Winter continues its dominance. I find myself checking the weather channel hoping for a change. It doesn’t come. The high today will be 18°. Snow showers start tonight, sort of a prelude for tomorrow’s storm. The amount of snow for tomorrow keeps changing. The last update was 2-4 inches with blizzard conditions from the wind.

I did my errands yesterday. The dogs are official. I just did a grocery delivery order filled with everything I need and some I don’t need. Now I hunker down.

My school in Ghana had a night watchman. He didn’t speak English. He spoke FraFra and Hausa, the language I was taught. He’d roam the grounds at no set time with his dog. He’d stay under the baobab tree. He had sort of a wooden lounge chair and always kept his lantern lit. Sometimes if I went to town I’d find the gate locked when I got to my school. I’d see his lit lantern from the gate. His dog barked. I’d yell, “Watchman, watchman,” over and over from the gate. His dog barking would get more frantic. The watchman never moved, never acknowledged me. I’d end up climbing the fence, not easy in a dress. I’d walk by him on the way to my house, his dog would bark, and he’d pretend he was asleep. Later, one of my students told me he heard me every time, but he didn’t want to get up to let me in. He wasn’t the best watchman. I became an adept fence climber in a dress.

When I was a kid, Saturday was the best day. It was all mine. In the summer I had almost unlimited choices as to what I could do. Most involved my bike. In the winter, the weather determined how I spent the day. Some Saturdays I went to the matinee. Most times I walked up town back and forth to the theater. My mother gave me enough money for my ticket and some candy or popcorn. First came previews of coming attractions then a cartoon. The Roadrunner was a favorite of mine. The movies were old, some even black and white, but we didn’t care. I even saw The Wizard of Oz there. I was thoroughly amazed when Dorothy landed over the rainbow, and it was all in color. The theater always had an undercurrent of noise, of kids talking. Candy flew mostly from the back seats. Jujubes were the missiles of choice. I never wondered why. They flew far, and they hurt when they landed. I remember Al, the owner of the theater, going up and down the center aisles trying to catch the miscreants, but it was dark, and he was always too late to catch anyone.

I think my sloth has a sloth.

This entry was posted on January 31, 2026 at 2:57 pm and is filed under Musings. You can subscribe via RSS 2.0 feed to this post's comments. You can comment below, or link to this permanent URL from your own site.