We were promised a warm day. That didn’t happen. Today is cold and raw. I had hoped to hang my outside Christmas lights, but that will happen another day. I went out for breakfast and met friends. It was a fun morning. You can’t beat a day which starts with friends and breakfast.

Yesterday I did make it to the dump. I thought there should have been fireworks and a parade; instead, I guess I’ll just have to celebrate an empty trunk and an empty backseat. I have started bringing all the Christmas presents downstairs so I can sort and wrap. So far we’re talking three filled bins with four more upstairs.

My yard got its final clearing today. I watched four guys with leaf blowers attacking on all sides the same pile of leaves in the driveway. Henry was the soundtrack. He barked the entire time. The worst was when they cleared the deck. Henry was barking fiercely at the back door. Nala was on the deck and afraid so the guys stopped. She ran into the house. My yard now looks so neat and clean and ready for winter.

When I was a kid, the parish had a Christmas fair every year. My mother used to help. I remember getting out of school early and walking two by two in classes from the school to the town hall, a block away. Once there, the nuns let us loose. My mother gave us money for lunch and to buy a few presents for the family. Lunch was always a hot dog with a small bag of chips and a small coke. I wandered from table to table. The favorite table was for kids buying presents for parents. Nothing was expensive. We’re talking a dime or a quarter. I could buy my father a white handkerchief. He always kept one in his back pocket. My mother was more difficult. I sometimes bought her perfume which I suspect she never used. I can’t imagine how a dime bottle of perfume must have smelled. My sister Moe bought my mother a Christmas cactus one year. It lived on the kitchen table near the window for years and years. It had flowers every Christmas. I think it still lives with one of my sisters.

When I’d get home, I’d admire the gifts I bought. I was so proud. I’d ask my mother for wrapping paper and tape. I remember sitting on my bed wrapping all the presents then putting them under the tree. There was no disguising which presents were mine. They were the small presents wrapped in feet of colorful paper.

Yesterday was downright cold and rainy. Today is a bit warmer, in the low 40’s, and drier. It’s still dark. I woke up early again, 5:15. This has to stop.

Today I have big plans. It is time to organize gifts so I can wrap and send them. The outside lights are still sitting on the chair so I need to tackle that task. The trash has to go. It is dump day. My list is long. I just have to fight my sloth tendencies.

Nala stole a decorative pillow from right under my nose so to speak. I only found out when I went on the deck yesterday and saw the yard. All over was the white fluff from inside the pillow. It looked like snow.

My childhood house was one side of a duplex. No room was very big. The kitchen was small. Upstairs were three bedrooms. I shared one with my sister. My brother also shared another bedroom. One day my parents went to do errands. We stayed home. To entertain ourselves, we got the best idea. We’d tie a rope around my sisters’ waists and lower each of them from the second floor window to the ground. My brother and I held on tightly to the rope, for safety sake and all. My sisters loved it. They’d get to the ground, take off the rope and run upstairs for another turn. I don’t remember how many times we lowered each of them, but I remember we stopped before my parents got home. They would never have found out except for a neighbor who ratted on us. My parents were not pleased. We got the lecture about how dangerous it was as we were lowering my sisters to the concrete steps below. We tried to explain our safety measures, but we never got that far.

When I was a kid, I could barely wait until we got our tree. My father usually picked it out. His choices always had bare spots. That was where we put the cardboard decorations. The one I remember the best was a Santa with a bottle of coke in his hand. He usually ended up in the middle of the tree. When I was an adult, I went with my mother to pick out the tree. Hers never had bare spots, and hers were expensive. When my father asked the price, my mother always lowered the cost by as much as $15.00 to save him from apoplexy.

Once the telegraph man came not long before Christmas. He delivered a telegram addressed to the Ryan Children. It was from Santa. It was also a warning. He said he was watching us to make sure we stayed on the nice list. I still have that telegram. It has yellowed over the years. It is the only telegram I have ever received.