Today is a drab day filled with clouds, maybe practice for tomorrow’s rain. It is warm at 52°. The dogs have been out most of the morning. They wander the yard. They run and chase each other. They come back inside panting.

This is a busy day for me, but I have it all planned in my head. First thing was my shower, check. Next, I have to buy some dog food and Jack’s favorite treats. I also need to hit the ATM. I have a late PT appointment after which I have to hurry home to get ready for my uke holiday dinner tonight in Hyannis. Between one and the other is 45 minutes. It will be a scramble.

On one of my school vacations in Africa, I traveled through Burkina Faso, then Upper Volta, to Niger. We rode over the Kennedy Bridge to cross the Niger River into Niamey. The bridge had just been opened. I remember that trip for several reasons. The first was my friends and I became separated at the border after our transportation from Upper Volta had died. We got separate rides into the city. I couldn’t find them so I found a hotel of sorts and rented a room. The hotel was a brothel. I didn’t sleep all night because of the noise of men talking and tromping up and down the halls and occasionally knocking on my door. At first light, I fled. When I was wandering, two small boys asked me if I wanted Peace Corps. That wasn’t surprising. It was the same in Ghana. Young white people were mostly Peace Corps. They led me to the hostel where my friends were staying. I was thrilled to find them again.

The next event was my never to be forgotten camel ride into the desert. The camel took off. I held on to the one strap for dear life. I nearly fell off, but the beast stopped just before I did. It was scary and exciting all in one. I stayed on the camel to finish my ride.

The biggest event was I caught cholera, but I had already had two shots which helped mitigate the symptoms though not enough. I still needed to camp out in the bathroom. The Peace Corps doctor came to visit and gave me medicine and a shot. Within a couple of days I could travel again so we booked a flight to Ougadougou.

After we landed, passport control didn’t want to let me into the country. I had no visa. I never got a visa to Upper Volta though I went quite a few times to Ouga. The border police just beyond Ghana used to let me in and would write in my passport I was staying just for the weekend. My friend who spoke French convinced them to let me in. It was so late at night we each grabbed a bench and fell asleep at the airport. When we woke up, the cleaning men were standing and holding their brooms. They hadn’t cleaned. They didn’t wanted to disturb us.

This morning is frosty. My car windows are covered in rime. The icy leaves on the ground make a crinkling sound when the dogs run in the backyard. Their fur is cold when they come back inside the house. It is a winter morning.

Today I have an empty dance card, but it is filled for the rest of the week. I’m missing my sloth days, the days of staying in my cozies, taking an afternoon naps and watching Hallmark Christmas movies even though I know all the plots.

Nala doesn’t just bring the inside out. She is now bringing the outside in. Just a bit ago she dragged pine branches through the dog door. Leaves, still attached to those branches, were all over the living room floor. She doesn’t just strew the leaves. She also chews the branches. Small bits of wet, chewed bark are on the hall rug. Nala is a pip.

My father used to say, “He’s a good egg.” That was quite the compliment. My sister says it every now and then as a homage to my father. That always makes me smile. When I’d visit my parents and sleep late, my mother used to say, “You must have needed it.” We still say that with my mother in mind. So much stays with us.

Of all holidays, it is Christmas which carries the most memories. We keep family traditions and add some of our own. The trees of my childhood were decorated with the same ornaments each year. Some of those are on my Christmas tree. My mother even sent a few to Ghana. They were my connections to home on my first Christmas ever spent away from home. They were on the small tree in my house, also sent by my mother, and on the school’s Christmas tree in the dining hall during the Christmas assembly. I have a picture of that tree with a gingerbread man hanging off a branch. The last time I had seen that gingerbread man was on the family tree in the corner of my parents’ living room.

It is time to get my tree, to fill my house with Christmas.