The weather hasn’t changed except to get a bit warmer. Last light it rained so today is cloudy and damp, familiar weather. The weatherman predicts tomorrow will be sunny. I hope he is right. I have stuff to do.

Today is the winter solstice and the longest night of the year. I get comfort, some small comfort, knowing daylight will start to last longer every day after today. In January we’ll gain between 90 seconds and two minutes of daylight. That’s a mood changer.

When I was a kid, I wasn’t all that afraid of nighttime, but I was afraid of unexpected noises in the dark. My father scared me once when he pretended to be the hook, the man with the hook, scratching the screen. I yelled at the noise like a B-movie character obviously making the wrong and fatal choice. Now the hook would know I was there. I was really scared. My father never scared me like that again.

I spend more time awake in the darkness of the late light, in the wee hours. In the summer, I like to sit out on the deck in the moonlight and look at the stars. Now, the cold means a quick in and out, but sometimes I stand outside for a bit and watch Henry then we both hurry inside out of the night cold.

I have a project I’ve been putting off, but it is time. I have two wooden boxes filled with albums, with vinyl. I know some are vintage Christmas, like from Grant’s, so it is time to go hunting. I have brought in a chair so I don’t have to sit on the floor. Comfort is my middle name.

My mother had a hifi early on. My father always got a huge bonus after Christmas, and one year he bought the hifi. It was brown. That’s all I remember. We played Christmas albums all the time. We’d load two or three of them on the spindle. My sisters used to sing along with Guy Lombardo and me because the lyrics for all the carols were on the record jacket. I remember Bing and his Christmas record with him on the front in a Santa hat and wearing a holly tie. I think everyone I knew had that album.

My Christmas tree lights are on, and all the candlelights on the living room tables are lit as is a gourd with a painted winter scene. On the hearth is a lantern with a brightly lit snowy scene of a car carrying a tree on its roof.

I love the feel of my living room. The soft light from the candles is comforting in its quiet. Their glow is bright on the floor and tables. Though the living room is simply decorated this year, it still keeps Christmas for me.

This morning’s weather seems to be the trend. It is again damp and cloudy. Color has disappeared. The pine trees in my backyard are silhouetted against the grey sky. The occasional breeze ruffles the dead leaves at the ends of the tallest oak branches. Nothing outside is inviting today.

My friends dropped by yesterday. They were in their car, and I was on the walkway to my house. We chatted a long time, long enough for frostbite to tickle my toes. I was so happy to see friends in real life.

I am in a never-ending battle with cardboard boxes. I do recycle them, but they need a ride to the dump so now my backseat and front passenger seat are filled. I could break them down, but I tried once and the box was stronger than I was, and I nearly fell over. In my defense, it was a huge box. Anyway, I am scheduling the dump run for Wednesday as it is closed tomorrow and Tuesday, and the trash isn’t quite ready yet.

When I was a kid, the trash trucks came once a week. Two guys hung off the back. They were the ones who jumped off, grabbed barrels from the sidewalks and dumped them at the back of the truck. Beside them on the truck was a lever. That was for the compressor (I’m guessing its name) which flattened trash and pushed it to the back. The truck motor was loud, but the compressor was louder. We’d stand on the sidewalk and watch the trash get flattened. It was worth our attention, kind of exciting.

Christmas is so close, but I have everything I need readied. I have the best appies for Christmas Eve, coconut shrimp with mango sauce and crab rangoon. I have a bottle of champagne and some orange juice for Christmas morning mimosas, a Ryan family tradition. The egg nog is chilled and ready for a bit of spirits. Dinner is ordered to be picked up on Christmas Eve morning. The presents are under my tree and on the hearth. There are lots of them.

My sister, Moe, when she was a kid would tear tiny holes in any presents under the tree. She was quite adept at hiding the holes. We just knew they were there. She also developed an uncanny gift of correctly guessing presents. She’d pick up a present, shake it and that was it. Surprise gone. Now, Moe waits, sometimes what seems like too long a time to open her presents. Somebody should check for holes.