable wooden seats, a stage and an orchestra pit under the stage and was where we made our record with Guy Lombardo. On the day of the fair, we only had a half day of school. The nuns would walk us down the street two blocks to the town hall, and, once there, we were free, on our own. The first stop was always for lunch, a hot dog, a rare treat to have the money to buy. It made me feel rich plunking down the money for lunch. That was thanks to my mother who always gave us enough money so we could buy the hot dog and still have some left to buy a few gifts for the family. Tables ringed the room, and on them were all sorts of gifts for Christmas. I could buy crochet doilies, knitted mittens and hats, plants in all sorts of containers, baked goods and just about anything else you can imagine one of the mothers might have made, but I always headed to the kids’ table. It was filled with gifts to buy for the family and most were only a dime or a quarter. I’d walk up and down the table looking for the perfect gifts for my parents and for my sisters and brother. My mother often got a plant, my father a hankerchief. Once I bought army men for my brother. I don’t remember what I bought for my sisters, but I figure it could have been baby bottles for their dolls, the sort where the milk seemed to disappear.

Those gifts weren’t ever much, but I always felt proud that I could buy them and have something to give at Christmas. When I’d get home from the fair, I’d hide my packages until I could wrap them. The most excitment came when I’d put them under the tree and then tease my sisters about what I had bought them. That was always fun.

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“Alas! How dreary would be the world if there was no Santa Claus! There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence.”

December 15, 2011

Today is cloudy, but a few patches of clouds are backlit. That’s where the sun is hiding. The day is damp as it rained during the night, but it’s warm, the last warm day for a while. I went to UPS and sent the packages for Colorado on their Christmas trek. That was the most important item to cross off my to-do list. The other items have no time constraint other than the big day. My back is a bit iffy today so I’ve decided today is my do little or nothing day.

I remember one Christmas Eve when my mother sent me to the corner store, probably for bread. I rode my bicycle so there wasn’t any snow. I remember riding my bike down the grass hill beside the steps leading to the street, something my father always hated us doing, but it was fun so we did it anyway hoping not to get caught. I was going to the white store, the closer store. I never minded doing bike errands for my mother, but I was annoyed that day. It seemed to me my mother was taking the day far too lightly. I couldn’t believe that she would actually send me to do an errand on Christmas Eve. I thought it odd she didn’t realize Christmas Eve is one of the sacred days for kids, not a day for errands. It was a day for dreaming and for hoping to fall asleep as early as possible.

When it got dark, we always got restless. We watched the clock and waited. My mother let us open one gift on Christmas Eve, and that one gift was always new pajamas. Every year we argued that we should pick the gift, but it was inevitable that we’d get stuck with the new pajamas.

Back then Santa Claus was on TV every day in the late afternoon starting a few weeks before Christmas from a station out of New Hampshire. He was in his workshop and had one elf. Every Christmas Eve, the last show, we’d watch as he filled up his sleigh and we’d listen to his reminder about being fast asleep before his arrival.

Bedtime was never more welcome than it was every Christmas Eve.

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“For the spirit of Christmas fulfills the greatest hunger of mankind.”

December 12, 2011

A flicker is dining at my suet feeder. Compared to the birds I usually see, it is enormous as his body is the same length as the wire feeder. His back is to me so I can see the beautiful pattern of his feathers. I also see that a few of the smaller feeders need seeds so I’ll go out later and fill them. The gold finches and the chickadees especially love those smaller feeders. I haven’t seen many of the spawns of Satan of late. Perhaps they feel the vibes.

At 45° the day is winter warm. Gracie was out for a long while earlier this morning, a sure sign she finds the day agreeable. It’s now her morning nap time.

The den is a mess filled as it is with bags of gifts to be wrapped, tissue paper, assorted wrapping paper rolls and boxes with ribbons and tags. Only a few gifts are left upstairs to be brought down, but all the up and down the stairs yesterday took its toll so I left the larger, heavier boxes until today. I wrapped a few gifts last night, but today I’ll finish the bulk of them. I enjoy wrapping presents and making the ribbon just so, but for my sisters, I can’t add ribbon to the gifts as their cats are notorious ribbon eaters. Mine usually aren’t but this year Fern has given a few gifts a taste.

The houses are beautiful all lit up for Christmas. Many use colored lights on the fences and bushes but just as many use white ones. The candles in the windows are mostly white though I did see some red ones the other night. When I was a kid, orange was the color of choice for window lights. No houses had white lights anywhere. The outside lights were all colors and the strands had those huge bulbs you don’t see anymore. I have a couple of sets from long ago, but I don’t use them. I guess I keep them more for sentiment than anything else. They were beautiful and they were bright.

At dinner last week my sister noted that people really are nicer at Christmas. They tend to smile more for no apparent reasons. They are less impatient. They will even stop to admire a tree or a decoration. I agree with her and have a theory as to the reason. I believe all of us have pieces of our childhoods kept alive especially for this time of year when we welcome wonder and magic and let Christmas into our hearts.

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“Heap on the wood! – the wind is chill; But let it whistle as it will, We’ll keep our Christmas merry still.”

December 11, 2011

Winter has finally reared its head and today is only 38°. The day even has a chilly look with the light seemingly wan, almost dim, as if the sun has too little energy to fight the cold and is finally giving in to the change of seasons. The breeze is slight and barely rustles the leaves at the ends of the branches. I’m still in my cozies and quite comfy and warm. I can hear Gracie’s deep breathing as she’s napping on the couch behind me. The cats have their own spots during the day; one is on a couch pillow in the other room and the other is on my still unmade bed curled on a blanket. The animals in my house lead tough lives.

When I was a kid, I lived in a house with no chimney, but not once did I ask my mother how Santa would bring us toys. I always just figured he was magical, and the lack of a chimney would be no hindrance. Seeing all the Santas around town never diminished my belief in the one true Santa Claus. I knew the rest were like elves and had jobs to do to help Santa, and, besides, you never saw the real Santa. That was part of the code of belief.

I remember going through the Sears catalog and circling then initialing the toys I wanted so there would be no questions. When I wrote my letters to Santa, I included the toy numbers so he could see exactly what I wanted. It never occurred to me that maybe he didn’t have a Sears catalog. I think I figured everyone did. My list was always long and never included clothes. When I was little, I always thought clothes were a waste of a gift. When I got older, they were the best gifts.

I remember learning Up on the Rooftop in school. We sang it often with rousing good cheer, almost like an anthem to Santa. I also remember the nuns reminding us that Santa was merely a secondary character in the whole of Christmas. It was, after all, a birthday we were celebrating.

My mother put up a crèche every Christmas, and we had an advent wreath most years. The figures in the crèche were made of what I now know was chalkware. It wasn’t all that durable, and some of our figures had no noses, the one body part especially vulnerable to time. I have a similar crèche of my own which I’ve accumulated one piece at a time from all different chalkware sets. Many of my figures have no noses.

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“I think we are drawn to dogs because they are the uninhibited creatures we might be if we weren’t certain we knew better.”

December 10, 2011

When I woke up, I heard the raindrops from the eaves. The day is filled with gray clouds and looks dismal. Since I was little, I’ve always believed that around Christmas time rain should be banned. The sun should shine or it should snow. I prefer the sun, but I don’t mind the snow. There is something about a White Christmas which touches us all. Today, though, has a silver lining. My tree with all its lights looks bright in the darkness of the rain and the clouds.

My errands took three hours yesterday. On the Cape, “You can’t there from here,” would be the answer when asked how to get from some towns to another. I couldn’t get directly from 6A in Dennis to Harwich so I had to go a roundabout way and then went another roundabout way to get from Harwich to Orleans. I had to stop at one place twice because it was so busy the first time, and I added a stop at Dunkin’ Donuts, a total necessity.

When I got home, I loaded my arms with packages as only one was heavy so I could bring them all in at once. The dog’s leash was wrapped around my hand so I wouldn’t drop it. As I was going up the walk I thought the dog’s collar sounded especially noisy. When I turned around to let Gracie in, I had a leash and a collar, no dog. The noise was her license bouncing on the brick walk. I saw Gracie down the street, ran in and called my friends so Tony went outside to herd the beastie. Gracie avoids me but loves Tony. She went right to him, and he put her Christmas present around her neck: a beautiful red collar which has a small Christmas tree and says Merry Christmas. Gracie got her present early so maybe it wasn’t really an escape but a ruse. I wish I had a picture of the look on my face when I turned around and saw the leash and the collar.

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“And finally Winter, with its bitin’, whinin’ wind, and all the land will be mantled with snow.”

December 9, 2011

The wind won’t go away. It is even stronger than the last few days, but it’s a bit warmer at 49°. Yesterday I heard someone complaining about the cold. I guess all those November days in the mid-50’s spoiled us, but we’ll survive. We all know about winter in New England.

Today is errand day, and I have a huge list geographically organized. My cards got done last night, according to schedule, so the post office is first on my list. Gracie will be glad as the dump is second.

I remember when I was a kid and the first snow of the season would start to fall. When one of us noticed the flakes, we’d all run to the window and watch. In front of my house, at the bottom of the front grassy hill, was a street light. We’d watch the snow falling in the gleam of the light. I remember the snow sometimes fell sideways because of the wind. If the flakes were really large, we never held out much hope for a lot of snow. If the flakes were smaller, there was always hope. Snow storms were judged on school or no school and whether there was enough for a snowman and a snowball fight.

When I woke up, I’d run to the window to see how much snow had fallen. If there was enough for a no school day, the fire horn would blow early in the morning. If there wasn’t enough, it meant wearing boots which took forever to get on and off at school. Sometimes my shoe would be caught by the boot, and I’d try to shake it loose. I always thought it was funny to walk with the boot hanging and my foot still in the shoe. I felt a bit like a duck must feel with its webbed feet. The key, we all learned when we were a little older, was to take out your foot then pull out your shoes and then do the reverse in the afternoon. It was a bit harder getting our feet into the shoes already in the boots, but it was far easier than trying to shove the foot filled shoe into the rubber boot which never seemed to dry during the school day.

I remember the days which had snow on the ground were the brightest of all winter days. When the snow was high and there were no footprints yet, everything was beautiful, and the snowflakes shined and glimmered like diamonds in the sun. It always warmer on those days.

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“Christmas cookies without sprinkles are like raisins without wrinkles, and like sleigh bells without tinkles.”

December 8, 2011

My heat is blasting, a sure sign colder weather is here, but it’s the wind which is making the day feel so much colder than the 41° on the thermometer. It reaches right down to the bones and is strong enough to sway the trunks of pine trees. Gracie is staying closer to home and the couch. The outside hasn’t the same appeal it did for the last few weeks.

Yesterday it poured all day. I went off cape to a Christmas play and then to a really late lunch. The play and lunch or dinner are a tradition we’ve had for a long time. It would be the three of us: my mother, my sister and me. One year my mother treated us to The Death of a Salesman with Brian Dennehy. Afterwards we thanked her for the cheery choice of a play for the holidays. Now my sister and I go to a play. It’s one of my Christmas presents to her and it keeps the tradition alive. Before I dropped her home, we did a mini-light ride. It’s amazing how many houses are bright with lights this year. We oohed and ahhed as we rode up and down the streets. I got home around 8:30. It was a long but fun day.

I have my schedule all set up for Christmas. It starts tonight with Christmas card night. The cards came in the mail the other day, and I vowed they’d back in the mail by Friday. My list of ingredients for Christmas goodies is all set, and I have plenty of wrapping paper and ribbon for the gifts. I have a few more gifts to buy; some are for my friends but others will be sent right to Colorado. I need some stocking stuffers so I’ll take a day to do that then treat myself to lunch, in commemoration of the season of course.

My sister still makes sugar cookies. I used to but haven’t in a long while. Her grandson helps her to decorate them. We used to do that: spend a whole afternoon decorating the ones my mother had made. She’d cut them out using her old aluminum cookies cutters:  Santa, an angel, a bell, a reindeer and a tree. Both my sister and I have found those same figures in the old aluminum. They are the connection to our childhood and my mother.

I remember heavy cookies laden with frosting, and I remember green frosting the most. We were creative frosters. The trees had lights and ornaments, sprinkles mostly. Santa was tricky to decorate with his red suit, white beard and dark boots. Actually, there were no boots; we just iced them in as we couldn’t imagine a Santa without his boots.

Even when I was an adult with my own house, my mother and I would spend a day baking together. When the cookies were cooled, we’d put on the Christmas music and sit around the table to decorate them and to chat. It was always one of my favorite parts of Christmas and is still a cherished memory.

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“Christmas isn’t a season. It’s a feeling.”

December 6, 2011

The sky is white cloudy. The breeze is warm and it’s 58°. The weatherman has warned us that cold weather, winter weather, is coming later in the week. It’s time for the woolies to come out of the drawer.

Some of the leaves still hang precariously from the ends of the oak tree branches near the deck. The leaves are brown and curled and blow back and forth in the breeze. They don’t know their time is long over. Huge scrub pine trees tower over the backyard. They are old and some are delicate. Every winter more branches fall. One tree is dead and another has a broken branch hanging across two branches which keep it from falling in the yard. Come spring both will be gone after the clean-up.

Every night even more houses are bright with outside lights. Never have I seen as many this early in the season. I think the warm weather was the incentive. It is far easier putting up lights when your fingers don’t get stiff from the cold.

All my friends and family buy real trees at Christmas. My sister, when her kids were little, had two: one in the living room and one in the family room. They went to a cut down your own tree farm each year, and one of my nephews claims every tree they brought home back then looked like a Charlie Brown tree. This year my sister has only one tree, and it’s in the family room so she can see it every night while she watches television. My other sister is putting hers up tonight. I can see my friends’ tree all lit up through the window when I go by their house. This time of year I always use their end of the street so I can see the tree.

I sit in the living room and read all afternoon with the tree lit. I stop reading often just to look at the tree and all the ornaments. Some are from my childhood, others I made for my mother and they came back to me when she passed away, many are from my trips while others are gifts from my friends and their trips, a couple are from Africa and some, like the ragged angel and the clown, are just ugly or weird, and I love them for that. I think my tree is just beautiful, but I suspect we all think our trees are beautiful.

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