About the only thing around here that’s in the Christmas Spirit is the weather. We’ve had some type of snow nearly every day since the weekend. An inch here, a flurry there, and showers scattered around. It’s really nice. But otherwise I couldn’t be less in the spirit of things this year. Usually I love Christmas, but this year it just doesn’t seem like it at all. I still think they should insert another month in-between Thanksgiving and Christmas to give us all time to adjust to the whole idea. I never think about Christmas until Thanksgiving is over with, and then it’s only three weeks away. I need more time!

When I was a child Christmas was a magical time. We would go shopping in downtown Poughkeepsie where all the store fronts were decorated gaily. We bought our Christmas tree. Mom would bake cookies and my sister and I would decorate them with different colored frostings. My Dad would roll out the fake plug-in fireplace and put it in the den where the tree stood in all its tinselly glory. We made trips at night in the car to drive by looking at Christmas lighting displays. Everything we did contributed to the whole feel of the season.

Then the big morning finally arrived and we were greeted with a tree piled high with presents. I think our parents totally spoiled us!

Hah, look at me in my baggy britches PJs! Who am I going to whack with that candy cane??

Here we are getting our Patty PlayPal dolls. She’s as big as I am!

I wish I could recapture some of that childhood magic. Maybe I don’t try hard enough. I should get out shopping, bake cookies, sing carols to the dogs, etc. This year there is still the pall of sadness over my Mom’s death hanging around. I still haven’t started to decorate the house. Our tree (which we got last weekend) is still standing in a bucket of water in the garage. We haven’t gotten around to putting lights up outside yet. This weekend, I keep telling myself, we must do all of that. To put it all up only to take it all back down and pack it up again in two weeks seems ridiculous somehow. Yet I know it will help us to “get in the spirit.”

To me it’s not about the presents but the whole feeling surrounding this time of year. Maybe I’m just a big kid that never grew up and I expect too much. It’s not something you can force. Either you feel it or you don’t.

The week before Christmas we have tickets to see the Rockettes in the Christmas Spectacular at Radio City Music Hall in NYC. I’m excited about that! We’ll roam around Rockefeller Center and see the big tree lit up, folks ice skating in the chilly air, and it will seem like something out of a Christmas movie. When I was a child my parents took me in on the train to see the Rockettes for my birthday a couple of times, but that was back in the days that they had a movie instead of stage show. I remember we saw “Father Goose” one year. Maybe by then I’ll be feeling more Christmas-y.

Following on the heels of my post of yesterday regarding the stray begonias, since I’ve moved to New Jersey I seem to have acquired a Green Thumb. My houseplants that just barely survived in Colorado all flourished when we moved here. I had to keep repotting everything every couple of months. It was insane! A few months ago one of my scheffleras fell over and broke an entire branch, leaving it hanging by a thread. I thought to myself “I’m not going to just chop off all this new growth. Heck, no.” So I wrapped a band-aid around it and left it alone. It mended and is now sending out more new growth—healthy as can be. I kid you not! Look ...

Maybe instead of a Green Thumb I have Green Fingers. Have you ever read the short horror story by R. C. Cook called Green Fingers? It’s a little on the creepy side, but that’s exactly what I thought of with my new-found plant skills.

In the story, an old widow has a way with growing things. First it’s just her garden. When someone brings her exotic species of plants not known to her area, she plants them and they grow as well. She came into the habit of just pushing things into the ground; such as hair clippings, a fingernail. They all grew. Then she buries rabbit bones by mistake and lo and behold, they grew into a rabbit which eventually hopped off.  hmm….

Next thing you know she chops off her finger accidentally while pruning a tree in her garden. Yes, you guessed it: she sticks her severed finger into the soil. A few weeks later she observes a hand breaking through the ground; then of course, the rest of the body follows and it looks just like her. She’s not really happy about this alternate “self” but she can’t quite keep herself from checking on it everyday. One day she went out to check and it was gone. When she went back inside there it/she was, sitting in her rocker.

The newly sprouted widow kills the “real” widow and lives on in her place; complete with all her fingers. Sigh. Just goes to show you reap what you sow. Maybe the next time one of my plants breaks a branch off I won’t try to save it. You just never know what might happen.

stray |strā|
verb [ intrans. ]
1. not in the right place; not where it should be or where other items of the same kind are : he pushed a few stray hairs from her face.
• appearing somewhere by chance or accident; not part of a general pattern or plan : she was killed by a stray bullet.
• (of a domestic animal) having no home or having wandered away from home : stray dogs.

I am a sucker for stray and homeless things. I picked these two definitions from the meaning of the word ‘stray’ because I have both of them. One was outside but has now been brought inside; the other is still outside and not going to be brought in.

This kitten started coming around about a month or more ago. It showed up at our bird feeding station eating anything it could find that the birds left. It was just a tiny baby then, with the blue eyes that nearly every kitten starts out with. I felt so sorry for it! I checked my nearest neighbors and it doesn’t belong to them. I’m not certain if inquiring further down the road would turn up its owner or not. I am assuming he/she is feral because it’s very spooky. Yes, don’t lecture me; I started leaving kitty kibble out for it on the front step. I know, I know. Not smart. But, he/she is growing now and looking good. His/her eyes have changed to a grayish-hazel. I still can’t even attempt to approach it, but now it will watch me from a distance as I’m pouring the kibble into its bowl. After about ten minutes it feels it is safe enough to come and eat.  I fear for it during the winter but I can’t bring a feral cat into my house. Hopefully he/she will find a cozy, warm place to weather it through.

Here are my other “strays.” These begonias started popping up in the planting bed next to the front steps. They started from seed (somehow!) and I watched them grow daily. I’m not sure where they came from either as I’ve never had begonias around. This summer I had geraniums and vinca vine planted in the pots on the front steps, but no begonias. Just before we had a hard frost I went out and dug them up. I wasn’t fussy about getting all the roots—just plunked them down in some Miracle-Gro® potting mix in whatever pots I had that they would fit in. They are doing beautifully, and as you can see I have several colors!

Both my strays give me pleasure. I love seeing the little kitten coming around and hope that some day I can earn its trust enough to not have it run every time I open the door. My begonia strays brighten my day every time I look at their bounty of multi-colored blooms. To see them both growing and thriving is a good thing.

Thanksgiving is the time of year you either love or hate. I happen to love it. I enjoy making my own traditional turkey feast and having lots of leftovers. I have fond memories of childhood Thanksgivings spent watching the Macy’s parade while the heady aroma of roasting turkey filled our small house. I remember my Grandmother particularly liking the Shriners but I could never figure out why. They bored me—give me the floats and balloons any day. Of course, the parade has really changed since the 1950s. And so has my family. My Grandfather & Grandmother; my Dad and now my Mom—all gone now.

I carry on some of the Thanksgiving traditional food with Rick and I. Creamed onions, bread stuffing and Mom’s Pumpkin Pie. I make a different bread stuffing than she did, and frankly I think mine rocks if I must be modest. Even she admitted mine was much better than hers. But the pie recipe I don’t mess with. Why change perfection? This year I brought back two of her very old pie dishes, and as I type this year’s pumpkin pie is baking in one of them, sending out whiffs of cinnamon and ... well, pumpkin pie. I like to make my the day before to give it time to settle. yum.

I also brought back this cool vintage apron that I will be wearing while I cook tomorrow. Isn’t it great? I think it was my Grandmother’s as I vaguely recall her wearing it and not my Mom. It has a wrap-around tie and a button at the top in the back. The label says it’s a “Swirl.”

I am trying a new cranberry recipe this year, but serving it in one of Mom’s cut-crystal bowls that she always used at holiday dinners.

So, something old; something new. Have a wonderful Thanksgiving tomorrow, no matter how you choose to spend it!