Today has definitely been a stay-in-and-watch-the-weather-through-the-window type of day. Little Miss M popped in with her daddy, to drop off her play clothes before she went to school. As soon as she had gone I unwrapped the wreath, put the new batteries in the lights and secured it to the door knocker.
It was quite chilly with the door open while I did it so I was glad it didn't take long. I popped down the garden to check on the chickens and found that one of them (I only have two) had again laid a soft shelled egg so we will be trekking off to Monmouth to get some oyster shell on Saturday. Will that be before or after I have been to the post office to send all my overseas cards? I also have to take a pile of books to the Official Bookcrossing Zone in Coffee #1
As the person who is supposed to be in charge of it I should go regularly but that is dictated by Mr M's shifts.
I don't want to talk about that I was talking about the weather, although it is not a subject I pay much attention to unless I am going out. I have been trying to remember what December weather was like when I was a child and the only thing I really remember is that as the end of term came ever closer I prayed for snow. I would watch the sky when I should have been doing boring maths and hope that it would turn the distinctive colour that meant snow. It never did.

I loved the snow when I was a child. Probably because our bungalow was next to a field that sloped perfectly. My father made steel gates and railings and things. One of the things was linepoles for washing lines and another thing was sledges. Boy! could they go fast! I still have my sledge in the basement. I was about six or seven when I first had it and it was used every year until I was around 20 when I was married and living in a street in town with a husband who regarded fun as something to be prevented. The sledge stayed with my parents and when we moved to live with them I was delighted to be able to use it again when the snow fell. I didn't slide down hills on it I used it to carry bales of hay out to the cattle and goats.
I think my dislike of snow is a recent thing and stems from a fear of falling. I just don't like the idea of that one little bit. Apart from the indignity my age and size mean that it wouldn't be a gentle landing and the last time I fell over, a couple of years ago when we visited a castle ruin and the sheep had eaten the grass so short it was slippery, The shock of suddenly feeling my feet go out from under me took ages to wear off. Not something I would go out of my way to repeat.
My ideal Christmas weather is crisp and clear and dry. This was how it always seemed to be when we lived at the mill. The children would get up really early and open their presents. I would go and milk the cow or the goats or both and then feed the steers and the chickens. Then we would have breakfast and get dinner on the go while the children played and their father sat in his chair and read a paper. Dinner always began with a row half an hour before the food was to go on the table. This would be smoothed over and then after dinner my Dad would look out the window and tell everyone to "Get your coats on, Mr Powell's cattle are in the garden". We would all grab coats and boots and troop out into the clear crisp day to herd the cattle back to their own field and then fix Mr Powell's fence - again. I don't remember it raining or anything else. Isn't that marvellous.