Weather is coming. Starting tomorrow night a nor’easter is expected, a classic nor’easter. The forecast calls for heavy, wet snow and strong winds. Here on the cape we could get 8 to 12 inches of wet snow. I shutter at the thought. We still have snow on lawns and such from the last storm. It has been too cold for the snow to melt, but I do sense the coming of spring in the air, not from climate but from tradition. The Red Sox are on TV today.

When I was a kid, snow always brought anticipation. Would we get a day off from school? Would there be enough snow for sledding? We never gave thought about the mechanics of snow. That had nothing to do with us. That was my father’s job. He shoveled the front steps and walkway, the back steps and around the car to get it out. The plows came often. Giant snow piles were left on the sides of the roads. I remember the streets always had a snow layer, even after the plow.

My street was great for going, not coming. It was a hill. I’d ride my bike down the hill with my hair flying. I’d crouch from the wind, not knowing I was practicing aerodynamics. I just had to be watchful for cars on the street at the end of the hill. Pedaling up the hill was never easy. I often stood up on the pedals hoping for extra power. Many times I didn’t make it all the way.

Sledding was wonderful on the hill. I’d pull my sled a short way from my house to the top, get it poised in just the right spot then jump on the sled stomach first, legs in the air. I’d fly. My hands steered using the metal piece at the front of the sled. We whizzed down the hill but still wary of the cars on the street at the end. Going back up the hill meant using the sled rope to pull the sled all the way back to the top. I remember the rope would get clumps of snow stuck to it as did my mittens. They’d feel so heavy on my hands. We’d sled all day. When I was finished, I’d push my sled upright into the snow, leave it there in the backyard, slide down the snow covered steps to the cellar where I’d shed my winter clothes and hang them up to dry. I’d put on warm, dry clothes. When I went upstairs, my ,mother sometimes made us hot chocolate. I remember holding the cup with both hands so they’d get warm.

I have to go out today. I have an errand and a bit of shopping. I’m thinking storm goodies, maybe even some pizza.

The morning is beautiful. The sky is cloudless, the air still and the sun is glint your eyes bright, but it is, after all, winter. The temperature is 38° but, in the scheme of things, it is warm or at least warmer than it has been. Snow is still covering lawns. It is crunchy snow, noisy snow. It sort of squeaks when you walk on it.

I really enjoyed my breakfast this morning. My coffee is from Nicaragua. I savored every sip. I had an English muffin. On it, I had a bit of butter and then a slathering of fig jam. Sadly, it was the last of my fig jam. I ate it slowly. The dogs did not even get a taste. I know you’ll find this unbelievable, but Nala stole something this morning. I know because I heard the noise of something falling on the kitchen floor. I ran to check. Nala grabbed whatever was on the floor and ran out the dog door. I didn’t have shoes on so I couldn’t follow. I did watch her run to the yard, drop something to the ground then look at me standing at the door. I think it was a look of defiance, an I won you lost sort of look.

My dance card is top heavy with uke events. Already I have had my lesson, practice and two concerts, one on Sunday and one yesterday. I have another concert today and one tomorrow. It is still Motown. I feel as if I am a throwback to the Supremes. I wish I had a sparkly long dress and the right moves.

The town where I grew up had a slew of drug stores, three in the square and two more off the square. My favorite was the Middlesex Drug Store. It was the biggest and the fanciest drug store in town. It sat in the middle of the square. The soda fountain had a marble top and stools which spun. A Coke A Cola was made at the fountain. I remember watching the soda jerk filling the glass with syrup and carbonated water. I always got a splash of vanilla. I tried cherry once but decided to stay with vanilla. I used to do some Christmas shopping at that drug store. I think it was always where I bought my father’s white handkerchiefs and perfume for my mother in a fancy bottle with a tassel around the cover.

The animals are all asleep. Henry is on his side of the couch, and Nala is right behind me with her head resting on my back. Jack is upstairs. He likes to sleep in front of the vent. I have no illusions about my spot in the hierarchy of the house. I am on the bottom. Both Nala and Henry take turns on the top. I never win.