Here it is nearly mid-January. I am sitting in my kitchen and there is a cozy fire blasting away in the living room. It is one of those misty San Francisco kind of nights, chilly and damp outside. But there is a warm glow coming from the windows in my little neighborhood. Stephanie and Stella are tucked into their house on the hill up the street from my kitchen. When I go out to cover my lemon trees that are very small in their pots and fragile, I can see Cecilia and Al haven't yet taken down the colored lights strung along the roofline across the street and neither have John and Joann on the other side of me. The garden lays in browns but there are new shoots coming up, the paper-white's will bloom next month already, another season beginning.

I enjoy this time of year after the hubbub of Christmas and the holidays. I find myself clearing out cluttered up things, getting rid of the stuckness that goes with them.

One of things that I assembled was my collection of Christmas books. I've gotten them on sale during past years and I have stories from great authors, John Cheever, Edna Ferber, to mention just two. The latest one that I am reading is A Christmas Carol, with beautiful illustrations.

You might say Christmas is over, but these quiet stories that have lasted for so many years are a treat to read during this dark and silent time of the year.

I marked some of the passages so that I could share them with you.

The following passages are from The Book of Christmas published by Borders Press.

From Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol:
Once upon a time--of all the good days in the year, upon a Christmas eve--old Scrooge sat busy in his counting house. It was cold, bleak, biting, foggy weather; and the city clocks had only just gone three, but it was quite dark already.

From Louisa May Alcott's Little Women:
"Das ist gut!" "Die Engel-kinder!" cried the poor things as they ate and warmed their purple hands at the comfortable blaze. The girls had haver ben called angel-children before and thought it very agreeable, especially Jo, who had ben considered "a Sancho" ever since she was born. That was a very happy breakfast, though they didn't get any of it; and when they went away, leaving comfort behind, I think there were not in all the city four merrier people than the hungry litle girls who gave away their breakfasts and contented themselves with bread and milk on Christmas morning.

"That's loving our neighbor better than ourselves, and I like it," said Meg, as they set out their presents, while their mother was upstairs collecting clothes for the poor Hummels.

Not a very splendied show, but there was a great deal of love done up in the few little bundles; and the tall vase of red roses, white chrysanthemums, and trailing vines, which stood in the middle gave quite an elegant air to the table.

"She's coming! Strike up , Beth! Open the door, Amy! Three cheers for Marmee!" cried Jo, prancing about, while Meg went to conduct Mother to the seat of honor.

Beth played her gayest march, Amy threw open the door, and Meg acted escort with great dignity. Mrs. March was both surprised and touched, and smiled with her eyes full as she examined her presents and read the little notes which acccompanied them. The slippers went on at once, a new handkerchief was slipped into her pocket, well scented with Amy's Cologne, the rose was fastened in her bosom, and the nice gloves were pronounced "a perfect fit."

There was a good deal of laughing, and kissing, and explaining in the simple, loving fashion which makes these home-festivals so pleasant at the time, so sweet to remember long afterward, and then all fell to work.

And who can forget this one? It remains on the editorial page of newspapers to this day, I always cut it out every Christmas and tuck it away. I have so many yellowed copies by this time!

Yes, Virginia, There is a Santa Claus

Dear Editor, I am 8 years old. Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. Papa says "If you see it in The Sun it's so." Please tell me the truth. Is there a Santa Claus?
Virginia O'Hanlon
115 West Ninety-fifth Street

Virginia, Your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticisms of a skeptical age. They do not believe except they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men's or children's, are little. In this great universe of ours man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect, as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy.

There are so many more wonderful stories in these books, many stories that I read this year for the first time. They are bright lights on a wintery evening. 

When I went to Wisconsin for the holidays I had one of my books of stories and I read one each night before bed. I came back rested and refreshed, ready for the new year. 

Still as I am here, I'm finishing up the stories now, continuing to enjoy their messages.