For most people, “skeletons in the closet” is purely metaphoric. Not in our house.

I just pitched the last of the uncarved Halloween pumpkins into a cardboard box for pig fodder; earlier, I braved our basement to root around for the red-berry wreath that hangs out front at this time of year. Now, to the front hall closet, to trade in the skeletons for a Santa that has, for twenty years, stood in the window near the front door, waving the Queen’s wave at all approachers.

It’s a time not just of switching out seasonal accoutrements, but one of many feelings, these three weeks between turkey and Yorkshire pudding (or whatever’s on the holiday board). There’s the feeling of having wrapped up a productive, satisfying first term that started with games (all-School, Opening Day night) and ended with. . . well, more games, if you include the CIF post-season of cross-country (girls took 2nd in States; boys, 5th) and football (runners-up for the State Championship). And sandwiched between these, some serious learning: my own students wrapping up their study of the short story and novel (9th graders) and (seniors) submitting a Portfolio of their finest, revised writing. There’s also the excitement of a fresh term. I can’t help it: I love getting back into my classroom on the Sunday of this quick break-in-the-action (all cleaned up, thanks to Kelly Cleaners) to prep it for Monday morning class. Before that, though, I happily comb my students’ course evaluations, submitted on the final day of Trimester 1, to see where I can change things up, the better to meet their needs and desires. (Thank goodness, they are so willing to provide honest, direct feedback on these surveys. And they are generous, each one showing some kind of gratitude for the education they’re getting here along the way of the survey.)

Then there are the traditions. Catching horses hopped up on a few days’ respite in pasture and riding them back up to campus. (It can be a rodeo.) At Open House, gingerbread cowpokes and toads, sugar cookie stars and hearts, ornament decorating with paint and glitter. The Holiday Banquet, with the Boar’s Head Carol sung by the freshman class as two of them parade Ismael Martin’s fruit-and-veggie creation around the dining hall, drummers keeping time, tamborines jangling in other willing hands. That same night, senior carolers making their way from dorm to dorm, earnest and exuberant in their singing. They land, at the end, on our doorstep, where Michael and I welcome them in for cocoa and dancing in the living room (“Build me up, Buttercup” and any Michael Jackson are perennial favorites), just before fond goodbyes at the front door.

And, as with many parts of the Thacher calendar, it can go lightning fast. So, as usual, I’ll hold on tightly and let it all swirl around me and by me. It’s a wonderful life.