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“We take a last look out of the window at the night, and I send a silent wish to everyone out there for this kind of warmth.”

October 26, 2017

The rain has been a deluge at times and hasn’t completely stopped since Tuesday night. We’ve had somewhere between three and four inches of rain. Streets are flooded. Yesterday my mailman said he couldn’t get down the street beside mine as there was such a huge puddle he was afraid his truck wouldn’t make it. Gracie squats as close to the door as she can. She is no dumb animal. I have to go to the dump today so I’m hoping for a lull.

When I was a kid, rain and leaves meant walking carefully on my way to school. It was easy to slip and fall. The wet leaves covered the sidewalks as if glued to them by the rain. Mostly the downed leaves were yellow. It was a yellow brick road.

We didn’t carry umbrellas, and I didn’t have a raincoat. I always got soaked. In school, I’d just have to sit and wait to dry. At home after school, I usually put on my pajamas and slippers. They were my cozy clothes. I always wore slipper socks with anti-slide bottoms. I got a new pair every Christmas. Even now I have a couple of pairs, but they are old, and stretched. The toe ends are longer than my feet, and I have to keep pulling the sock part up, but that doesn’t matter. My feet stay toasty warm.

A cold spell is coming which just means the weather will be more seasonal. The nights will get down to the 40’s. It’s time to use my blanket and snuggle under the down.

Stews, casseroles and soups are winter meals to me. My mother would sometimes fill our lunch box thermoses with soup. She always included Saltines and a dessert. Most times she remembered the spoons, but sometimes she didn’t so I’d slurp my soup from the thermos cup being careful not to let the soup spill. I wasn’t always successful.

I haven’t gotten dressed yet. I am comfy and cozy. In a while I’ll drag myself upstairs, get dressed, fill the car with trash, brave the rain and go to the dump. When I get home, it’s back to cozy.

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“Even as an adult I find it difficult to sleep on Christmas Eve. Yuletide excitement is a potent caffeine, no matter your age.”

December 24, 2012

When I was a kid, I knew today was the longest day of the year. It had everything to do with anticipation. Clock watching never helped. The clock’s hands took forever to move from one tick to the next, and every tick seemed to echo. Usually it was too cold to go outside and play so there was little to do to while away the hours. We’d watch television, and we’d watch Santa Claus, who had been on TV every afternoon for a few weeks from a station in New Hampshire. He’d be winding up his TV career, loading his sleigh and saying good-bye to all of us. As soon as it got dark, we pretended to be tired, but my mother knew. We just wanted to go to bed early hoping we’d fall asleep so the night would pass quickly. Supper was light. My mother always had the big dinner to prepare the next day so mostly we had sandwiches and sugar cookies for dessert. The tree looked especially beautiful on Christmas Eve. It was lit the whole day.

I remember one year on Christmas Eve my mother sent me to buy some ingredient she’d forgotten. I rode my bike to the red store. I couldn’t believe my mother had me doing an errand on such an important day. It just wasn’t right. Christmas Eve was too special for a simple errand.

If we were lucky, A Christmas Carol, the perfect movie for Christmas Eve, was on TV in the late afternoon or before dinner. I have never tired of watching Scrooge and his redemption. This year I have seen two different versions, both excellent: George C. Scott and Alastair Sim.

Just before bed, it was time to hang the stockings. They were red with white cuffs. Our names were on the cuffs and had gold glitter on them. The bannister was a small one but we managed to fit all four stockings. Though we didn’t have a fireplace, we never worried. Santa would find a way.

We’d lie in bed and talk from room to room until finally we’d drift off to sleep.

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“The less I understood of this farrago, the less I was in a position to judge of its importance.”

November 17, 2011

That beautiful sun is on hiatus, and the last couple of days have been cloudy. Last night it rained. The oak tree by the driveway has only one branch left with any leaves. All the rest of the leaves have fallen and completely covered my driveway. The wind is blowing the bare branches and the day is completely uninviting. I have this vision of me in the living room on my chaise lounge listening to Hawaiian music and wearing something flowered while I drink out of a coconut with a small colorful umbrella and a cherry on a stick that looks like a little sword.

Why toast in the morning? I wondered that the other day when I had a couple of pieces. In the afternoon most of the bread for my sandwiches is seldom toasted. Club sandwiches, when I go out for lunch, usually are but the simple bologna sandwich almost never is. I suppose any sandwich bread can be toasted, but it just doesn’t seem to happen. Egg salad would seem a likely choice connected as the egg is with breakfast, but I never see a toasted egg salad sandwich.  Toast is something to ponder I suppose.

Pajamas also make me wonder. Who decided that we have to wear different clothes at night than in the daytime? I wear a t-shirt to bed all year round, but when I was a kid I wore pajamas, never a nightgown because nightgowns ride up and make uncomfortable lumps while you’re sleeping.

I  wish I knew why some things are called what they are. A mixer is an easy one because that’s what it does, but who named soap? I used to tell people that some old lady in Hoboken, New Jersey was the wordmaster for the US, sort of like a poet laureate for words. Anything new comes along, and she gets a call. “What’ll we name it?” She thinks about it a while weighing what the thing does then she triumphantly coins a new word like a sort of baptism. That’s it-print the dictionary.

Okay, today is a hodge-podge, a gallimaufry, a jumbled mixture of what sometimes runs through my head. At least it keeps me entertained.

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I’d love to get pajamas. Good, nice and warm flannel ones.”

December 27, 2010

I had every intention of writing this morning, but I thought I’d take a small nap first. Well, that small nap lasted for hours, catch-up time for what had been a rough night. Gracie joined me. She snored, but I was glad for her company so I ignored her and fell asleep anyway.

I could hear today and see it from my window. The wind blew loudly, and I could almost feel the cold. Birds were at the feeders, mostly gold finches, and they flapped their wings against the wind to keep their balance. A nuthatch flew in, took a seed and then flew to a sheltered branch to eat it.

We had a bit of snow, some rain then snow again. I’m guessing we had maybe three or four inches, but the snow blew sideways and drifted in the wind which made an estimate difficult. The wind is still blowing, but the snow has stopped. It is a night to be close to hearth and home.

On days like today I stayed dressed in my flannels and sweatshirt. They keep me warm and cozy. When I was a kid, I wore flannel pajamas every night all winter. I was too old for the footed pj’s so I envied my sisters wearing theirs. On my feet were sock slippers, the new ones I got every Christmas, so my feet stayed warm even without the pj’s. My favorite part of those slippers was the soft leather soles which made a scruffy sound on the floor when you dragged your feet. We used to do it on purpose to drive my mother crazy.

My flannel pajamas were always two parts: a top and bottom. They always had a print and it was usually flowers, not a print I’d choose. The top had buttons and the bottom had an elastic waist. The flowers were small and I swear they were always red. I suspect I got the exact same pair every Christmas for ten years, but I can’t prove it. They wore out quickly as I wore them often and my mother washed them in her wringer machine which was hell on clothes.

My mother was cleaning as I walked in the door after school one day. Right away I recognized the rag she was using to dust and polish the living room furniture. I could barely see the red roses, but I knew that rag had once been part of a set of flannel pajamas.

Categories: Musings
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” I once walked in on the queen wearing her crown and pink, fluffy slippers.”

October 17, 2010

The morning is cold. The sky is deep blue, the sunlight sharp. Last night the wind was fierce and loud, but today is quiet and still. Many of the trees are now bare, and the ground is strewn with leaves. My front yard is speckled with pine needles. Fall is losing its grip.

The house is always chilly in the morning. The sun just isn’t enough anymore. I turn on the heat to warm the house then I turn it off again. It’s just too early in the season for the heat to be blasting.

I was a pajama sort of kid, never one for nightgowns as they never kept me warm enough. My favorite winter pajamas were a matching set made of heavy jersey with cuffs at the wrists and ankles. They made me feel cozy all over, except for my feet. Those were kept toasty warm in sock slippers. Every Christmas I’d find a new pair of sock slippers under the tree. They were always brown. I used to love the scuffing sound they make on the floor when I walked. My mother didn’t. Last year my sister gave me a pair, and when I opened them, I felt like a kid again. Those too were brown.

Now I wear a sweatshirt around the house which keeps me nice and warm. Most times it’s an old one which is pretty ratty, but that’s okay with me. I’m into warmth, not fashion. Flannel pants and slippers complete my winter ensemble. My slippers make scuffing noises on the floor when I walk.

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