It rained during the night. Today is cloudy and dark, but it is warm, mid 50’s. I have no choice but to go out. The larder is empty, no bread, no cream, no cheese, nothing. I need to shop. It is dump day, finally. I have a few more things to load into the trunk. One is a box of litter from Jack’s room upstairs. It is heavy so I take it downstairs one step at a time. Today I miscalculated. I thought I was at the bottom of the stairs but was three steps away. I stepped down on nothing and hit the deck. I cut my hand. It was not an auspicious start to the day.

When I was a kid, I loved my Christmas pajamas. They were usually two piece flannel with a top and bottom. I also loved my new slippers. The tops were wool and the bottoms leather. I always felt cozy. I love cozy. It has become my lifestyle.

I loved the new books I got every Christmas. I remember the year of Little Women. Once I started it, I couldn’t stop reading. I loved Jo the best. She was fearless and outspoken. She was always a bit messy with her skirt askew. I could see myself as Jo. This Christmas, as with every Christmas in my memories, I got a new book. It is from my sister who continues the tradition. It is the new Patricia Cornwell. A perfect choice.

We always hoped for snow and ice for the week after Christmas. That meant sledding and ice skating. We lived in a perfect sledding spot, close to the top of a long hill. We’d pull our sleds to the top, jump on and whiz down the hill. At the bottom of the hill was a road and a fast ride down sometimes had our sleds crossing the road into the field. Any kid already at the bottom would watch for cars. We’d drag our sleds back up the hill for another run. We’d be at it all day until the sled rope had a layer of ice, our mittens were soaked, and we were cold. We’d go into the house through the cellar where we’d leave all our wet clothes. The sled was left upright in a pile of snow. My mother made us cocoa with a dollop of marshmallow. I’d let the marshmallow melt across the whole top of the cocoa before I drank it. I always got a marshmallow mustache.

The rain is back. It started early. It is a warm morning and will get warmer, as high as 44°, winter warm. It will be rainy all day. Today will be my dump day. I’m thinking the rain will keep people away. On Saturdays, usually, you have to wait in line to dump your trash. It is a strange world where you wait in line to dump your trash.

Christmas always brings back so many memories. Last night I sat looking at the tree for a long while. I’d see an ornament and remember. My friend Michelle, with whom I served in Ghana, visited once and gave me three round ornaments from Ghana. They are covered with decorated leather, red and black worn leather. She said I would use them as she never has a tree. They are always on my tree. One year my mother and I went to Italy. I bought a Pinocchio wooden ornament for her in Florence where Carlo Collodi, the author, had lived. She bought me the same ornament. The hand stitched and cloth ornaments are away from Miss Nala’s reach. Sherlock Holmes and Mark Twain are papier-mâché busts. Twain has a book. Eleanor Roosevelt, Edison, George Washington, Hitchcock, Queen Elizabeth, King Henry and a lady who holds a sign, Vote for Women, are all at the top. Captain Hook and Peter Pan hang beside each other. The Wicked Witch from the West is near Hook.

One of the unexpected ornaments is a glass bust of Ruth Baden Ginsburg. She is wearing a bit of her robe and a lacy jabot. Fun ornaments are from Panama, a crab, a croc, a seahorse and an ugly Santa with string hair. Every Christmas, when I decorate the tree, I get to remember the family I’ve lost, the friends who are gone, the travels I’ve taken and all the other Christmases.

When I was a kid, after Christmas was quiet. Our gifts stayed under the tree for a few days, and I’d sit under the tree playing with them or reading a new book. The lights reflected on some of my gifts. It was warm under the tree from the big colored bulbs. Sometimes I fell asleep.

One of the sure signs of the end of Christmas was turkey soup. We had eaten the turkey dinner on the big day, had another dinner the day after, ate open turkey sandwiches awash with gravy, ate other sandwiches with turkey, cranberry sauce, stuffing and toasted bread. My father would bare the turkey of meat, and turkey salad sandwiches were next and were delicious. My mother would then make the soup. After that, the bone was unceremoniously trashed.