My heat came on this morning. Last night got down to the mid 30’s. Right now it is in the mid-40’s. This same weather pattern is predicted for the next few days.

It is a pretty morning. The sun is bright and glints through the trees. The sky is deep blue. The air is still. The only clouds are puffy and white. What I find surprising is the prediction for this afternoon, rain. I expect more clouds, grey clouds.

I have favorites memories. Some of them date back to when I was a kid. I think of winter and flying down the snowy hill on my sled and of summer and flying down that same hill but on my bike. I loved all the Christmas preparations, the Advent calendar, the tree in the corner ready to be decorated, sugar cookies, the Sears wish book and the house windows with lit candles breaking through the winter darkness. I loved summer and a Sunday at the beach where my mother’s peppers and eggs were my favorite beach food.

I remember my very first plane ride. It was Hyannis to Boston on an old prop plane. It was a gift in my Easter basket. On the plane, you could see the pilots and the walkway to the seats went up hill. We flew over the coast and the ocean. It was a spectacular ride.

In Ghana, I made a memory every day. Every morning felt new. I woke up to the crowing of roosters. I loved my students and my school. I ate food I’d never of before Ghana. I traveled West Africa and felt comfortable. I remember my friends and I landed at the airport in Ouagadougou very late at night, no taxis available. We slept on benches. In the morning when I woke up, I saw the cleaners waiting with their mops and brooms until we woke up. They didn’t want to disturb us. My favorite memory is of the night soil man. I was sitting in the outhouse when I heard a noise below me. I stood up. A face appeared in the hole. He greeted me, “Hello, madam,” then grabbed the bucket to empty it.

I’ve ridden in a glider, a hot air balloon, a helicopter, a mammy lorry, a train in the Andes, a boat across Lake Titicaca and another boat on a three day trip on the Paraná River where only one other person spoke English. I stood on the Equator. I saw a cathedral in a salt mine. I rode a camel in the Sahara. One of my funniest memories was in Niamey, Niger. My friends and I got separated. I found a hotel. It turned out to be a brothel. I heard footsteps all night and knocking on doors. I didn’t sleep at all.

I have more memories, but this musing is long enough.

Today is ugly, cloudy and cold. The high will be 50° while the low will fall to the 30’s. It is spring yet it isn’t spring. The house was chilly this morning. I grabbed my fleece. Just a few days ago my windows were open to the warm air. I could smell spring, the flowers and cut grass. Now my house is closed again, fresh air gone. Mother Nature is still toying with us.

When I was a kid, Sunday was a quiet day. Churches were filled. Most stores were closed. Families had a Sunday dinner, always the special meal of the week. The whole family was there. It was a command performance. In the afternoons, lots of families visited relatives. My mother’s side of the family was huge. She had four brothers and three sisters. Only the younger two weren’t married. I was the oldest grandchild.

My grandparents lived in East Boston. I loved visiting the city. There was a corner store right up the street. I’d take my dime, the one my grandfather would give me, and walk up to the store to buy candy. In the summer, people sold Italian ice, slush, out their windows, the windows facing the street. I loved the lemon. We’d play stick ball on the street with a stick, of course, and a half pink rubber ball. The bases were cars, sewer covers and random spots in the sidewalk gutters. We’d play a sort of baseball game against the steps with an uncut pink rubber ball. You’d throw the ball at the steps, and it would sail into the air. Hits were determined by distance. Home runs were always over the heads of the outfielders. You had to keep track of the hits, the imaginary runners on bases and the outs. Arguments were common. East Boston was the first place I ate bakery pizza. The pieces were square and room temperature. Once we walked all the way to Logan Airport and wandered around. The terminals were interconnected flat buildings. You could go up on the roofs and watch the planes coming and going. My mother was angry. I was thrilled.

Sunday night came quickly. My mother would send us to bed early always reminding us Monday was a school day.