Keep the Coffee Comimg

Today I am late. I had a dentist appointment and stopped at my doctor’s. The dentist just checked my teeth and decided I needed an anti-biotic. At the doctor’s, I needed a medication processed. I’ve decided if I ever fall again, I’d like to break my arm instead.

It is cold, down to the high 20’s. I blasted the car heater and wished I was home.

When I was a kid, the mailman, at Christmas time, came twice a day. Each time, our mailbox was filled with Christmas cards. We took turns opening them. All of our relatives and all of the neighbors sent cards. My mother kept track of the senders in her card box. A few years of no cards from someone had them bumped off my mother’s list. We used to hang the cards on string around the living room. A few went on the Christmas tree to cover the bare spots in the middle. My Aunt Barbara always sent individual cards to each of us. I loved getting her card. It made me feel special.

My town always decorated the square for christmas. Just down from square, the fire station was totally outlined in lights. A Santa sat on the roof. It was spectacular. Hung over the Main Street from streetlight to streetlight were strands of fir with lights and glittering stars. I remember one year, in the middle of each strand, hung a bell. The lights on the strands turned on when it got dark. All the stores were open, their windows bright. They were decorated for the holiday, nothing spectacular but still festive and worth a stop and maybe an ooh and an ahh.

The square was the center of town back then. All the stores were there. At Christmas time, the sidewalks were filled with shoppers. Every night kids stood on a stage across from the Children’s Corner and sang Christmas carols. The schools took turns. I was there singing for all I was worth when it was my school’s turn. I always hoped someone who knew me would notice.

Last night it started raining around ten. I heard the drops. Today is dismal. It is a dark, chilly morning. Everything is still damp from last night. A wind is blowing the last of the leaves to the ground. The dogs were out and back quickly.

Tonight is our uke Christmas party. It was a week ago when I fell coming out of uke practice. Tonight is my return to the fold.

I played my Christmas album the other day and thought about when we made it. I was in the sixth grade. Guy Lombardo came to my parish, St. Patrick’s, every year to play at a dance. He was a friend of one of the parish priests. When Guy Lombardo decided he would make a Christmas album with children’s voices, he chose us. The front of the album cover says, “Recorded Live at Town Hall, St. Patrick’s Parish, Stoneham, Massachusetts.” I remember the day we recorded it during April vacation. The band, the Royal Canadiens, Guy Lombardo and Kenny Gardner, the singer, were on the stage. Under the stage was where all the recording equipment was. We, my classmates and I, were standing together in front of the stage. We had song books with all the lyrics. First we’d practice each song then sing for the recording. Kenny Gardner would sing each song first then we’d join in. For some songs we had several takes. The recording took all day. At the end, Guy Lombardo thanked us and gave us all Hoodsies. Despite my talents, I haven’t recorded another album.

My sister in Colorado is the only one of us who still has her original stocking. We all had the same stockings, red with a white cuff around the top. On the fronts of the white cuffs our names were written in gold glitter. We hung them every Christmas on the small bannister at the bottom of the stairs. We never questioned the lack of a chimney, Santa’s traditional entry. We all accepted that Santa was magical, and he would find a way.