I am taking my time this morning. During the night I was invaded by some evil bug. I think a cold is brewing. My nose is full, and I’ve been every now and then coughing. I cancelled my dentist appointment for today and will probably cancel my uke lesson tomorrow morning. I’ve only been up for a couple of hours, and I already want a nap. My sister’s first question was, “How did you get it?” That was a great question. I thought about it. It had to be the grocery store stop a few days ago as I haven’t been anywhere else since the uke concert on New Year’s Eve.

I’m not enjoying this, the coughing and the sniffing. I am reminded of my father and his white handkerchiefs. He was never without one. He used to keep one in his back pants pocket. If I sneezed, he’d hand over his wrinkled, used handkerchief. They didn’t start out that way, wrinkled. My mother used to iron my father’s handkerchiefs. Sometimes I did. The motions from one handkerchief to the next didn’t change. Iron the whole cloth, then fold in half and iron each half then fold again and iron each side. After that, only square handkerchiefs were left. They got piled then put in his drawer. There were always handkerchiefs needing ironing.

What amazes me is how sometimes a picture, a scene, jumps into my head from a way back memory drawer jogged by a smell or a look or a taste. The other day it was the smell of popcorn. My mother would make it standing at the stove and shaking the covered pan filled with a few kernels in oil. After one or two popped, she’d add all the kernels. When it had finished popping, she’d put the popcorn in the big tulip bowl and have melted butter to pour on the popcorn. Strangely enough, I remember the sticky feel of my fingers from picking up the popcorn covered in butter with only a little salt. I remember it was delicious.

Most places are dark now. All the colors of Christmas are gone. In my neighborhood, the house diagonally across from my backyard always leaves an outside light on. It is the only light anywhere around. Sometimes I like that light as it shares its light with me. Sometimes I hate that light. It ruins the dark sense of the night, the calmness of the night, by its garish brightness. Sometimes I forget about that light until I let Henry inside and see the light on. I think winter is its best time.

We are stuck in a new ice age. Every day is freezing, actually below freezing as it is only 22°. I even hated going out to get my paper in the front yard. I walked gingerly on the icy, brick walk. The sky is filled with clouds. The backyard trees are silhouettes against the grey. Grim best describes the day.

When I was a kid, I had time to see the awesome. I could stop and be awed by the beauty of the snowflakes falling on my face, on my tongue and on my mittens held out to gather the flakes. I stood under the streetlight in front of the house, my face tilted to the light, and I watched the flakes. They glinted. They looked like diamonds.

This Christmas season I took light rides. Some neighborhoods were so amazing I had to stop and look at the designs and colors. A ride by was just not enough. I was back to being a kid again oohing and ahhed at the lights.

I used to hold my Rice Krispies to my ear before I ate them so I could hear the snap, crackle and pop. I had exciting cereal.

My father sometimes would pull my sled behind his car. The rope was long, and he went slowly. I’d sit upright with my feet on the sled’s steering and hold on to the sides of the sled. At least two of us sat on every sled. We had the best time almost flying over the snowy street. I still remember the sensation. It was laugh out loud fun.

Living in Ghana was exciting every day. I loved hearing the roosters greet the dawn. I loved teaching and learning. The market, occurring every third day, always felt like a circus of sorts with animals for sale with lines of chickens and sheep and goats and all the sounds they brought with them. I loved wandering among the fruit and vegetable stalls. Sometimes I’d find a treasure. Market day with all its usual goods and with some surprises was always one of my favorite days.

I stop now. I take my time. I watch the snowflakes fall into the back light. I put my hand out for the flakes. I’m finding the joys I knew when I was a kid are still here. I just have to look. I have the time.