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“Christmas is a day of meaning and traditions, a special day spent in the warm circle of family and friends.”

December 20, 2016

The sun decided to make an appearance today. I guess it is a bit of a reward for surviving the cold of last night. Today is about 40˚,  warm for the depths of winter.

My mother never disappointed us at Christmas. When I was really young, Santa always brought me something from my list. Under the tree, they’d be my big gift, a new game, books, and even clothes. I loved the clothes as they were what everyone was wearing. I remember some of my favorites over the years like the white fluffy sweater, the gold necklace, the ski pants with the loops, the over the head parka with a zippered pocket across the chest, and a wool skirt. The books were classics or mysteries. The games were ones the whole family could play. Santa didn’t take the time to wrap our gifts. They were arranged under the tree. I remember looking over the banister as I walked down the stairs and being thrilled and excited. I might have even squealed with joy.

We had Christmas stockings when we were young, but when we were adults, my mother used all sorts of pseudo stockings like a basket, a really neat shopping bag or something old she’d found like a coal hod. She wrapped every stocking stuffer which heightened the excitement so I always wrapped every stocking stuffer for her and later for my sisters. Now I do the same for my friends. I am a wrapping phenomenon at Christmas.

My dad was never all that excited about Christmas. He would reluctantly open his presents long after the rest of us had finished. When he was a kid, Christmas was not a big deal. It was socks and underwear. My mother, though, loved Christmas and my dad just went with it. He always told my mother not to mention what she’d spent. He had a favorite part of Christmas, the food. He loved all the goodies and would make himself a plate and pour a glass of milk to take into the living room so he could nosh and watch.

Today has no lists. I’m going to hang around the house, maybe do laundry, but the laundry bag is still upstairs. It needs to sit in front of the cellar door for a couple of days before I get to it or I need to run out of underwear, whichever comes first.

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“Welcome, winter. Your late dawns and chilled breath make me lazy, but I love you nonetheless.”

November 12, 2015

Cloudy still, but finally the rain has stopped. Even the wind of last night has calmed and everything is quiet. Some leaves still hang from oak branches despite all that weather. Pine needles are everywhere covering lawns, driveways and my deck. If I had awakened from a coma and looked out the window, I’d know it was fall.

Each season has its own identity, but the identities sometimes blur when moving from one season to another. A few weeks ago was late summer and shirt-sleeve weather. My friends and I ate on the deck. Winter then sneaked in for a bit and we had temperatures in the high 30’s. Now, though, summer has finally gone and fall is here. The days are in the 50’s but the nights are colder, into the high 40’s. It isn’t yet jacket weather. A sweatshirt will suffice.

I saw where many places got snow: my sister got 3 or 4 inches in Colorado, but the mountains got far more. She said it was cold, down to the teens at night. It was sort of a run of the mill storm for her because her first snow is usually in late October or early November. She says 3 or 4 inches is nothing. I agree. I think of a snowstorm with so little snow as a sweeper, a broom instead of a shovel.

When I was a kid, any amount of snow was worthwhile. A huge storm was always the best as that would mean no school and a day spent outside building forts, throwing snowballs or sledding down the hill. A storm of tree or four inches meant fun after school, but it also brought the horrors of snow boots and ski pants. I could never get my shoes out of my boots without taking the boots off and pulling the shoes out. The ski pants went under my uniform skirt. I hated the look of the skirt over the pants, but my mother insisted as my legs would be so red from the snow and the cold when I’d get home if I didn’t wear them.

I can remember sitting at my desk looking out the window and seeing branches bent lower from the snow, the outside windows sills holding snow piles and snow falling from an occasional squall. I think all of us, my classmates and I, spent the day sighing.

Categories: Musings
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