Posted tagged ‘holidays’

« home page
« Older Entries

“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.

Categories: Musings
Tags: , , , ,

Comments: Be the first to comment

“Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies!”

December 4, 2025

Last night it was down right cold at 29°. I think it was as cold as it has been, but tonight will totally top that though top doesn’t really fit. Maybe bottom out is better. It will get down to 17°. The dogs will be in and out and back again in a flash. Their fur always feels cold. Nala even gets under the quilt when we go to bed. She keeps me warm.

When I was a kid, I never questioned the existence of Santa Claus. He just was. I had the common questions, but my mother had all the answers. How did he get around the world in one night? Her answer had to do time around the world, and it made sense to a young me. Today was yesterday in some places. I never doubted flying reindeer. After all, there were flying squirrels so why not reindeer. I knew Santa was chubby and plump from all those cookies he ate, even if he only took a bite to be polite. I expected I was always on the good list, but I did wonder who squealed on the naughty list kids. It never occurred to me to wonder why Santa gave us presents. In our house, Santa presents were never wrapped, and that made sense too. I figured making toys for all the kids around the world took so much time there wasn’t any time left for wrapping. I remember walking down the stairs and looking over the railing and seeing all those toys around the tree. It was breathtaking.

The best Santa was at Jordan Marsh in Boston. We went just about every year. We used to say we were going in town, and everyone knew we meant Boston. If we had said up town, we would have meant the square. Back then the square was filled with stores but none had a Santa. At Jordan’s there was always a line. It slowly snaked around the Enchanted Village. I remember all the scenes with mechanical people dressed in Victorian era clothes. They were moving, working, in village stores, and in houses families were decorating the tree. It was, as the name, described, enchanting. This was in the 50’s. Later the village was closed, but it reappeared every now and then. One Christmas my sister and her family came from Colorado. We all, including my mother, went to Boston to see the Enchanted Village. It was in City Hall Plaza. Without question, it was old fashion, and the movements were simple, repetitive, just back and forth, but that didn’t matter. It was as I remembered it. It was still enchanting.

Categories: Musings
Tags: , , , ,

Comments: 1 Comment

“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.

Categories: Musings
Tags: , , , ,

Comments: Comments Off on “Memories are lined in the smell of pine.”

“But what minutes! Count them by sensation, and not by calendars, and each moment is a day.”

August 20, 2015

We have rejoined the world. The doors and windows are open to the breeze. The stale air is disappearing. It is still hot but not unbearably hot. Here in the dark den all three animals are sleeping near me, each in her special spot. The breeze is coming mostly from the north, from the window behind me. Pleasant best describes the morning. I usually shy away from using generic adjectives. I was, after all, an English teacher, but I think pleasant conjures all the best of today: the sun, the clean, dry air and most of all the breeze.

When I was a kid, I had little concept of time other than a few minutes, an hour and maybe as far away as tomorrow. “Are we there yet?” drove my father and every father crazy, but it was because we had been in the car for what seemed like hours or even days so we figured we had to be there no matter how far away there was. We had countdowns to birthdays and the best of all days, Christmas, but the whole concept was a little blurry. Three weeks until Christmas really didn’t mean a whole lot to us. Even the number of days in three weeks didn’t help. We understood two days or maybe three days, but we never really caught on until the big day was close, like a day away. When you’re six, every day is endless.

Time in Ghana was frustrating at first. Six o’clock meant six o’clock to us but not to a Ghanaian to whom six o’clock meant whenever. If I invited someone to my house, I was always asked if I meant African or European time. I had been raised to be punctual, a courteous sign of respect, so it took me a while to unlearn European time. I learned to be patient and to wait. People would come in their own time. Lorries would leave when they were full. Stores would open when the owners got there. Dresses would be finished when the seamstress got around to finishing them.

I had to be on time for my classes and to take the government bus, but that was it. I came to like Ghanaian time. I was never late to anything. Things got done whenever. Life was slow and easy. I didn’t even wear a watch, still don’t.

Categories: Musings
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Comments: 8 Comments

“I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year.”

December 27, 2012

It’s a gray day. The rain started late last night and continues this morning. When I let Gracie out, I noticed my back Christmas lights were lit. The timer’s sensor was duped by the darkness. I went out and turned them off then came back in, made coffee and was about to get my papers when the torrential rain started. It pelted the doors and windows. Undaunted, I got my umbrella and ran out to the drive-way for the papers. Right now it’s a quieter rain. I’m just glad it’s not snow.

The car is filled for the dump run. I hope it isn’t raining later, but my rainy day dump luck is generally bad. Usually it starts to pour just I drive through the gates. On my to-do list is also a couple of other errands, but no dump means no errands. I am actually hopeful I’ll be stuck in the house. Yesterday I did nothing all day, didn’t even make my bed. It was my day after Christmas sit around and enjoy life day. Today I’ll get to blame my sloth on the weather!

Christmas was wonderful. My friends and I opened gifts and enjoyed our Christmas feast. I opened ornaments from Africa. They are huts with straw roofs and are already on my tree. In my stocking, I got new socks. That doesn’t sound all that exciting, but if you saw my socks you’d understand as almost all of them have holes of some sort, usually in the toes. I hate to throw away socks with holes if they still cover most of my feet. Now, though, my two worst pairs can be thrown away after a small good-bye and thank you ceremony. My favorite gift is a bird made with PVC pipes. It has a long bill and crane like legs. This summer it will grace my backyard so we can all see it from the deck. Gracie got a new snowman and frosted dog biscuits. She also got a Santa that sings Jingle Bells when she carries it around. That I want to deep-six.

My Christmas tree is lit right now, and it shines brightly in the darkness of the day. Later, I’ll grab my iPod and lie on the couch in the living room to read so I can see the tree. It will be gone soon so I want to enjoy every moment, a year is a long time to wait until the next one.

Categories: Musings
Tags: , , , , , , ,

Comments: 17 Comments

“As long as we know in our hearts what Christmas ought to be, Christmas is.”

December 18, 2012

As I was walking downstairs this morning, I could smell the Christmas tree. I smiled. I love that smell and can’t think of no better way to greet the morning. Right away I went over and turned on the tree lights. They brightened the room and chased away the clouds and the rain.

Yesterday Gracie and I went about doing a couple of errands. She got her nails trimmed, and while I waited, I bought her a few surprises for Christmas. I also stopped at a favorite bakery to get cookies to bring to the library for this week’s Christmas open house. The bakery owner, whom I see all the time, was there and asked what I was looking for. I told him about the open house and the library. He said he loved libraries and then he gave me three packages of his cookies as a gift to the library. How kind that was! How generous! I am forever thankful for the goodness in people.

I got a call from my friend Bill who had somehow managed to track down Patrick, another volunteer with whom we had served in Bolga. I had looked for Patrick for a while but never found him. Bill found a story in an Iowan newspaper about Patrick and send an e-mail last September asking if the Patrick he’d found was our Patrick, but Bill didn’t get an answer until now when Patrick called him. Pat’s memory is a bit fuzzy. He barely remembered Ghana let alone any of us. He asked Bill if there wasn’t also a gal in Bolga. I can’t remember the last time I heard anyone say gal. Bill told him I was that gal. I had to chuckle as did Bill. I have Patrick’s phone number and am aimin’ to give that galoot a call. I’ll introduce myself as a gal he knew from way back when.

I have a story I like to tell this time of year about my first Christmas in Ghana, my very first ever away from home. I was   homesick and sad. My mother tried to help so she sent me a small tree, ornaments from our family tree, brick crepe paper so I could make a fireplace and a small stocking to hang. I decorated my house but it didn’t help much. Besides, the weather was all wrong. It was the harmattan, the driest time of the year with a hot, dusty wind which blew each day and covered every surface in my house with sand. The heels of my feet cracked from the dryness, and I had to walk on tiptoes until the skin hardened. The only redeeming parts of the harmattan were the nights. They were cold, put a wool blanket on the bed cold. I’d leave all my windows open so I could snuggle under my blanket. It felt a bit like winter.

The nights in Bolga were quiet. They were bright with stars which seemed to blanket the sky. I was in bed trying to fall asleep on a night close to Christmas when I heard a small boy singing. His voice carried though the night air. It was the only sound I could hear. He sand We Three Kings, every verse. His voice was beautiful. I don’t know where he was. I guessed he lived in a compound near my house, but that didn’t really matter. He gave me one of the most beautiful gifts I have ever received. He gave Christmas.

Categories: Musings
Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

Comments: 40 Comments

“The will of the people is the only legitimate foundation of any government, and to protect its free expression should be our first object.”

July 4, 2012

It’s raining but a summer rain which is almost gentle. I’m watching The Green Slime, a science fiction movie from 1968. The credits were accompanied by a wonderfully bad theme song. The plot is simple: astronauts have to blow up an asteroid on its way to Earth, but unbeknownst to them, they bring back the slime which turns them into crazed killers.

Today is, of course, the 4th of July, a day we celebrate the anniversary of declaring our independence. My memory is filled with celebrations for the 4th of July. One year, when I was little, I sat on the back steps and watched the fireworks bursting in the sky from the next town over. Starting when I was twelve and continuing until I was sixteen, I marched in the Wakefield parade. I was a member of St. Patrick’s Shamrocks drill team. Most years it was really hot, but the longest street was tree-lined which gave us a reprieve. Later, when I was an adult, I’d go up to my parents’ house, and we’d go watch that same parade. We’d set our chairs under one of those trees. On the morning of the parade, the street resembled a science fiction movie where all the people had disappeared leaving behind them empty chairs: they were there to reserve the best spots. After the parade, we’d have a barbecue. My mother made her deviled eggs and potato salad while my father tended the grill. The last few years I’ve spent with friends who would also have a barbecue with deviled eggs, and they’d get creative and serve interesting drinks. One year the drinks were blue, in keeping with the occasion of course. When I was in Ghana, we celebrated the American holidays. The 4th of July had no fireworks and no barbecue, it had friends getting together, a perfect way to spend the day.

This rain has me staying home today, but I’ll watch my traditional 4th of July movie: Independence Day. Usually Jaws is part of the double bill but this year it’s 1776, a favorite movie of mine. I’m going to barbecue but, alas, no deviled eggs.

Categories: Musings
Tags: , , , ,

Comments: 15 Comments

“A good book is the best of friends, the same today and forever.”

January 7, 2012

My sister and brother-in-law are coming down today. I’ve held their Christmas presents and Christmas goodies for ransom until they visit. Every Christmas my sisters have certain expectations from me. Moe and Rod, in Colorado, expect English toffee. Sheila, who’s due here any time now, expects her fudge and date-nut bread. She won’t be disappointed. Once I knew Sheila was coming, I made both of them. She’ll open her presents first then we’re going to lunch.

Last night was warmer than I expected. When Gracie went out before we went to bed, I decided to follow her and check out the night. She went into the yard, and I stood on the deck looking at the lights strung across the driveway gate. They’re coming down after Little Christmas. I’m going to miss all of them, but I’ll miss the star most of all. It lit up the night. I’m thinking maybe I just ought to keep it lit, let it keep away the deep darkness of winter nights. It will have to be moved a bit so I can open the gate but that doesn’t seem like a big deal.

Whoever chose December to celebrate Christmas chose well. Joyousness and celebrations and music and color and families gathering together brighten even the darkest days and nights. Fireworks, I think there should be fireworks.

I finished my book today. It was the newest James Patterson, at least I think it was. He seems to write a new book every month. This one was an Alex Cross novel.

Books go quickly for me. If I like one, I take every opportunity to read it. Whatever break I have, out comes my book. When I’m watching a TV program, the commercial is another opportunity to read. Often I get so involved in the book I lose the program I’m watching. A day spent reading a good book is a day well spent.

Categories: Musings
Tags: , , , , , ,

Comments: 16 Comments

“Like snowflakes, my Christmas memories gather and dance – each beautiful, unique and too soon gone.”

December 23, 2011

It is by all accounts a dreary day, dark and rainy, but being so close to Christmas, it looks, to me anyway, to be bright and beautiful. The tree is lit, and the house is filled with the scent of pine. I’ll be baking most of the day, my orange cookies, my mother’s favorite, and one more kind yet to be determined. My mother used to hide some of the orange cookies so they wouldn’t disappear too quickly. I’ll share mine with my friend because they remind her of her mother’s orange cake. That’s what Christmas is, remembering Christmases past, making new memories and carrying traditions from one generation to another.

Today is the last day before school vacation. I remember my high school kids were almost giddy. Santa hats were a common sight in the halls, and the spontaneous outbreak of carols was a lunch time treat to hear. One year a junior boy stood on a table and sang a solo. It was beautiful. Age is never an impediment to the joys of the seasons.

My sister is buried deep in snow. We’re having rain again, but I’m okay with that. I’ll just dream of a white Christmas. That’s enough for me.

I used to love my Christmas stocking. It was always stuffed and filled to the very top. Reaching my hand in and pulling out one thing at a time was the best approach. That way emptying the stocking lasted a long time. My mother was the stocking stuffer of legend. When we were kids, nothing was wrapped, but when we were older, she wrapped every single thing. Our childhood stockings had crayons, coloring books, baby bottles and a stuffed animal hanging out of the top. The rest of the little gifts were always a surprise. When we were grown, my sisters and I knew they’d be a pair of earrings for each of us in our stockings, but that was all we knew would be there. The rest of the stuff, just like when we were kids, was always a wonderful surprise because my mother found the neatest, most original stuff for those stockings.

My nephew used to call today Christmas Eve Eve.

Categories: Uncategorized
Tags: , , , ,

Comments: 12 Comments

“Heap on more wood! the wind is chill; But let it whistle as it will, We’ll keep our Christmas merry still.”

December 19, 2011

Last night dropped to the teens, as low as 14°, but, luckily, I was home warm and cozy wearing slippers and wool socks to complement my usual nighttime winter ensemble. Today feels warm at 39°. If the wind would disappear, it would feel even warmer. It’s strong enough to sway the big feeder and take the birds for a ride. I’d get car sick if I went back and forth that many times.

I never did get to the grocery store with my list but, instead, I went to a smaller store to pick up cat food and paper towels; however, I can procrastinate no longer and will leave for the Stop and Shop as soon as I finish here. I need to do my Christmas baking.

December 23rd was usually when we got out of school for vacation. We went to school the same as usual that morning, but it was never really a usual school day. We were far too excited to learn anything so the nun, knowing she was facing a losing battle, would vary the activities. In the morning we’d color Christmas scenes and make Christmas cards for our parents. In the afternoon we’d have a party.

My Christmas cards were seldom works of art. Most had a tree on the front because trees were easy to draw and decorate. I used a yellow crayon to make garlands because the white crayon was never any good to use. You couldn’t see it. You could feel it but not see it. I made dots of color for the lights but never ventured into ornaments. They would have looked like blobs. My inside messages tended to be on a slant and sometimes I ran out of space and had to loop my words. My mother made a big deal oohing and ahhing when I gave her my card. It was as if I had given her a real masterpiece. I always felt proud.

Christmas Day is a Sunday this year. When I was a kid, I loved it being on a Sunday. It was like cheating a little as it counted twice. It was both a Sunday mass and a Christmas day mass. We often went to the very first mass of the day walking to church in the cold darkness so we could hurry home to play with our new toys. I remember thinking we were the only people in the world awake that early. All the houses were  dark, but, on the way home, the sky was light and the people were awake. We could see tree lights shining when we looked at the windows as we quickly passed by them. We were in a hurry to get home.

Categories: Musings
Tags: , , , , , , ,

Comments: 14 Comments

« Older Entries