This morning I was up early. It was still dark. I tried to go back to sleep, but the dogs decided to get up and stand in the barricaded doorway. Barricaded? Without question! It keeps Nala in the room when I’m sleeping and prevents her from wreaking havoc and leaving devastation in her wake.

Last night it rained, and I was worried the back steps might get icy. They didn’t, but I was ready just in case with safe for paws de-icer. The temperature isn’t so cold at 40˚. The sun is bright, and the sky is a deep blue. The morning is lovely.

I have a gingerbread house to construct. Usually I have a small one, but this year I’m going big, a risk. In the past my houses have collapsed. The walls fell in on themselves earthquake style, but I’m hoping for a house which stands on its own merits, its own strong walls. My only problem is once it’s finished I have to find a place Nala can’t reach. I remember another year, the famous gingerbread fiasco year. I bought a completed house at a bakery. It was beautiful. My dog Shauna ate it. She was known to be a mighty hunter. I had to baby-proof the cabinet doors where her treats were stored or she’d open them and snack. One year she got into the closet where Easter candy was stored. She ate it but, luckily, she was fine, didn’t even get sick. Nala has a lot of Shauna in her.

We lived in South Boston in a huge brick apartment building when I was really young. In the yard were fenced in areas with clothes lines where we played. Across the street was a kindergarten. I can close my eyes and still see it. The building was fenced in and was an ugly square brick building with a playground beside it. My mother brought me to school. Each time she did, I left and walked across the street to go home. My mother stopped bringing me. My other memory of that time is at Christmas. Santa came to our house. My mother had my brother and me all dressed up and waiting in the bedroom with the door closed so we would be surprised. When she opened the door a crack, I could see Santa in all his glory sitting on our couch, sitting on our couch. I went and sat on his lap. I was thrilled. I even have a picture of me with Santa. My face is filled with wonder. Next was my brother’s turn. He refused to leave the bedroom. Santa scared him. There is no picture of my brother with Santa that year.