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It is what A.A. Milne, in his stories about Winnie the Pooh, calls "a blustery day." This morning in the wee hours when I got up to make breakfast and pack lunch for my daughter Stella, I held the front door open to let out my dogs. Most of the pack lunged forward, stopping short at the edge of the porch when they realized it was raining. Mugsy declined the invitation altogether. He headed for the couch and the fuzzy blanket and pillow where he likes to cuddle. He looked at me with his frog eyes, pleading. Of course I caved.
I still have my Christmas tree up, which is how I like it. Appalling, I know, to all the Grinches who take down their decorations the day after Christmas. Or New Year's. I usually un-decorate sometime in January, but the end of the month may be a record, even for me. I am hanging on to the coziness it all imparts, and the cheer and color that brighten bleak midwinter.
I leave the tree and other soft lights twinkling 24 hours, seven days a week. It is so friendly to wake up to those lights on dark mornings, as well as at night when I put everyone to bed. I like the quiet sparkle, and just knowing it is there in the great room after I turn off the lamp in the inky blackness of my bedroom cave.
Last week we celebrated my mother's 79th birthday at my........