A nor’easter is on its way. The weather service has issued a blizzard warning starting at 4 pm today and extending into Tuesday morning. The latest prediction is 12-18 inches of wet snow accompanied by heavy winds. Most of the schools are already announcing their closings. The animals, Henry, Nala and Jack, and I will hunker down. The dogs do go out, but I swear they do their business on the run. I have everything I need; however, I did eat the Snickers. I’m thinking I’ll make some brownies.

My dogs don’t drool. They bubble. Nala’s bubble is always bigger than Henry’s. When I sit on the couch and eat something, each dog stands on one side of me, sort of cornering me. I do share but in their bowls. This morning they each got a piece of my toast. I think they were also hoping for coffee, but I didn’t share.

When I was a kid, we didn’t know it would be a snow day until the morning when the fire alarm rang out from the station. No school was a special alarm, its own alarm. We’d still be in our pajamas hoping. We’d listen to the alarm and count. We’d cheer. I think my mother grimaced.

Sunday was always a quiet day. We went to mass. Some times we’d ride with my dad, the usher, but mostly we walked. My father often brought home donuts. He was a plain donut man. He’d slather his donut with butter. Dinner was the special meal of the week. Every other day we had supper. On Sunday we had a roast, mostly chicken or beef. We always had mashed potatoes and some veggies. Corn was a favorite, kernel corn.

Before I left for Ghana and the Peace Corps, my mother asked what I’d like her to make for my last dinner home. I didn’t need to take any time, roast beef, gravy, mashed potatoes and LeSueur peas from the can. It was a quiet dinner with small talk filling the spaces. It was quiet enough to hear the clinks of forks on plates. I was excited and nervous. They were worried. I left the next day. My father drove my mother and me to Logan Airport. It was nearly two hours away. We didn’t talk a lot, didn’t want to trigger the emotions we were barely holding back. I remember saying goodbye at the gate. We hugged. When I turned for my last look, my mother gave me a tiny wave. That is what I most remember.

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.