The weather today could get extreme with winds gusting past 40 mph. Right now the tree trunks are bending, the oaks and the scrub pines. The wind is howling. Power outages are possible. It is raining but warm at 55°. I have to go out later. I need a couple of life’s necessities, dry dog food and cream.

When I was young, I was a firm believer in Santa Claus. I never questioned the anomalies back then, but as I grew older the doubts appeared. Seriously, all in one night? I remember my mother told me that Santa was magical. He could manipulate time. How big was his book of good and bad children? How could he know all of the children in the world? Yup, Santa was magical. Flying reindeer? Some squirrels flew so why not reindeer? My mother took us to see Santa every year. We knew it wasn’t the real Santa but a stand-in who could communicate with the real Santa who was home in the North Pole making toys with the elves. I remember my mother reading A visit from St. Nicholas to us. I had a few questions. Why did he eat the sash? It was no wonder he threw it up. There were words I didn’t understand but my mother explained. The reindeer were the coursers. The luster of mid-day meant the night was bright. Where was Rudolph in the litany of reindeer? My mother’s answer made sense: he wasn’t needed yet. The lines about the leaves and the wild hurricane meeting the obstacle in the sky totally threw me. I just listened. Santa, however, was perfect, exactly how I knew him. I loved how his belly shook like a bowl full of jelly and how he quickly filled the stockings then up the chimney he rose. I wished I had been the one instead of papa to see Santa.

I don’t remember when I knew for certain Santa Claus wasn’t real. At first, I couldn’t imagine my parents affording all the toys we found under the tree, but as I got older, the doubt became reality. I wasn’t traumatized. I even kept up the pretense for my younger sisters as believing in Santa was one of the best parts of Christmas.

I have several Santa’s for decorating. A few are the light-up plastic Santa’s from the 50’s. On my tree, a Santa and his reindeer are lights that hang on different branches and circle the tree. I have a needlepoint Father Christmas pillow I bought in London then needlepointed for my mother as a Christmas present. It came to me when she passed. I put it way up high so Nala can never find it. I have a Santa playing the piano. Who knew he was musical? I have so many more Santas they take turns as decorations each Christmas.

Nobody asks, but I really still do believe in Santa. Just look round.

Yesterday, the snow was melting, and all I could hear was dripping. It was warm, in the mid 40’s. It felt like spring after all the freezing days in a row. My flannel shirt was enough. The dogs stayed out longer. Nala did zoomies. Henry watched. Today should be the same but probably without the zoomies.

Spiders’ webs crisscross the walls. I haven’t ever seen bigger webs in the house. They look like they belong somewhere scary and haunted, a place kids avoid by walking across the street. I have been wandering from room to room dispatching said webs with my long handled duster.

I made food gifts for my friends. My kitchen hasn’t been that busy in a few years. I filled gift bags with my English toffee, home-made vanilla, chocolate chip and peanut butter cookies. I even tucked in one of those John Hancock Christmas Carol books we all remember. I bought them on e-bay.

I can close my eyes and see the living room in the house where I lived the longest growing up. It wasn’t a big living room. One wall was a picture window with smaller windows on each side. The other long wall was where the couch sat. The TV was in the corner of the room. It was in a big cabinet far too big for the small TV. Every Christmas we moved the TV so the tree could sit in that corner. On the wall behind the couch, Christmas cards were displayed on a string which stretched from one side of the wall to the other. A desk was right by the front door. Beside the desk was a closet. My father always hung his top coat there and put his fedora on the shelf. Sometimes we hung more Christmas cards on the wall behind the desk.

At Christmas time, on the shelf of the picture window was always a candolier with five orange bulbs. The windows on each side held a candle, also with an orange bulb. That seemed the popular color. Our stockings were hung on a small bannister near the bottom of the stairs. The living room was the only room decorated for Christmas.

Every morning we’d open the advent calendar. I remember the excitement mounting day to day as we got closer to Christmas. It made us almost giggly.