You would think I've Enigma'd myself half to death by now, listening to their "A Posteriori" CD as many times in a row as I have the past few weeks.  But if you've never discovered Enigma you won't understand what I mean when I say it's the perfect mind music for writing and thinking and relaxing.  If you do know their music...well, I don't even have to explain myself to you now, do I?

It's 6 pm and Dear Hubby just went to bed.  He popped his head back out into the living room and asked me, "When are you coming to bed, babe?"  I dunno...6 pm is even a little early for me so I told him I wasn't sure, especially since I just sat down here a few minutes ago.  I guess the sheets on the bed are freezing so he said, "Don't wait too long...I need you to warm me up!"  Since he seems to be coming down with the same bronchitis/sinus/flu yucky-yucko stuff I've had the past week or so and took a full dose of Nyquil before going to bed, I really don't think he'll be missing me for too long.  He'd spent the last half hour dozing in front of the TV with Chloe dog sprawled across his lap.  Too bad she won't go to bed until I do...she's the ideal bed-warmer but that little girl goes more or less nowhere unless I go along with her.  Me and my shadow...

Is it too late/early to be thinking about gardening?  I took a very wet walk-about the yard the other day just looking things over.  I have plum tree runners coming up along our side of the back fence between our house and my neighbor Sharon's.  I know I'll either have to dig them up or allow them to become our own plum tree...which I really wouldn't mind.  I 'bout died a thousand deaths when I went outside yesterday morning and saw all the soil and water frozen inside an old antique jardiniere that was given to me by my beloved Aunt Gin.  It's a miracle it didn't crack it in two!  I'm usually so meticulous about putting my flower beds to 'sleep' each year and my perishable containers away.  That seems to have slipped by the wayside, too, along with a clean house and little projects around the house I'd always enjoyed doing in the past.  Not enough time.  Not enough energy.  My garden hose is still spread all willy-nilly around the back yard.  Dead flowers in pots on the porches are all black and withered.  Ah well.  My bamboo has got beautiful waxy-white berries blossomed out all over it...my ferns in my 'memorial corner' where my parents' memorial plaque is are thriving.  The Japanese Privet in front of our living room windows was covered with tiny bush tit birds this morning...how kind of them to come and 'decorate' my tree!  Dylan and I braved the freezing east winds this morning to toss out a bunch of bread heels in the front grass and we had crows, chickadees, starlings, woodpeckers, and sea gulls coming to feast on that thruout the day.  The sky was a dull gun-powder gray most of the afternoon and it looked as if it was trying to decide whether it wanted to snow or not.  It didn't.  It's just bone-numbing cold out there.  No walks for the little man and me.  Not this week.

Have I ever told you about my 18th Christmas?  I can't remember writing an entry about it but that doesn't mean that I haven't, ha!  It was one of those never-to-forget Christmases.  I had graduated from high school that year and had my first full-time job at a local hospital, making decent money.  I told my entire family I didn't want anything for Christmas that year...I just wanted to be able to give gifts to them.  It was the first time in my life I actually had money to go out and buy relatively expensive gifts and I wanted to give with nothing in return.  My family thought I was nuts but they agreed with my plans. And when all the Christmas gifts had been opened and we were sitting around relaxing afterwards my Dad suddenly stood up and peered at the Christmas tree.  "Why, it looks like there's still one last gift tucked back in behind there.  I wonder who that's for?" he mused, and he went over and reached way in the back and brought out a long, skinny box.  He peered at the name tag and said,  "It's for Kristine from Santa Claus!" and handed it to me.  At first I was upset..."I TOLD you I didn't want any gifts!"...and mom and dad both looked at me ever-so-innocently and mom said, "Well, that's not from us.  It's from Santa!  I guess he didn't hear you!"  I took the box from my dad and began opening it slowly, not a clue in the world what could be inside it.  But as I grabbed the tail-end of the object inside and began pulling it from the end of the box I let out such an excited squeal I think people on the next block must've heard me.  "My Raggedy Andy doll!!!"  I exclaimed...and, sure enough, that's just what it was...a giant-sized Raggedy Andy, something I'd wanted my entire life but was too expensive for my parents to buy for me in my younger years.   It's been one of my most treasured gifts ever.

People think Halloween is full of ghosts.  My Christmases are now, too.  My parents are gone.  My beloved Aunt Gin is gone.  One of my brothers and his entire family has been estranged from my other two brothers and me for over 15 years now.   And as I sit here and gaze out at the deep winter days...I treasure the happy memories of all those Christmases past.  Of the excitement of waking up to a tree full of presents on Christmas morning.  The wonder of finding the cookies and hot cocoa we'd left for Santa gone, nothing but a few crumbs on the saucer and a bit of dried chocolate in the bottom of the coffee mug to let us know he'd stopped by.  My dad's old woolen Army socks filled to the brim with candy and oranges and apples and assorted nuts.  And mom in her old bathrobe and dad unshaven in his pants and undershirt, wiping sleep from their bleary eyes after spending most of the nite wrapping gifts. 

Ghosts of Christmas past.

It seems a lifetime ago.