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.