Keep the Coffee Comimg

The morning is warm at 56°. Rain is predicted. The sky has started to cloud over, light clouds still. The breeze is strong. The few oak leaves left on the branches are fluttering. I am feeling better though still coughing, but I want to decorate for Christmas anyway. I hope to put the lights on my deck rail. I have already decorated a swag for my front door. I’d love to buy my tree today so maybe the rain will hold off. If not, I’ll decorate inside.

When I was a kid, our house wasn’t very big. At Christmas time, the tree dominated the living room. I’d sometimes lie under it to look at the lights. They were big colorful bulbs. They were mesmerizing.

My favorite cookies at Christmas have always been sugar cookies. My mother had old cookie cutters. She had Santa, an angel, a bell, a tree and a star. I’d watch her roll out the dough then use the cookies cutters. Once the cookies were in the oven the whole house smelled of the baking cookies. That is one of my favorite Christmas smells. Even though right from the oven the cookies were hot, we begged for one. I remember shifting it from hand to hand to cool it. The first bite was heavenly.

After they all had cooled, we decorated. My mother made the frosting, put it in bowls and colored the frosting in each bowl. We had red, green, yellow and blue. We used butter knives to put on the frosting. Delicate was not part of the decorating. Santa was always red. The stars were always yellow. The tree was green, and I’d add dots of other colors to look like lights. The bell could be any color. To get extra fancy, we’d also use sprinkles. My mother had multi-colored ones and green and red ones. After we had finished, the cookies were put on cooling racks so the frosting would set. We’d all sit and look as if looks could get them to set faster. Before my mother put them away, we got to pick one. I chose either the Santa or the tree. They were the biggest.

I have come to believe I am living under a curse. First it was the fall, and I am still in the midst of the aftermath, but it is getting better, my face that is. My teeth, though, still hurt as does part of my lip on one side, and there is an ugly scab, one which draws looks or averted eyes. Yesterday’s curse was the sodden English muffin. This morning I woke up with a cold. I have decided to stay home today, walk gently and spend most of my time on the couch. That last one I do well.

Yesterday’s concert was wonderful. The audience sang along with the carols. We wore red, fun hats and fascinators. I wore my red Converse high tops. The sound effects included bells and whirrs and a drum.

On Christmas Eve, we were always allowed to open one present, but we had no choice as to which present. It was always the new pajamas. A few other wrapped presents were under the tree. They were from my parents. Santa never wrapped his gifts. He placed them around the tree in groupings, one pile for each of us. I remember going down the stairs and looking over the banister at the lit tree and all the presents around it. A new game was always upright in the front. I remember the year it was Sorry. The most amazing present was my bike, my very first new bike. It was all by itself along the picture window. It had a bow on the handlebar and a basket in front. I took that bike out on Christmas Day and rode it up and down the street. I was still in my pajamas.

I don’t remember Christmas morning breakfasts. I do remember eating some of the chocolate from my stocking. It was allowed. When I was an adult, I always went to my parent’s house for Christmas. I’d make a breakfast casserole on Christmas Eve so we could stick it in the oven in the morning. We always had mimosas Christmas morning. Even now, I usually make myself a pitcher of mimosas. It is, after all, the tradition.