Today and tomorrow are going to be a bit warmer, today in the 40’s and tomorrow around 50°. It is a perfectly lovely day. The sun is bright bright, even squint your eyes bright. The deep blue sky is clear. The wind has disappeared. When I went to get the paper today, I saw the stirrings of spring. It was a huzzah moment. Tiny green shoots are above the ground.

When I was a kid, life was pretty much day to day. Planning for the future meant wondering what I’d do on Saturday. Relatives I seldom saw used to ask me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I had no idea. I was young. I always thought that a silly question. My aunt the nun always asked me that question the once a year we had to go visit her. That was always her only interaction with us. I made up answers. That was the fun part. She never figured it out.

One time I was on a bus in the days when smoking was still allowed on buses. On the front seats, two on each side facing each other, were women who were together. They talked and talked. One of the woman took a cigarette out of a pack. She didn’t pay attention. She kept talking. I watched her put the cigarette into her mouth and light it. She had the wrong end in her mouth and lit the filter. She sputtered and coughed. I chuckled quietly.

When I was eleven or twelve, I had a white visor. I wore it all the time. I thought I looked cool. I probably didn’t. Back then I had categories for clothes. I wore school clothes, a uniform, every day. After school, I’d put on my play clothes, usually jeans, girl leans with the zipper in a side pocket, and a blouse. On Sundays I’d wear church clothes, a dress or a skirt. I was too young to care about style. 

I have only one category for clothes now, comfy, but I do have two dresses, my spring and my summer dress. They are old. They are flowery. I have few occasions requiring a dress so they are far back in my closet. The last time was Easter four or so years ago when I went out to eat. I also wore a fascinator, a round white one with a flower, a bit of whimsy to counter the dress.

I have come full circle. Happily I am too old to care about style.

Ditto is my description of the weather though it will be warmer today at 41°. I have lots of I could’s on my to-do list with cleaning on top, but I’m ignoring the list today. I might say it is my sloth exerting its influence, but I’m going to use Sunday, the day of rest, as my reason. 

In the cold of yesterday’s late afternoon I filled the bird feeders. To the three feeders I usually fill, I added a fourth. Each was filled with a different seed: sunflower, thistle for my goldfinches, a mixed seed and one which spawns are supposed to hate. The dogs followed me to the deck where they played and ate each other’s faces. It didn’t take long for my fingers to get cold and stiff. I hurried inside and warmed my hands around a steaming cup of coffee. Today is little library day. I need to add new books, clean the window and organize. 

When I was growing up, I had it easy. I had no chores. My bed got made, my clothes got washed and my room was cleaned, all while I was in school. When I went to college, I didn’t even know how to work a washing machine. I panicked when the buzzer sounded. What had I done? Someone explained the machine had an overload of wet clothes on one side so I needed to move the wash round. I never cooked dinner or baked anything. I was in the Peace Corps when I baked my first ever cookies, sugar cookies for Christmas.

 One of my favorite culinary adventures was also in Ghana when my friends, Bill and Peg, and I tried to make bagels. I remember the boiling, but mostly remember how awful they tasted. 

Ironically, cooking and baking became favorites. I had special dinners and celebrated with different cuisines. My friends dined on Indian, Chinese, Cajun and so many more. I decorated the table to complement the cuisine. For the Russian meal I made Russian churches with onion domes. I played Russian music. I made everything for every dinner, most dishes for the very first time, risky but always successful. The only foods I have never been tempted to make are bagels. The memory lingers.