Today is cloudy and cold. I should know not to expect anything different. It is winter, seemingly an endless winter. After the dogs go out, I stand at the back door watching for them. I can feel the cold coming through the dog door. I’d shut the back door, but Nala would ring the poochie bells over and over for me to open the door. She’d do that until I left the door open. I give in to her so I don’t have to keep jumping up and down. She knows that.

When I was a kid, Italian and Chinese were, to us, ethnic foods, a little exotic. We ordered Chinese from The China Moon or as we always called it The Moon. We didn’t eat there. My father ordered take-out. We usually had fried rice, maybe a beef dish and a couple of appetizers. My parents sometimes ordered a lobster dish. It wasn’t offered to us. My father said it wasn’t for kids as if that were a rule. We believed him. We had Italian food at Kitty’s. It is in the next town over from where I grew up. It was always filled with diners and was loud. The waitresses, many of whom were older, could carry trays lined up on their arms. I was awed. I remember we sometimes went there during my father’s vacations, the ones when we stayed home and did stuff every day. It was a treat to go out to eat. I never ordered spaghetti. We had spaghetti at home. I ordered chicken or sausage parm or cacciatore. The waitress always delivered the freshest Italian bread for the table. I loved to sop up the sauce.

Kitty’s is still there, but it has been years since I last ate there. When I did, it looked and sounded exactly the same. Even the parking lot was filled. I didn’t order spaghetti, in keeping with tradition, but I ordered some sort of pasta. When I was an adult, we often ordered take out from the Moon, but we also ate in the restaurant. They had a great buffet one day a week. When I visited my mother, it was where I wanted to have lunch especially on buffet day.

The China Moon was around almost longer than I had been alive. We expected it to be there. I remember it was where we ate before the prom or before a big dance or event. It had been owned by the same family since 1953. The Moon closed in 2020. The land was sold, another piece of my home town gone. It now lives only in my memory drawers.

Yesterday I didn’t post because I had an early concert, the start of another uke week. I have practice and my lesson and three more concerts. We’re playing Motown.

I wish I could stay home cozy and warm, but I’m out of the usual, cream for my coffee and bread. Almost anything else I could do without but not my coffee.

Today’s weather is the same as yesterday’s and the day before that and on and on. It is in the low 30’s. We have sun, but its light is muted by a sky full of clouds. Only the dead leaves hanging off the ends of the oak branches are moving.

When I was a kid, Valentine’s Day was special. It needed lots of planning. First was a trip to Woolworth’s to buy my valentines. Back then they came several in a package. On the fronts were red cheeked often roly poly boys and girls or cute animals all hoping for a valentine to say yes. The requests were often puns related to the pictures. The backs were where I wrote my name. Each valentine had its own envelope where I’d write my classmates’ names. I used to make my valentine box, usually a shoe box. My mother would gather decorations. I’d cover the whole box with red construction paper on which I’d drawn hearts with crayons or colored pencils. Sometimes I’d add lace. I tried to be artistic. On the top, I’d make a slit so my classmates could put in their valentines to me. We’d go row by row up and down the aisles to give out our valentines. I remember sitting and holding my breath hoping I’d get valentines. Some classmates would just pass me by. It always hurt a little.

On the night before Valentine’s Day, I’d address my valentines. My name, Kathleen, is long so it barely fit on the backs of the valentines. I’d use pencil and write my name from top to bottom, usually slanted because I wasn’t all that great at straight. I’d put them in the box to carry them to school. I’d also bring cookies or brownies or cupcakes for the party after lunch. We all brought something.

We set up for the party. The goodies were on my teacher’s desk. All our books were put away to make room for our boxes. First we’d each pass out our valentines. They’d sit unopened in our boxes until all of them had been passed out. We’d then go for the goodies. While we were eating, we’d open the envelopes. We’d show each other the funniest ones. None were romantic. We were too young.

When the party was done, we’d clean up. Not long after, the dismissal bell would ring. I’d carry my box all the way home making sure not to crush it. At home, I’d go through my valentines again. I’d show my mother my favorites then I’d put the box away for safe keeping. I’d look through it every now and then. I even kept a few for the longest time.