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.

This morning was a mirror under the nose morning. I slept until noon. The last couple of days I have been really tired so, as my mother used to say, “You must have needed it.” The dogs too must have as they stayed with me in bed. They are napping now. Jack, the cat, is also napping now. They lead tough lives.

When I was a kid, I never slept late. On school mornings I had no choice. My mother had us up, breakfasted and dressed with plenty of time left for walking to school. We never walked fast. We chatted and we dawdled. I loved that walk. The sidewalk had towering trees beside it the whole way. In every season the trees decorated the walk. In fall the leaf colors were mostly yellow with just a few reds. In late fall, leaves would cover the walk, and we’d plow through the piles and kick them into the air. In winter the bare branches were shadowed on the walk and looked like arms and legs. In the spring the trees were filled with green leaves which towered over the sidewalk. The houses were close to the sidewalk. They were old houses with big front windows. When I visited my hometown a long while back, I took that route. I was sad to see many of the houses were gone, replaced by an apartment building and houses which all looked alike. I know things change over time. I just don’t have to like it.

I remember learning to tie a bow. My mother taught me. She used a giant bow to make it easier for me. She also taught me to ride my bike. It was on the street in front of my house. I still remember the joy of riding by myself for the first time. I learned to tell time when I was in the second grade. My aunt helped. I didn’t know it was part of her plan. She gave me a Cinderella watch for my first communion and wanted to make sure I could read the time. I still have an analog watch. I choose not to go digital.

When I was young, the world felt safe. I could be by myself on my bike anywhere. I could walk alone all over town. The only advice my mother gave me was not to talk to strangers. I was always in the present. Kids usually are. The furthest away I ever looked was Christmas. That took a lot of planning.

Saturday is a fine day, my favorite day since I was a little kid. Back then I was usually out and about every Saturday, sometimes with a destination in mind while other times I just meandered. All through time, Saturday has stayed much the same for me. I still think of it as a day to enjoy, to have no chores or errands. Today I have a concert. I get to play my uke.

The weather this morning is a mix of sun and clouds. The sun, in its turn, is bright, squint your eyes bright. Everything seems to shine, almost glitter, in the light. When the clouds take their turn, the day is a bit darker. It is in the low 40’s right now. Light rain is predicted.

When I was little, my mother used to read to me, usually a Golden book. My favorite was Chicken Little aka Henny Penny. Many years later my mother gave me a Chicken Little book in my stocking. After I read it, I was horrified. Everyone pretty much gets eaten. Somehow I’d forgotten that part.

Today my muse has gone hither and yon. When that happens, I rely on stories of my travels. Most of our family vacations were either the stay at home sort or a visit to Maine where my father’s friend had a tiny cottage. In Maine, the water was too cold for swimming, and there was nothing much to do all day. The home vacations were my favorites. We often went to museums or to the beach for the day. We went to the drive-in. The town had a pool and a couple of times my father took us night swimming there. You had to have an adult with you at night so the pool was never crowded. One time we went to New Hampshire. My father drove up Mount Washington. It was a spectacular ride. I could see right over the edge, and it was a bit scary. At the mountain top it was cold. We also saw the Flume, the the most amazing gorge and waterfall that was so loud you couldn’t be heard. We saw the Old Man of the Mountain. He’s gone now. He collapsed. The only place you can see him is on New Hampshire license plates. We did all that in one day. My father was never one to waste time, even on a vacation day.

The day is pretty. The sun has poked through the earlier morning clouds. The sky is blue and the sky is cloudy. The wind is now and then. It is in the 40’s. My front lawn, deck and driveway are hidden by the fallen leaves. More browned leaves still hang from oak tree branches waiting for the wind. The days darken early. The nights are cold. Fall is moving on.

When I was a kid during this time of year, I hated that the afternoons were getting shorter and colder. Darkness came early and triggered the streetlights. My mother didn’t care about the time, only the streetlights. We were well trained so right away we’d go inside. We’d watch TV while my mother made supper. We always ate at the kitchen table. My mother filled our plates and handed them to us. She also cut the meat. We were young.

My mother bought Welch’s grape jelly. It came in a glass with cartoon characters on it. I sometimes put it on crackers but mostly used it for peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I remember the bread in the middle of the sandwiches sometimes sank in and turned blue from the jelly. The counter got sticky if any jelly fell off the knife. If I didn’t clean it, I’d hear it from my mother. My father always loved strawberry jam so my mother bought it for him. He loved his snacks, butter or jam on crackers. Royal Lunch Milk Crackers were his favorites, and he was devastated when they were no longer made. He then switched to Saltines.

I don’t remember when I stopped eating grape jelly and switched to jam. I think of it as the first step into adulthood, the laying aside of childish things. It was a tiny step albeit but a step nonetheless. Right now my favorite is Mission Fig Jam. I just finished my last jar yesterday. Life can be cruel.

Yesterday was a busy day. I am not a lover of busy days. I guess it is the sloth in me. Yesterday was also cold, wintry cold. I was out twice for my uke, a morning lesson and an afternoon concert. We are still in the bluegrass book. We start Christmas practice next week. My big chore for today is organizing all my Christmas songs.

I have a few records from my childhood. They are yellow and red and include Frosty and Rudolph. I used to sit in my room, play my records and sing along. We learned Christmas carols, the religious ones, in school. We used the John Hancock book of Christmas carols. The books were small and the covers had a winter scene including a church with giant stain glass windows and a night sky covered with stars. I still have one. I put it out every Christmas.

I have many vinyl Christmas albums. Some of them were give-a-ways. A couple are from Firestone Tires, a shop that used to be on Main Street. The music is familiar, but the singers aren’t always.

Sometimes I am surprised at how old I am. I notice most when I try to do things I used to do easily. I am also taken aback at how wrinkled I am. My face has tracts of wrinkles. My arms have wrinkles that look like they could use a bit of ironing.

My mother used to trick us. I believed everything she told us. I remember she told us our tongues turned black if we lied. She also told us only mothers could see the liar’s black tongue. Little did we realize the liar gave himself away. She’d ask a question then she’d ask us to stick out our tongues. The liar always covered his mouth. We were surprised she caught the liar every time. I don’t remember how old I was when I realized how crafty my mother was.

One of my favorite snacks was Saltines covered with butter. Sometimes I’d dip them into soup. An oil slick would appear at the top of the bowl. It wasn’t colorful as the ones at gas stations were. It was really a butter slick. Every now and then I still buy Saltines, and I still slather them with butter.

Today I will vacuum downstairs and water the plants. That’s enough.