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.

Again, the morning is in the mid 30’s. The sky is mostly blue. Finally, the wind has disappeared, replaced by an ever so slight breeze. I can see a few brown, curled leaves fluttering at the ends of the smaller branches.

Yesterday was an odd day. First was what my sister calls the Christmas miracle. I went through my checkbook and found a glaring mistake. I didn’t carry a digit. I cheered at the unexpected wealth. Next, I had the intention of relocating my mouse but forgot it when I left for my concert. We’ll go back to that one. The concert went well until I was leaving. I couldn’t find my keys then I saw them on the passenger seat of the locked car. I almost never lock my lock. I did this time. Of course, I did. AAA came. Back to the mouse. I got the trap and was surprised. One mouse was now two mice. During the day, mouse one was joined by mouse two. Mouse count as of yesterday, six. No mice in the trap today.

We had an advent wreath when I was a kid. It was round and had five candles, three purple, one pink and one white. We lit one new candle each Sunday of Advent so the wreath got brighter as we got closer to Christmas. We had a reading before we lit each new candle. I have no memory of the readings or even the religious significance. I was there for the candles. I loved watching them flicker. I’d lick a finger and pass it through the flames. My mother would stop me and then continue reading. She took the fun away.

I always thought we had the most beautiful Christmas tree. The lights were huge. We filled every branch with ornaments. Icicles hung from ends of the branches. There were spots with holes, mostly in the middle, but we never really cared. We’d fill them with Christmas cards and a couple of Coca-Cola paper Santa Clauses. My mother always supervised the decorating. She’d put the best ornaments at the top of the tree. They were big and had glitter on them. I have one. My mother gave us all some of her old ornaments. I always put them on my tree. The big one I put at the top. It is tradition.

The morning is cold, 32°. The wind makes it colder. I have to go out for another concert. Yesterday’s went well. We actually got a standing ovation. I think today I’ll bundle up in a few layers. I have my thick, warm sweater, my pseudo winter coat. It keeps away the cold. Lots to do. I have to fill the bird feeders. I still need to decorate the house. I need my tree. My days have just been too busy with a concert ever day, but I have all day tomorrow.

Henry avoids me. I started the eye medication yesterday so now he runs when I walk toward him. Today I bribed him with an extra treat. He is supposed to get medication at least once a day, but the vet preferred twice so that’s what I’m doing.

Daily mouse count: one today making the total five.

I remember when I was three or four and we lived in South Boston. Santa came to our apartment. My mother got us picture ready. I wore a dress and my brother wore his good pants and a shirt with a tie. I was the first to sit on Santa’s lap. I have a picture somewhere in this house of me with Santa that day. We were sitting on the couch. I am staring right at Santa’s face. I look awed, the look of a believer actually meeting Santa Claus. I don’t remember any conversation. I do remember my brother. He refused to go near Santa. He cried. I watched from behind the barely opened bedroom door. My mother thought it would be easier for my brother if I weren’t in the room. Nope. He never did sit on Santa’s lap.

One year we got a telegram from Santa. It was a real telegram delivered right to our door. It was addressed to The Ryan Children. On the top of the paper was Santa in his sleigh with his reindeer flying in front. The message looked as if the words had been cut and pasted. I know exactly what it said as I still have that telegram. Santa reminded us we needed to be good, and that he was looking forward to visiting our house on Christmas Eve. It was so exciting to get that telegram. My parents made Christmas exciting.