The clouds and the sun are having their turns. Right now it is sunny. The wind is now and then. Snow flurries are predicted. I am still dismantling Christmas though all that is left is to put the gathered decorations in their boxes. The living room is clear and back to normal except for the tree in a white plastic bag standing in the middle of the room. It needs to go, to be hauled outside. The hall is an obstacle course of filled boxes. The dining room and living room have stuff on tables waiting for their boxes. I just have to get motivated.

When I was a kid, we all helped decorate the house, especially the tree. I remember my father and mother would pick the tree, set it up in the living room and then wait for the branches to fall. We’d decorate together. I remember it all. What I don’t remember is taking it down. My mother dismantled Christmas while we were in school. I remember the shock of getting home to a drab, undecorated house. I always missed the tree with its color and aroma the most. Now I have one incognito in my living room.

When I was a freshman in high school, we had a sex orientation lecture in the gym which also served as the auditorium. The chairs were stored under the stage. They were directors’ type chairs with red canvas seats. They were fun chairs because if you sat on one with a bit of force you bounced as did everyone in your row. I remember the girl sitting beside me at the lecture. I don’t remember her name. She was slight. She had several siblings. Those are the only identifiers I have. I remember her hands. During the lecture she constantly rubbed her hands together and she shook. That meant we all shook, the whole time.

When I was a kid, name calling and making fun of other kids was common. “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names can never hurt me,” was the usual response. I always liked, “Takes one to know one.” And the ever popular, “I know you are but what am I.” Sometimes your mother got maligned, “So’s your mother.” The grammar school playground was a dog eat dog world.

The morning is lovely. It is also cold but not outrageously. The sky is as blue as any sky can be. I don’t see a single cloud. The air is mostly still. It is a pretty winter’s day.

Yesterday was busy. I made it to the dump, finally. My trunk was filled with trash bags. My back seat had the cans and papers and such. It was an overdue chore. My tree is empty, ready to go outside. My living room is back to pre-Christmas. It makes me sad. I love all the Christmas colors and decorations. Taking them down has made my world a bit drab.

When I was a kid, my grandparents lived in the city. We used to visit them often, on Sundays. I loved the city. My grandparent’s house was in the middle of the block. At one end of the block was a small corner store. That’s where I’d spend the dimes my grandfather would give us. The dimes were bribes. He wanted peace and quiet. The other end of the block had a house which opened its front window to sell Italian ice. I found that amazing. I ate cold, square Italian bakery pizza for the first time during one visit. I loved it.

I remember playing stickball on the street in front of my grandparents’ house. We used a broomstick and a half pink rubber ball. I was mostly the gofer. We also played stoop ball. The ball, an intact red rubber ball, was thrown at the front stoop by the batter. Fielders were spread out in the street. The batter hoped for distance off the stoop to get a high score. The fielders hoped for fly balls off the stoop. There were no real rules, and the scoring was often contentious. These were city games. We never played them at home.

My dance card actually has some entries for this week, all uke. I have been home most of the last two weeks. I have really missed people. The dogs are the worst conversationalists. They tend to spend their days eating and sleeping with an occasional trip to the backyard. The dump was actually exciting. I saw people, even said hello to a couple. They said hello back. I was thrilled.