Today is a pretty and, even better, a warm day at 41°. A slight breeze only ruffles the few brown oak leaves hanging from the ends of the branches. Right now the sky is a lovely deep blue but clouds are expected for the afternoon. I have a couple of errands.

Every now and then I have a perfect moment, a time when everything aligns. They aren’t usually monumental moments though that does sometimes happen, but, rather, they are mostly every day moments. The other night I had a perfect moment. The house was quiet. I could hear the dogs breathing as they slept one on each side of me on the couch. I was reading my new book from Christmas and drinking a cup of coffee. I was content. I could feel it.

When I travel, I love the mornings best. I like to take an early walk. People are going to work, and trucks are unloading, parked on the streets. It is an ordinary day in their lives. As for me, I’m a traveler. No day is ordinary. Every day becomes a memory, starting with the mornings.

I have been crowned sloth queen, queen of the sloths, or any other name you want to use to recognize my ascendency to the throne. I have done nothing in the last couple of days. Oh wait! I did nap a few times, okay a lot of times so I still have tables covered in decorations. My cold is to blame, but my cold is almost gone. I guess I could blame the dogs next.

The fun of Christmas for me has always been the search for the perfect presents for my sisters and my friends. For a few years I stitched all their gifts. I’ve brought back gifts after every trip to Ghana and my trip to Morocco. I like to shop the small stores, the one of a kind stores, to find different gifts. I do love thrift shopping but haven’t done much lately. That sounds like a good way to spend a Saturday.

Nala was playing in the hall with a toy which, when I checked, turned out to be my embroidered Irish harp, a travel gift from friends who are gone. I walked toward Nala all the while pretending I didn’t care. She caught on and ran outside, harp in mouth. I coaxed her inside, harp-less, with a treat and went outside to save the harp. It was just fine, not a mark, but while I was in the yard, I decided to do some clean-up: a dog food can, a couple of paper towels, a paper plate, the headless body of a Santa and the hat still headless from the same Santa. The mystery of it all: where is the head?

I am fighting off a cold. I am at the wheezing, snorting, napping and occasionally coughing stage. Last night I fell sleep sitting up on the couch. I woke up at midnight and, of course, wasn’t tired. Afterwards, to pass the time, I read, played a few games on my iPad and watched more wonderfully bad black and white movies. I went back to bed around six.

When I was a kid, I had a set bedtime on school nights, but I usually cheated. I’d have my flashlight under the covers so you couldn’t see any light, and I’d read. Every now and then I’d surface to cool down a bit. I’d read until I got caught or until I was tired. I’d also use my plastic bed lamp under the covers. It hung over the headboard. I’d move it to under the blanket. get settled and read. Under the covers got really hot. I used to sweat. Eventually, night time usage took a toll. The plastic lamp parts melted a bit. That always perplexed my mother. I never told her. What’s life like without a bit of mystery?

When I was young, every school day went as expected. The only unknown was my lunch. Dinner would be meat and potatoes and a vegetable. We’d have cookies for dessert if any were left. They went quickly in my house. We’d watch a little TV before bed. I swear just about every program was a western. I’d go upstairs to bed, sneak read then fall asleep. The new day would dawn and we’d do it all again. There was a huge degree of certainty.

Christmas is still here but in pieces. Decorations from each room are on tables waiting to be boxed away until next year. The tree, though, is still decorated because its ornaments go into one storage bin of only tree ornaments so they’ll go last, and the other, the scrub pine tree, gets covered as is. The obstacles to my finishing this task are the boxes. They are still in the cellar just waiting to be filled. I need to start carrying the boxes upstairs, filling them then carrying them back downstairs, tasks I keep delaying.

I have no system, except for the trees, for packing Christmas away. That is utterly contrary to everything I do, to all the notes, all the preparations in numbered order by day, lists stuck to the table and everything labeled. Years ago, in my younger days, each box held all the similar decorations like all Santa’s and trees. Each box was taped and labeled. I still have a few of those long ago organized and labeled boxes but which now mean nothing. I put in anything which fits into the boxes including old glass ornaments wrapped in bubble paper. Year to year the filled boxes are packed away, unlabeled. Next year I’ll bring the same boxes upstairs and be surprised when I unpack the decorations Willy nilly stored inside from this year. Surprise is a neat feeling still, especially at Christmas.