Today is a drab day filled with clouds, maybe practice for tomorrow’s rain. It is warm at 52°. The dogs have been out most of the morning. They wander the yard. They run and chase each other. They come back inside panting.

This is a busy day for me, but I have it all planned in my head. First thing was my shower, check. Next, I have to buy some dog food and Jack’s favorite treats. I also need to hit the ATM. I have a late PT appointment after which I have to hurry home to get ready for my uke holiday dinner tonight in Hyannis. Between one and the other is 45 minutes. It will be a scramble.

On one of my school vacations in Africa, I traveled through Burkina Faso, then Upper Volta, to Niger. We rode over the Kennedy Bridge to cross the Niger River into Niamey. The bridge had just been opened. I remember that trip for several reasons. The first was my friends and I became separated at the border after our transportation from Upper Volta had died. We got separate rides into the city. I couldn’t find them so I found a hotel of sorts and rented a room. The hotel was a brothel. I didn’t sleep all night because of the noise of men talking and tromping up and down the halls and occasionally knocking on my door. At first light, I fled. When I was wandering, two small boys asked me if I wanted Peace Corps. That wasn’t surprising. It was the same in Ghana. Young white people were mostly Peace Corps. They led me to the hostel where my friends were staying. I was thrilled to find them again.

The next event was my never to be forgotten camel ride into the desert. The camel took off. I held on to the one strap for dear life. I nearly fell off, but the beast stopped just before I did. It was scary and exciting all in one. I stayed on the camel to finish my ride.

The biggest event was I caught cholera, but I had already had two shots which helped mitigate the symptoms though not enough. I still needed to camp out in the bathroom. The Peace Corps doctor came to visit and gave me medicine and a shot. Within a couple of days I could travel again so we booked a flight to Ougadougou.

After we landed, passport control didn’t want to let me into the country. I had no visa. I never got a visa to Upper Volta though I went quite a few times to Ouga. The border police just beyond Ghana used to let me in and would write in my passport I was staying just for the weekend. My friend who spoke French convinced them to let me in. It was so late at night we each grabbed a bench and fell asleep at the airport. When we woke up, the cleaning men were standing and holding their brooms. They hadn’t cleaned. They didn’t wanted to disturb us.

This morning is frosty. My car windows are covered in rime. The icy leaves on the ground make a crinkling sound when the dogs run in the backyard. Their fur is cold when they come back inside the house. It is a winter morning.

Today I have an empty dance card, but it is filled for the rest of the week. I’m missing my sloth days, the days of staying in my cozies, taking an afternoon naps and watching Hallmark Christmas movies even though I know all the plots.

Nala doesn’t just bring the inside out. She is now bringing the outside in. Just a bit ago she dragged pine branches through the dog door. Leaves, still attached to those branches, were all over the living room floor. She doesn’t just strew the leaves. She also chews the branches. Small bits of wet, chewed bark are on the hall rug. Nala is a pip.

My father used to say, “He’s a good egg.” That was quite the compliment. My sister says it every now and then as a homage to my father. That always makes me smile. When I’d visit my parents and sleep late, my mother used to say, “You must have needed it.” We still say that with my mother in mind. So much stays with us.

Of all holidays, it is Christmas which carries the most memories. We keep family traditions and add some of our own. The trees of my childhood were decorated with the same ornaments each year. Some of those are on my Christmas tree. My mother even sent a few to Ghana. They were my connections to home on my first Christmas ever spent away from home. They were on the small tree in my house, also sent by my mother, and on the school’s Christmas tree in the dining hall during the Christmas assembly. I have a picture of that tree with a gingerbread man hanging off a branch. The last time I had seen that gingerbread man was on the family tree in the corner of my parents’ living room.

It is time to get my tree, to fill my house with Christmas.

Today is another pretty day, a pretty December day, chilly and a bit windy. Leaves cover my lawn and deck though each has been cleared once. When the dogs are out running through the backyard, I can hear crunching sounds from the dead leaves covering the ground. Those leaves are never cleared. The backyard belongs to the dogs.

When I was a kid, this was the in-between season when some days were too hot for a winter coat while other days were so cold it was winter ensemble time, time to dress in layers. My mother was cautious. She’d bring out the winter coats, hats and mittens, it being December after all. I never enjoyed the layers, the bundling. Even now I seldom wear my winter jacket.

My mother used to take us into Boston to see Santa, but once, when I was really young, he came to our apartment in South Boston. I was probably around three or four. I have a picture of me with Santa somewhere in the house, probably tucked away for safety. My brother, a year younger than I, was too afraid to leave the bedroom. I’m wearing a dress, my patent leather Mary Jane’ shoes’s and lacy socks. It was an occasion after all.

I seem to be busy every weekday. I go down cape to Orleans for PT twice a week and on Friday I went to Hyannis for a doctor’s appointment. Uke is twice a week, practice and a lesson. I skipped the practice last week. I have to pick and choose. When I did both, my finger swelled. Yesterday I practiced. My finger didn’t swell.

My house isn’t yet Christmas, but decorating is on my to-do list for this week. That means hauling up boxes. I like to change the decorations from year to year. I have so many. I’m leaning toward vintage this year. I have many plastic light up pieces like Santa, candles and a snowman. They are from the 50’s and are a bit of wonder pulled from my memory drawers.

Today is an ugly day. The sky is gray and threatening. The wind is strong. Even the topmost branches are being blown sideways. The brown dead leaves still holding on will probably fall and add to the backyard already covered in layers of leaves. Today will be the warmest day of the week, but I have no plans to go anywhere. Nothing about the weather is enticing despite the warmth. I’ll do around the house stuff.

Even before my finger injury I had trouble opening the Aleve bottles, the sort you squeeze on both sides and hold in while you turn the lid to open. This last time was the worst. I couldn’t get it open, couldn’t hold and turn at the same time. I tried and tried. Finally, I had a solution. I took a hammer to the squeeze spots.

Yesterday I went to a doctor’s appointment then to Trader Joe’s. I had a great time shopping and hauled home five filled shopping bags. Some of the items, mostly the festive candy and holiday treats, I’ll put away until Christmas. I bought the most amazing pork loin rubbed in herbs, sage, rosemary, and oregano, and wrapped in uncured applewood smoked bacon for a pre-Christmas dinner with friends. I also bought a gingerbread house to put together and then decorate. That last one I’ll have to put up high out of the reach of a boxer.

When I was a kid, we always had turkey for Christmas dinner. The sides were different than those on Thanksgiving except for the mashed potatoes and stuffing. Later, when we were older, we had a roast, usually a roast beef, and, yes, it was always accompanied by mashed potatoes and a changing menu of vegetables.

I only remember a couple of Christmas candies from when I was a kid. I remember the ribbon candy. It always struck in my molars, and I’d click my teeth together. It was a weird sensation. The ones I remember eating the most were the hard, colored candies which always stuck together. As a gift in school, we used to be given a small cardboard box the size of Animal Cracker boxes with a white string for carrying the box and Christmas decorations on the two sides. The hard candies inside were so cemented together the cardboard always stuck to the candy. I don’t remember caring. I remember eating the candy anyway.

The morning is lovely. The sun is eye squinting bright. The blue sky hasn’t a single cloud. It is Crayola blue, the same color of all my skies. The day is so calm not even a single leaf flutters. The dogs came in for their morning biscuits then went right back out. Dogs know how to enjoy a day.

The pile of packages in the corner of my bedroom gets higher every day. They are safe behind large boxes and a chair, but Nala keeps checking them out just in case. She did steal a Christmas Pez, but that was before I fortified the corner from attack.

About this time we used to make construction paper circles to put around the tree. We’d sit at the kitchen table cutting and pasting. My mother would wind them around the front of the tree. I remember when I first bought this house. I had very little money for Christmas decorations, but I did buy a small tree. I couldn’t imagine my house without a tree and the sweet aroma of pine. I decided to make some of my decorations, especially the colorful construction paper swag. I went old school with glue. I cut out the circles and attached one to the other. The swag was beautiful. I wound it mostly around the front of the tree. A few days later I heard a sort of popping sound. I went to check the tree. The circles were popping off the swag, so much for the glue tradition. I stapled them all. I used that swag for years until the colors faded. I replaced the swag with silver tinsel strands just like the ones my mother used to wind around our tree. I traded one childhood memory for another. I still use them on my tree. I also use glass ornaments my mother gave me which used to hang on our tree. The decorations on the bulbs have faded a bit, but that makes them no less precious. My mother and father are always part of my Christmas traditions.

Today is cold. I even wore my heavy sweater. I also wore my red Converse high tops, tis’ the season after all. I used to drive 10 miles a week. This week I have already gone 64. My dance card is never empty anymore. Gone are the sloth days. Every day has something I have to do. Yesterday was my uke lesson, number two uke event of the week. Today was PT, the second one this week. Tomorrow I get to add another doctor to the herd, a cardiologist surgeon. On Saturday I see my hand surgeon. On Sunday I rest.

I rode down 6A today. It was a lovely ride. Places are decorated for Christmas, and people are selling greenery at their small stands. My favorite sold greenery and duck eggs. I also stopped for a few groceries. When I got home, it only took 3 minutes for me to get cozy again. I’m in for the rest of the day.

I have chores I am ignoring. I’m just not in the mood. I keep thinking I’ll do them tomorrow. Scarlett O’Hara is my role model, “After all… tomorrow is another day.”

When I was a kid, Christmas never came fast enough. We drove my father crazy asking when we could get our tree. I remember how excited we all were when he brought it into the house. Furniture got moved so the tree could be in the corner. The sparse side of the tree went in the back. The decorations were brought into the living room. My father tried to untangle the lights. He worked until his patience was exhausted. Finally, the lights were wound around the tree. The ornaments went next. My mother put the big glass ornaments on the topmost branches. We put the rest on the tree. I remember a paper Coke Santa Claus with a loop for hanging we used to put in the middle were there was no greenery. We also put old Christmas in the middle. I remember some of them were from my Aunt Barbara. Silver tinsel was circled around the tree from top to bottom then came the icicles, always controversial. Toss or hang?

The weather is taking a turn. It is colder today, in the mid 40’s, and will get colder tonight, more seasonable. The sky is cloudy making for a dark day. The only saving grace is the still air, nothing is moving.

I have the usual chores I’m avoiding. Laundry tops the list. I avert my eyes when I walk by the almost full basket. Maybe tomorrow.

Today it seems my muse has deserted me. I keep starting a thread then stopping and deleting it when it goes nowhere. Being around the house so much means fewer adventures. When I go out, it is usually to the dump or the store and, of late, to physical therapy. I find it all a bit boring. I do have uke, the only bright spot in my week. Maybe I’ll just take a ride and meander a bit.

When I was a kid, we lived in a duplex almost to the top of a hill. That’s important. In the snow we sledded down that hill, and during the rest of the year, we’d ride our bikes to the bottom. Going back up was a different story. I remember holding the rope from the front of my sled and pulling it up the hill. The rope got heavy with ice, and my mittens got soaked. As for my bike, I could ride it only halfway up the hill for a long time then I’d walk it. I still remember the sense of triumph when I rode it all the way up to my house. I kept listening for applause.

It seems when I’m stuck I head back to Ghana. The memory of that hill brought me there today. My school was down a dirt road at the top of a hill. Between the school road and town there were mostly fields with a compound here and there. The hill was not steep, but it was long. I’d borrow a bike and ride down the hill to town. When my shopping was finished, I’d put the bag filled with fruit on the handlebar of the bike then I’d ride back up the hill as far as I could pedal. I’d end up walking the rest of the way.

As Bob Cratchit told Scrooge, “I am being my time.” I had PT this morning and in a sort time, Nala has a vet appointment. She needs a shot, a second shot of something, then I need to stop for dog food at Agway. Today is busy.

The early morning started out lovely and warm. Since then, the clouds have taken over, there is a wind, and it feels cold. It is now sweatshirt weather, just a few degrees warmer than winter coat weather. Oops, addendum: the sun is back as is the blue sky, but the wind is still with us. It is 52°.

We have begun uke practice for Christmas music. My new binder is full, and I have two other binders of songs we’re not using. I thought I knew all the Christmas songs but I hadn’t heard All I Want for Christmas is a Real Good Tan before this. I’d prefer wanting a hippopotamus, from an old song, to a tan. Our first Christmas concert is next week.

When I was in the fifth grade, I remember singing in the square. Back then, the square was filled with stores including a Woolworth’s and a Grant’s. Shoppers were everywhere. My classmates and I stood on a platform with our John Hancock book of carols in our hands. It had a church with stain glass windows and a sky filled with stars on the front. In fancy lettering it said, Christmas Carols. I remember singing my heart out and feeling so proud when the shoppers stopped to listen. I still have a copy of that book. I put it out every Christmas.

I can hear the chimes from my backyard. They have the sweetest sound. They are a gift from the wind.

I remember loving the walk to school on the windiest days. I’d hold my arms out and let the wind take me. My coat would billow like a sail. Sometimes my feet would move, but I’d get nowhere. The wind would hold me back. That’s when I laughed the most.

When I went to get the papers, I was surprised at the warmth. It is already 56° and is sunny though rain is predicted. On my to do list is a trip to the dump. I also need dog food and a few treats for Jack. This week will busy. I hate busy. I have two PT sessions and two uke events, practice and a lesson. How will I ever fit in a nap?

When I was a kid, Sunday was my least favorite day of the week. The whole day was scripted. It started with mass. I had to wear either a dress or a skirt and some sort of a hat. I remember a lace mantilla. I could keep it crumbled in my pocket and throw it on at the last minute. I usually drifted off into space at mass. Sometimes I’d read the book I smuggled in my pocket. I tried to look devout so I wouldn’t get caught.

The rest of the day, unless it was a Sunday visit to my grandparents day, was spent around the house. I’d read the comics or watch TV. I remember watching Lassie Come Home. It made me cry. Dinner was usually around two. It was the special dinner of the week. We always had roast of some sort. My favorite was a roast beef. My mother always made gravy. We had mashed potatoes and a couple of veggies. I don’t remember a specific dessert. I probably grabbed a few cookies and returned to the TV.

We were forced to bed early on Sundays because of school on Monday, one reason Mondays were the second least favorite day of the week.

In Ghana, Sundays were quiet days. They were also special dinner days. Bill and I would ride into town on our motos and go to the chop bars, small shacks serving food on the edges of the lorry park, and buy Ghanaian food. We usually bought fufu and soup. Fufu was made from yams, plantain or cassava. It was pounded in a pestle until it became a gelatinous ball. It was served surrounded by the soup. You ate with your right hand. Grab a bit of fufu then run it through the soup and try to get it into your mouth without drops of soup dripping off your hand. We got good at that. Usually we bought a light soup. The rest of the day was quiet. In the evening, we’d, Bill, Peg and I, play a few word games or endless games of Password, a Christmas gift from my parents one year. We used it so often we pretty much had every card memorized.

Day’s end came early. I’d read a bit in bed then turn out the light. Monday was a school day!

This morning the dogs let me sleep longer than usual. When I got downstairs, I took my time. The coffee was delicious. This month it is from Mexico. I yummed my way through 3 cups, one more than usual. I shared my banana with the dogs. I read the paper slowly so as not to miss any news. Many comic artists celebrated the 100th birthday of Charles Shultz in their strips. Charlie Brown and Snoopy prominently appear. Some comics had veiled references, and they were fun. Today is starting out to be a great day.

The worst time, when I was a kid, was when my bike went into hibernation in the cellar. It was often too cold to go riding. Going down my hill was the worst. The cold wind blew right up the sleeves of my jacket. It was the season of walking.

I remember when the thick Sears catalog arrived. We fought over whose turn it was to look through the book. I remember circling the pictures of toys I wanted for Christmas and putting my name next to the circles. I’d make a list. I’d write down what I wanted in my letter to Santa. I even added the item numbers in case he wanted to look.

I don’t remember exactly when we started decorating for Christmas. My guess is we nagged my mother as soon as the turkey became soup, the last vestige of Thanksgiving. The lights in the windows were first. They were always orange. The candelabra went in the middle, in the picture window. Cardboard decorations like Santa and a Christmas tree were taped to the windows. I remember white stencils on the picture window. I remember Santa. The tree wouldn’t be put up for a couple of weeks. That was what we most anticipated.

My father put up the outside lights after he’d spend a long time untangling them and cursing when he did. The bulbs were huge and got really hot. They were colored lights. Back then, nobody had just white lights. He’d cover the bushes in front of the house. The cord from the lights went through an opened, slightly opened, window and were plugged into a house outlet. It was always cold near that window.

When my father was finished, I’d run outside to see the lights. I was always awed.