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“Sometimes I wanted to take a memory – one perfect memory – curl up in it, and go to sleep.”

January 4, 2026

I know it is late but that seems to be my pattern. I spoke with a friend for quite a while which made me even later.

Today is another ugly day. It is in the 20’s and grey and drab. Last night, around 1:30, it started to snow, around two inches fell. It covered the front path I had cleared, the back steps and the newspaper. Maybe I’ll sweep the path and clear the car, a big maybe.

When I was a kid, I was not a fan of walking in the rain, but I loved walking in the snow. I’d stick out my tongue to catch the snowflakes, and I’d run and slide down the sidewalk. Snow had potential. Rain did not. Snow could mean no school, an afternoon of sledding or a day spent in the building of an impregnable fort to defend ourselves from snowball fights. Rain did give us water flowing down the street beside the curbstone to the drains, and we’d splash and kick the water at each other. We’d also get soaked. Wet clothes got cold quickly. I always hurried home on rainy days in the winter.

When I was really young, I wanted to be older. I couldn’t wait to be a teenager though little changed the day I turned thirteen. It took until I was twenty-one for the big changes. I could finally vote. I had watched political races since John Kennedy ran for president in 1960, and I was more than ready. Twenty-one was also the magic number for legal drinking, but I had been practicing so all was good.

Of late, I have become older. I am saddened by not being able to do everything I did. People offer to help me with the grocery bags. I used to say no thinking I didn’t need help. Now, if I need help, I say yes. Those bags are heavy. I know how old I am. I’m happy most days. I’m happy with busy days and sloth days. I love living my life with all its quirks and its oddities. I look forward to all new memories. I have a few empty drawers.

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”Christmas works like glue. It keeps us all sticking together.”

December 25, 2025

Merry. Christmas, my Coffee friends. I thank you for dropping by to visit. Coffee turned 20 last year. My first musings, on blogger, in 2004 were about the Sox and their journey to the World Series. It was also the year I had retired. Such big events in one year!!

I have been ruffling through my memory drawers. Christmas is easy to find. I have so many stories and so many memories. I love finding the right gift. My sister calls it the Christmas curse, a gift from our mother. We find one gift and think it is not enough, and that goes on for a while. We always give each other many presents, some fun, something to wear, a book and some special gifts. This year my sister Sheila gave me a pair of slippers with the picture of Henry and Nala on the stairs. Their names are above. Moe gave me rolls of Reeds cinnamon and root beer life savers. My mouth is burning now from the cinnamon. When I was in Ghana I craved root beer, for some odd unknown reason. I never found any there, but my sister always find some here. My sister gave me a cloth ornament of Ben Franklin holding a kite. I love cloth ornaments. I smiled the whole time I unwrapped presents.

When I was a kid, there was the tiniest open bannister toward the bottom of the steps from upstairs. That’s where we got our first look at the tree surrounded by presents. Most were unwrapped. I can still see my new blue bike in front of all my presents. It was the best present I ever got. I swear we were stunned for a bit then we’d racedown to our presents. Each of us had a pile with only our presents, most unwrapped but a few wrapped written from mom and dad. We’d open those then check out all our gifts. The games were often in the front. I remember the year of Sorry. That game stayed with us forever. We played it on Saturday game nights for years.

We again checked out our gifts and played with them until we got ready for dinner time. Christmas dinner was the best dinner of the year for me. We were all finely dressed. One of my dinner outfits had been a gift that Christmas. We often had roast beef, a good piece of meat, mashed potatoes, peas, corn and sometimes a surprise vegetable like butternut squash or, my all time favorite, creamed onions. Desserts were many. I went for the sugar cookies, and for my special box of cookies labeled To: Leenie Love, Uncle Jack. They were his anise cookies, my all time favorites, and the cookies were his gift to me. They were perfect, the best I ever had, and they have a forever spot in my memories.

Christmas overflows with meaning. We carry traditions and add new ones. One of my family dishes, added by my mother, is the butternut squash dish. We have all made Whoopi Pies but it is my sister who stands out, and they have become her tradition added to the rest. I gave Christmas stockings to all three of my sister’s kids. One came from on-line, another a friend knit, and I needlepointed my niece’s. It became tradition. I have given stockings to 5 grandnephews and one grandniece. My sister reminded me I needed to get the stockings so I did. Family memories get wider and longer. They become traditions.

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“The magic of Christmas shines through each little light.”

December 22, 2025

I apologize for the lateness of the hour. I slept in having gone to bed even later than the wee hours then I took my time savoring the morning. I finished the word puzzles and the crossword, always a good sign.

The morning is lovely though wintry cold. The high today will be 30°. I have no intention of facing the weather. I am actually going to clean starting with the living room. The dust balls have taken over, fodder for a Stephen King novel, okay maybe a short story.

The last day of school before vacation was fun. We colored, wandered the classroom and had a party. We all brought something. Chocolate chip cookies outnumbered all the rest. Sometimes they’d be sugar cookies. I’d grab one of those. They are Christmas to me. I think I ran home once we were dismissed.

I loved the living room with the lamps unlit and only the tree lights gleaming in the dark. They were always big, colored bulbs which got hot to the touch. On the ends of the branches were the bubble lights, my favorite lights. We’d sit and look at the tree right to left and left to right hoping to be the first to see the bubbles. I loved watching the red and green bubbles. My mother put her big glass ornaments on the tree. They were always safe on the top branches we couldn’t reach. When my mother gave us all some of the ornaments from our childhood trees, she gave each of us a big ornament. I always put mine on a top branch.

We had turkey for Christmas dinner, almost a repeat Thanksgiving. I never minded as I liked turkey and all the turkey dishes which came after, especially open face turkey sandwiches on bread, toast I think, covered in gravy with a side of cranberry sauce. My father always picked the turkey clean so my mother could make turkey salad and turkey soup.

My mother always put a few wrapped presents under the tree. We knew we’d open new pajamas on Christmas Eve. We didn’t have a choice. We needed to look good for pictures. My sister always tore a tiny hole in the wrapping paper of every present under the tree, all of our presents, not just hers. She had a talent. Just that little peek was enough for her to identify each present. Over time, she honed her craft. She could shake a present and know exactly what it was. She never missed.

Only two more days until Santa.

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“Each of our five senses contains an art.”

December 12, 2025

The winter weather is here to stay. I find myself thankful for days in the high 30’s after nights in the teens or, at best, the low 20’s. We may even get an inch of snow.

My sisters and I love Christmas. We carry with us the traditions started by our mother. We all have live trees. We take time to find just the right presents. We tease each other. We even bake the same cookies. Some might say we overdo the decorations, but I am of the firm belief you can never overdo Christmas. My sister loves mechanical decorations including ornaments which move. She has a giant Santa who dances and sometimes scares little kids. I have a piano playing snowman. He sings as he plays. He doesn’t scare kids.

When I was a kid, my parish had a Christmas fair every year. My mother always gave me enough spending money to buy gifts, mostly for her and my father, and to buy lunch. When the fair opened, we had a half day of school. The fair was at the town hall down the street from the school. We walked there with our classes two by two. The best table was the kid’s table where every gift cost maybe a dime or a quarter. My sister one year bought my mother a Christmas cactus. It sat on the table in kitchen, got huge and has lived forever. I always bought my father handkerchiefs. They came in a package of three. Lunch was hot dogs and a small bag of chips. I always thought they were the best hot dogs. I’d spend the afternoon there until I ran out of money then I’d head home. The gifts I bought were hidden until it was time to wrap them. I used to tease my parents about their gifts.

I always think Christmas is a celebration of the senses. Lights shine off the tree. Candles glow in the windows. Houses are outlined in lights. Bushes have colored lights which stave off the darkness. The house has the best smells. First is always the tree. On baking day, the kitchen fills with the aroma of cookies and pies in the oven. We used to wait in the kitchen until the cookies were done then we’d beg my mother for one. The taste of the slightly warm sugar cookies was heavenly. I took my time eating it. Christmas carols played while we decorated the tree, and we sang along. I used to run my hand up and down a tree branch then smell my hand. It was pine.

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“Memories are lined in the smell of pine.”

November 30, 2025

The sky is cloudy, and a little rain is predicted for tonight. It is in the high 40’s but feels chillier. It is a good day to stay home, nice and cozy.

When I was a kid, Christmas took a great deal of preparation. It was the only day which merited a countdown. My mother gave us an Advent calendar every year. We’d open a numbered door a day. Inside each door was a Christmas or a winter image. Many of the images had glitter. There were snowmen, skates, wreaths, trees and always a Santa. Behind the 24th door was the Nativity. We used to take turns opening the doors. I still get an Advent calendar every year, but now I don’t have to take turns opening the doors.

We’d start begging for our Christmas tree a week or two after Thanksgiving. My father would put us off for a bit then he’d go to the gas station to buy our tree. When I was young, it didn’t matter what the tree looked like, whether there were bare branches or spaces. It was having the tree which mattered. It gave joy. I remember walking downstairs each morning and seeing the tree in the corner and smelling the aroma of pine. It filled the house.

The tree would sit for a couple of days so the branches would fall then my father would pull out the boxes of lights and ornaments. The lights were the big bulbs, the ones which would get warm. They were also the lights where one dead bulb doomed the rest of the bulbs. The strands were always tangled. My father, not being a patient man, hated those tangled lights. He’d follow a strand which led nowhere. He’d curse. He’d try again. Finally he was ready to plug in the strand and check the bulbs. More than not they didn’t light. That was another cause for cursing, very un-Christmasy. Finally he would take off every bulb then hunt for the bad one. He’d hang the lights around the tree then it was our turn. First went on the tinsel. It was strung around the tree. It was red and green and silver. My mother was particular as to how it hung. It had to drape. She then hang the big ornaments on the top branches. We never hung those. We’d hang all the rest. My mother’s job was then to make sure that bare spots had ornaments, especially in the middle.

The icicles were the last of the decorating. They were lead. We used to roll them into small balls and throw them at each other until one of us got hurt or my mother yelled. We’d hang them nicely for a while so they looked like real icicles then we’d get tired and start tossing them in piles on the branches. My mother stopped us. She rehung the ones we’d thrown and then hung the rest of the icicles. The tree always looked beautiful. I used to love to lie under the tree and look up at the ornaments and the lights. Everything shined.

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”Coffee makes us severe, and grave and philosophical.”

October 12, 2025

The rain started earlier. It is supposed to rain on and off through Tuesday. I’m just fine with that. I intend to loll round and give my sloth full rein. I woke up with a cold. My nose is stuffy, my voice hoarse and every now and then I cough just to add to the misery. The dogs are my role models. They are sleeping on the couch, one on each side of me. I just put on a sweatshirt, first time this season.

I am giving Dunkin’ a second chance. Yesterday my latte was black, bitter and filled with bottom grounds. Today I am ordering just regular coffee and a donut. I can’t remember the last time I had a donut. They were a Sunday treat when I was a kid. My father used to buy them at the Quaker donut shop at four corners. He was a plain donut man who slathered the top of his donut with butter. Mostly he bought glazed and jelly for the rest of us. When they moved off cape, Dunkin’ became the donut stop. My father would head there after he had finished his usher duties at the early mass. I always asked for a butternut donut. He never remembered.

Most families have rituals. My family certainly did. Many of them were centered around holidays, especially Thanksgiving and Christmas. Sunday was the only day of the week with a ritual, the family dinner. It was always far more elaborate than weeknight suppers. A roast was center stage. My favorite was roast beef. My mother cooked it medium with barely any red. That has stayed with me. I don’t like red meat. For dinner there were always mashed potatoes. My mother used a hand masher and seldom left any lumps. Back then there were few fresh vegetables available. We’d have corn or peas or sometimes green beans. My father loved canned asparagus. My mother only bought a small can as none of the rest of us ate it. My father usually cut the meat in the kitchen as there was little room on the table. My mother made the best gravy. It was thick and a deep brown. It went on my meat and potatoes. I loved that dinner so much was it was the last dinner my mother made for me before I left for Ghana.

Here is the Dunkin’ update. My coffee never arrived. The Grubhub driver called and asked if I was beside some store. I said no. I told her I lived in a house on a street with houses. That wasn’t what the app said she told me. I said the app was wrong. She said no. I guess I’m living in the wrong place. She posted a picture of where my coffee had ended up. It was in front of some industrial garage. Grubhub suggested I ride around to find the coffee. I didn’t as I didn’t recognize the garage. Grubhub refunded my money and added $5.00. I really miss my morning coffee.

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“Christmas time! That man must be a misanthrope indeed, in whose breast something like a jovial feeling is not roused – in whose mind some pleasant associations are not awakened – by the recurrence of Christmas.”

December 12, 2017

Today will be rainy and warm with a temperature in the 50’s, but tonight will be  different. Old Man Winter, who’s tired of waiting in the wings, is coming back to lay claim to December. It will be in the 30’s all week during the day and even colder at night. One night is predicted to be in the teens. On that night, I’ll be cozy and warm in the house with all the Christmas lights glowing and spreading their warmth. I’m thinking I’ll have egg nog in hand, in keeping with the season of course.

It has been really difficult of late to maintain a bit of optimism. I hold on to mine with every muscle in my body especially now, at Christmas time, when all of my memories  surface and help me believe in goodness, generosity and faith. Even though we live distances apart, my sisters and I celebrate together when we honor family traditions. We keep our mother and father close. How could I be anything but an optimist at this time of year?

My first Christmas in Ghana was my first Christmas away from my family, but my mother made sure I had a bit of home. She sent ornaments from our family tree. She also sent a small plastic tree to hang them on. I used the brick-like paper from the box to make a fireplace on the wall. From it I hung the small stocking she had sent. A few Christmas cookie cutters were also in that wonderful box. Though I had never made sugar cookies, I did that Christmas. They were delicious and shaped like a star, a tree and Santa. I found out much later that my mother and my aunt Mary had split the huge cost of sending that box airmail so I’d have it in time for Christmas.

I have many memories of that first Christmas in Ghana, but I think my favorite happened while I lying in bed waiting to fall asleep. It was cold, and I was bundled in a wool blanket I had bought and even still have. At that time of the year the harmattan is in full force. The days are hot, usually over 100˚ hot, but the nights and really early mornings are delights when the temperature drops sometimes even 30˚. On that night, I heard a boy’s voice singing. I think it came from a family compound just outside the school walls. The boy sang all the verses of We Three Kings in a sweet, clear voice. It was the only sound in the cold night air. It brought delight and joy to me, and I knew I’d be fine that first Christmas away. I always think of that boy as my Christmas miracle.

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“The most fortunate are those who have a wonderful capacity to appreciate again and again, freshly and naively, the basic goods of life, with awe, pleasure, wonder and even ecstasy.”

November 26, 2015

I am reposting last year’s Thanksgiving musings. They can’t be bettered. There is, however, one change. We are going out to eat. I’ll have to dress for dinner. Yesterday I made my chocolate pie. My sister made her chocolate pie as well as her other pies. My other sister literally had to stuff her huge turkey into the roasting pan. It just fit.

I always think a day set aside for giving thanks has to be the best of all days.

Thanksgiving is the least adorned holiday of them all. We don’t buy each other presents or decorate the house. There are no new outfits in spring colors. The highlight of the day is dinner and being together around the table as a family related by blood or friendship. Of all the holidays, it is the one in which we all share so much in common. Traditional dishes unique to each family are served but so are turkey and mashed potatoes, stuffing and gravy and all those pies. It is the time for us to remember the people we love who are no longer with us and to appreciate the ones who are. We give thanks for the good in our lives, the food on our tables and the glory of every day. We talk together and laugh together at dinner. We pass the rolls, the green bean casserole and the canned cranberry sauce with the ribbing. We eat until we can eat no more. We finish by doing some cleaning up then relaxing in the living room until we have some room for dessert.

This morning I will watch the parade, the same as I have done as long I can remember. I’ll talk to my sisters to wish them a Happy Thanksgiving. I won’t dress fancy for Thanksgiving, none of us really do. I’ll sit with my friends and enjoy every part of the day. I am thankful for the life I have been lucky enough to live, for the people I love and the people who love me.

I am thankful for all of you, my Coffee family.

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“The great thing about getting older is that you don’t lose all the other ages you’ve been.”

August 17, 2014

My dad used to tell me the story of my birth. The hospital was in the same town where my mother’s family lived so my father kept driving back and forth with updates. My aunt was getting married that very day and was not happy her beauty sleep was being interrupted by my dad. My grandmother told her to deal with it. After all, this would be the birth of her first grandchild. Later, back at the hospital, my dad was sitting in the waiting room, the only one there. Finally a nurse came in and asked for Mr. Ryan. My father, after a hectic, exhausting night, said, “Who in the hell do you think I am?” She had him follow her, and they were just wheeling my mother out when he saw her and me. That never usually happened. Most times the father first saw his wife when she was in bed and the new baby in a bassinet in the nursery. My mother always complained she looked awful and should have had time to clean up. “What is it? was his first question. The it was girl. The it was me. It was around 3 AM when I arrived. I still like a good entrance.

I have been most fortunate. My life is filled with loving family, the best of friends and countless adventures. I have lived in Africa. Who could have predicted that? In Ecuador, I stood with one foot in each hemisphere. That is just so cool. I have the best aim when it comes to holes in the ground making me an overachiever in such an important skill. My friends make me laugh and give my life joy. My two sisters are amazing. They love making fun of me, but they’d be here in a heartbeat if I needed them. My friends and I have traditions like celebrating the first day of spring by watching the sunrise over the ocean, playing Sunday night games before The Amazing Race, Saturday night movies on the deck, Easter at the Ocean House and impromptu nights with munchies and games. My Peace Corps friends are back in my life and I am so much the better for knowing them. My former Ghanaian students too are back in my life. Two called and wished me a Happy Birthday today. KTCC has given me close friends for whom I am always thankful.

Okay, there have been ups and downs and bruises, but they never soured me on life. They made more grateful for what I have and taught me resilience and how best to land with the least amount of injury.

This morning my friend Clare left a mum on my front walkway. She does this every year, and it is one of favorite birthday traditions. Yesterday afternoon my friends took me to the Ocean House for a late lunch by the water. The food was scrumptious, the view spectacular and the drinks mighty tasty. They went down far too easily. They also gave me a Sharknado t-shirt I’ll wear with pride. When I got home, I took a nap. It was 6 o’clock. I woke up at 8. Tonight another friend is taking me to dinner. I expect it will be an early bedtime.

Every morning I am thankful for the new day and for whatever surprises it will bring.

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“The great thing about getting older is that you don’t lose all the other ages you’ve been.”

August 17, 2014

My dad used to tell me the story of my birth. The hospital was in the same town where my mother’s family lived so my father kept driving back and forth with updates. My aunt was getting married that very day and was not happy her beauty sleep was being interrupted by my dad. My grandmother told her to deal with it. After all, this would be the birth of her first grandchild. Later, back at the hospital, my dad was sitting in the waiting room, the only one there. Finally a nurse came in and asked for Mr. Ryan. My father, after a hectic, exhausting night, said, “Who in the hell do you think I am?” She had him follow her, and they were just wheeling my mother out when he saw her and me. That never usually happened. Most times the father first saw his wife when she was in bed and the new baby in a bassinet in the nursery. My mother always complained she looked awful and should have had time to clean up. “What is it? was his first question. The it was girl. The it was me. It was around 3 AM when I arrived. I still like a good entrance.

I have been most fortunate. My life is filled with loving family, the best of friends and countless adventures. I have lived in Africa. Who could have predicted that? In Ecuador, I stood with one foot in each hemisphere. That is just so cool. I have the best aim when it comes to holes in the ground making me an overachiever in such an important skill. My friends make me laugh and give my life joy. My two sisters are amazing. They love making fun of me, but they’d be here in a heartbeat if I needed them. My friends and I have traditions like celebrating the first day of spring by watching the sunrise over the ocean, playing Sunday night games before The Amazing Race, Saturday night movies on the deck, Easter at the Ocean House and impromptu nights with munchies and games. My Peace Corps friends are back in my life and I am so much the better for knowing them. My former Ghanaian students too are back in my life. Two called and wished me a Happy Birthday today. KTCC has given me close friends for whom I am always thankful.

Okay, there have been ups and downs and bruises, but they never soured me on life. They made more grateful for what I have and taught me resilience and how best to land with the least amount of injury.

This morning my friend Clare left a mum on my front walkway. She does this every year, and it is one of favorite birthday traditions. Yesterday afternoon my friends took me to the Ocean House for a late lunch by the water. The food was scrumptious, the view spectacular and the drinks mighty tasty. They went down far too easily. They also gave me a Sharknado t-shirt I’ll wear with pride. When I got home, I took a nap. It was 6 o’clock. I woke up at 8. Tonight another friend is taking me to dinner. I expect it will be an early bedtime.

Every morning I am thankful for the new day and for whatever surprises it will bring.

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