Last night it rained. I fell asleep to the sound of the drops on the roof. This morning everything is still damp, but the sun is breaking through every now and then, and I can see blue sky off to the west. Both are giving me hope for a nicer day. It is already 55˚. A strong wind is blowing and bending all the tree branches and the bushes in the back yard.

I have a to do list with four definite chores and one maybe. The maybe is the outside lights.

When I was a kid, decorations for Christmas were simple. We had the lights in the windows and strands outside on the bushes. Inside was the tree, but we also decorated the picture window. We used stencils and a spray which made everything white. I remember outlines of snowflakes, Santa and Christmas trees. We all took turns at the window. That everything was white was never a bother. The window was beautiful to us. A candelabra of five candles filled with orange bulbs shined below. Every Christmas bulb in the windows was orange back then.

The storm door had colored cardboard decorations taped to it. Santa was prominent. The Christmas tree was a close second.

In the living room, strings were strung across the walls. Above the couch was the longest. It was where the Christmas cards were displayed. Another string was across the arch leading to the kitchen. As more and more cards were delivered we strung more and more string. Most of the cards were sideways.

My mother had ceramic decorations. One set was four small Santa cups. The handles spelled noel. I found that exact set on-line and bought it. It goes on my dining room side table. Salt and pepper shakers were Mr. and Mrs. Claus. Mr. Claus, Santa, had curly hair which I always thought a bit strange.

We had plastic light-up figures, some inside and some outside. They were mostly Santas. I have a few of those lights, all different sizes. Many are Santas but a couple are tall candles. Everything still works.

My house at Christmas has all sorts of decorations in no particular style. There are the traditional, the same from when I was kid. There are also decorations from my travels. Others I bought over time. I have pianos that play, planes that light up and a Santa that flies around the tree. I love my house at Christmas.

It is warmish at 42˚. The sky is a deep blue and clear of clouds. The breeze is slight. Today is another lovely day. My plans are to stay home, watch a few Christmas movies and write out my Christmas cards. I am watching Santa Jaws. A great white is terrorizing a coastal community. The shark has bells on his tail and a Santa hat on his fin. Ho! Ho! Ho!

Last night I found out a back scratcher is a multi-use tool. My glasses fell into the small space between the table and the couch, a space too small for my hand but large enough to eat glasses. I moved the back scratcher back and forth under the couch, no glasses. Next, I moved everything from in front of the table, no small task and no glasses. The table couldn’t be moved so I had to tilt it. I could see the glasses behind the table in a pile of dust and among all sorts of fallen debris too far for my hand to reach. My handy dandy tool, aka the back scratcher, was perfect for the job. I hooked the glasses, but they fell back into the dust. Undeterred I tried again and finally snagged the glasses. I was triumphant. All in all it took me forty-five minutes.

The good news is about Gwen. She had her sugar level checked on Friday, our once a week vet trip. For the first time her count had gone down, and she’d gained a pound. The vet was quite pleased. She said we’d found the sweet spot. Her next check is in a month.

When I was a kid, in the fifth grade, we sang carols uptown in the square. All the schools were taking turns. A stage of sorts was placed in front of the Children’s Corner store. The stage had a grey base, and it sort of wiggled a bit when you jumped. We all jumped. The teacher in charge shut us down. I remember people stopping to watch and listen. I felt the same way a diva must feel during the aria. We were enthusiastic singers belting out each song. I thought we were wonderful.

When I was a kid, the mailman used to come twice a day before Christmas, in the morning and in the afternoon. Each time, the mailbox by the front door was filled with cards. My mother kept a small metal file box decorated with Christmas trees. It was filled with index cards each with a name and address. She kept track of her sent cards and who sent cards in return. If they didn’t send a card for a couple of years, they were off the list and relegated to the back of the box, an exile of sorts. My names and addresses were torn off envelopes and kept in an old card box. I just have to find the box.