Today is another cold, partly cloudy day. It matches my mood. I need more sun and maybe a bit of warmth. I’m tired of living in my sweatshirts and flannel pants. I did go out yesterday, but it doesn’t count. I went to get bread, dog food and cat treats. I was in and out quickly. Did I mention the cupcake and the Snickers?

When I was a kid, the week between Christmas and New Year was usually quiet. We played with our new toys and games still lit by the light of the tree. The year of my bike we had no snow so I could ride. It was chilly down hills, and my jacket puffed in the wind. Mittens don’t have the best grip for handle bars, but they kept my fingers warm. That bike was my greatest Christmas present. I became an intrepid explorer. I was an adventurer. I learned to ride without using the handle bars. I learned to turn corners with my legs, not my hands. I ventured into nearby towns, even as far as East Boston to the horror of my mother and the surprise of my grandfather. It was when I was in high school that my bike stayed more in the cellar than not. My friends got cars and we rode. Only once in a while did we all do a bike trip, a planned trip sometimes with a picnic. My bike got left behind.

One of the best things I did in Ghana was during my second year when we were allowed to buy motos, motorcycles. I bought one in Tamale ( tarm a lay), 100 miles and at least 2 1/2 hours away. I had to learn to ride the moto before I bought it. The dealer gave me a start, brake, shift and stop lesson. I took off, drove on the left and rode the 100 miles with one stop to rest and a few stops to gape. I would get a helmet from Peace Corps but on that first ride, no helmet. I will never forget the exhilaration of that trip. I rode through towns and villages. I dodged goats and sheep. I stopped just to look, just to admire what going slower and more deliberately gave me. It was the best trip ever until the next best trip ever. I could ride far on back roads, laterite roads. I went places I didn’t know were there before. I shopped in a small market just to shop. I drank newly brewed pito while sitting on the bench in the pito house. I took my time. That was how remarkable having a moto was.

Now, I still like rides once I get up and about. The Christmas lights are brighter this year and more houses are lit, more colors and bright bulbs are keeping the darkness at bay. The cape has very few streetlights. Within a short time outside will be dark again, but here inside, I have white lights on the fireplace screen. In a basket I have lit gourds, a couple from Ghana. The dining room table has a set of lights in the big dough bowl. The lights are set among pine cones, strawberries, a piece of driftwood, a cloth star and a collared, tagged Steiff boxer, a weird addition I know but he does seem to fit.

The lights are soft, warm. I love the way the lights feel. My house is winter lit.

Today is partly cloudy, but it is the partly sunny part which draws my attention, catches my eye. It is the first glimpse of the sun in a few days. It is cold still, only 32°, but there is no wind. The house is so quiet. None of us are stirring.

After Christmas our toys stayed under the tree for a few days. I remember playing games lit by tree lights. There was a bit of a red glow cross the board. Supper was casual, mostly leftovers. We ate desserts as we played. We had plenty of sugar cookies and spritz cookies. We ate our chocolate Santa’s. The head was the first to go. He was hollow.

I remember how empty around the tree looked after we put our gifts away. The tree would stay through Little Christmas. It was lit every night and was the centerpiece for the living room. Only one lamp, the one on the table by the window, was lit. The tree was bright enough. The whole house smelled of pine, especially the living room. I loved walking down the stairs in the morning and smelling the tree all around me. It is what I always miss most after the tree comes down.

This morning I dined on the decadent. I had my usual coffee and toast, but on the toast I spread black mission fig jam, delightful fig jam, a gift from a friend. I wasn’t eating toast from the paper towel on the table. I was eating figs, pure fruit with a touch of sugar, orange purée and lemon juice. My breakfast had been elevated. In my mind’s eye, I’m wearing white gloves, a small tiara, a dress of muted Christmas colors and holding a delicate butter knife for spreading the jam on my toast. I am using a tea cup and saucer for my coffee. They actually match. I am staying in again, being lazy and cozy. I have enough animal for today, but I have to go out dog food tomorrow. I also need bread and maybe a dessert.

During vacation week, the weather determined what we did. If there was snow, we’d go sledding on our street, a long hill. When we were older, we used the toboggan on the golf course where the hills came quickly and the toboggan zoomed. We held on for dear life. My friend Jimmy was on the end and nearly fell off a few times. We held his legs. Sometimes we ice skated. We would stay close and skate at the swamp until the boys came in the late afternoon to play hockey. Other times we went to Recreation Park to the town’s rink put up every winter. The shack had benches and a wood burning stove. Pairs of shoes were all over the floor of the shack and under the benches. The rink was circular and made of white painted wood. It was about 4 blocks from my house. I remember how my feet tingled in my shoes on the way home. I remember how tired I was. I remember a cup of hot chocolate at the end of a day of skating.