We still have clouds, and we still have temperatures in the 30’s. This is only February. The winter with its cold, snowy days still stretches in front of us, but winter is losing its grip. The 40’s feel temperate. Since the winter solstice, we have gained sunlight. The sun hangs around three minutes more a day this month.

My grandmother was always old to me. She wore flowered dresses and clunky shoes. She never once wore a pair of pants. She pulled her wire basket behind her to the First National. It was just up the street from where she lived. My grandparents had what was then a traditional marriage. She was in charge of the house, of cleaning and cooking and washing and such. My grandfather handled the money, the shoveling, the driving. They lived in the same town we did, but we seldom saw them. Only my father visited, mostly on Saturdays. Years later, my grandmother lived in what my father called wrinkle city, apartments for the elderly. Once in a while, he’d coerce me to go with him. I did.

I remember how disappointed my father was when he realized the eggs on the table for breakfast were hard boiled. We, my parents, my sister and I, were in the Netherlands at a small hotel right beside a river dike and were having breakfast. My father wanted fried eggs, bacon, hash browns and toast. Instead, he got hard boiled eggs, fresh bread, different cheeses and deli meats. He kept complaining that this was not breakfast food. It was lunch. He made do but was not happy. That happened many times as we traveled through Europe. Finally, in London, we had breakfast, my father’s definition of breakfast. We had fried eggs, thick slices of back bacon and toast. I passed on the baked beans. My father was in his element.

In Ghana, for the Ghanaians, breakfast was no different than the other two meals. In my town it was t-zed, tuo and zaafi, and soup. The t-zed was made with millet flour. It was a glob. You pulled off a piece and dipped it in the soup. You ate with your right hand. I sometimes had it for supper, never breakfast. In the morning, I had coffee, fried eggs and toast. The eggs were fried in groundnut (peanut) oil. They were the best tasting eggs. In the Peace Corps hostel in Accra, for breakfast, cereal was offered first then the eggs and bacon. I have a weird memory of eating there. I remember the dishes were red or green or a gold yellow. They were unbreakable, sort of a combination of rubber and plastic. They had scratch marks from the cutlery. They were served already plated.

The reason breakfast came to mind today was I was hungry and have no eggs. I heated chili soup instead. I ate it with Saltines. My father would have been horrified.

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.

Today is lovely if you’re looking out the window. Everything is beautiful, the deep blue sky and the bright sun highlighting the trees in the backyard. The problem is the temperature, only 30°. The high will be 32°. Where did I put that sunscreen?

I didn’t go to kindergarten. Neither did my classmates. There were no kindergartens back then. My mother did attempt to put me in the nursery school offered by the project where we lived. That was when we lived in South Boston. The nursery school was across the street. I remember it was a brick building just like the one where we lived. I also remember I hated it. The first day my mother brought me I left and went home. The same thing happened the second day and the third. I never went back. The first grade was where I started. The school was about three or four blocks away. It was across the street from the convent and beside the rectory. My classroom was up the stairs on the first floor. I remember the room was filled with desks and nearly fifty of us. We had to turn sideways to go up and down the aisles. Sister Redempta was my teacher. She looked old to me. I had an aunt who was a nun so I wasn’t scared of Sister Redempta in her habit. I remember learning to write. First we learned block letters, upper and lower case, then we moved on to cursive, also upper case and lower case. Over the blackboard and around the room were posters of the cursive alphabet. We had a class called penmanship every day.

My favorite subject, because it entailed nothing and because I didn’t know I was being judged was silent reading. The grades in first grade were either S for satisfactory, U for unsatisfactory or I for needs improvement. I always got an S for silent reading. I never knew why. I wondered if it was because my lips and head didn’t move when I read.

I have my eighth grade class picture or rather a copy of it. The original had remained rolled and stored away for so many years it cracked in a few places when I opened it. I decided it was worth keeping so I took it to a camera shop. They reproduced the original without the cracks though you can faintly see them on the copy. It was expensive. It is hung in the bathroom. That sounds strange I’m sure, but my bathroom has all sorts of school memorabilia and some Ding Dong School souvenirs. When I wash my hands or brush my teeth, I look at that picture. I still remember names.

Yesterday Mother Nature punked us. It was warm. The snow was melting, icicles were falling off tree limbs, and I left slushy foot prints when I walked to the car. It was a taste of spring. Today is winter again. It is 31° but sunny. Luckily there is no wind.

This morning didn’t start well. One front step is still covered in ice, and I had to hold on to the door to keep from slipping. I made it safely to the paper and back. While my coffee was brewing, I took a trash bag out to the deck. The door locked all by itself. I tried but couldn’t get into the house. Through the gate was the only way out. The gate has snow on both sides, hard, crunchy snow. I tried to open the gate, a fence panel meant for a yard. I got it unlocked but couldn’t move it for the snow. I yanked the gate and kicked the snow several times. I managed to open a small gap. I squeezed through the gap knowing it was the only solution, but it took a while. My shoulders are wide as are other parts of my body. Finally I managed to get through the gate and out of the yard. I had to walk though the snow on my driveway. My feet sunk. I went to my knees a couple of times, but finally I got to the road and the front door. I had left the front door open. It was serendipitous.

When I was a kid, snow was always an event. We all wished for a snow day. We wanted to go sledding. We wanted to build snowmen. We didn’t want to go to school. We kept watch. The biggest disappointment was when only a little snow fell. It was useless except for maybe a stray snowball, but that was it. I remember Sister Superior coming over the speaker to warn us before we went out for recess. Any throwing of snowballs would not be tolerated and the thrower would be punished. She never said how, but we didn’t want to risk it.

Snow is so pretty, untended when it first falls, pristine, sparkling like diamonds in the light, but the beauty of the snow has a short life. That’s my least favorite part.

My dance card was filled with uke this week: practice, my lesson and two concerts. My poor sloth is exhausted.

The morning is so pretty. The sun is bright in a cloudless blue sky, cloudless for a short while anyway. The air is still. It is warmer than it has been at 29°. A high of 36° is predicted. I don’t remember the last time we got out of the 20’s, no layering today. Tonight we should have scattered snow flurries starting around seven and lasting until four in the morning.

When I was in the second grade, I joined the brownies. My mother took me shopping for the brownie dress, belt and beanie. On the beanie was an orange elf, a brownie, and another brownie elf was on the pocket and on the gold pin. When we had meetings, I could wear my brownie uniform to school instead of my school uniform. I remember learning a few knots, especially the square knot, left over right, right over left. That saying is so ingrained in my memory drawer I still say it when I make a square knot. One of my favorite memories is marching in the town’s Memorial Day parade. I remember feeling so proud in my uniform.

I think I was in the fourth grade when I had my fly up, when I left the brownies and became a junior Girl Scout. We had to memorize the Girl Scout promise for the ceremony. I remember holding up three fingers on my left hand as I said the promise. My mother took me shopping again. Jordan Marsh in Malden had a Scout section. We bought the Girl Scout handbook, the green uniform, a green beret and a pin with a gold trefoil on a blue background. We bought the sash and the neckerchief I tied in a square knot, left over right and right over left.

A couple of Christmases ago my sister gave me a Girl Scout handbook. It is the same copy as the one I used for years. I love reading all requirements for badges I earned. They were sewn on to my sash. I have a hat collection including a brownie beanie and a Girl Scout beret.

I haven’t been out of the house in nearly a week. The dogs and Jack have been my only company. I carry on conversations with them, one-sided conversations. They follow me to the kitchen every time I go. They stand right by the treats waiting hopefully. Most times I give in.

My dance card is uke heavy. I have my usual practice and lesson as well as two concerts. My solitary life is over.

I swear I saw what looked like an elf running through the backyard. He was fast. The dogs barked. He was gone in an instant. It is 16° and cloudy. When I woke up, we had snow showers. On the ground are almost two inches of snow, just enough to cover paths, roads and driveways. The sun is taunting us. It appears for a while then disappears behind the clouds then reappears. It is light, not warmth.

When I was a kid, I attended mass every Sunday, but I wasn’t all that invested. I was just avoiding the prospect of mortal sin, represented by the black milk bottle in my catechism. Sometimes I would smuggle in a paperback to read, or when the pews were filled in the downstairs of the church, and I had to stand in the back, I would read all the pamphlets on a small bookcase against the wall. The downstairs was small compared to the main church upstairs, but it was quick and popular, no sermon.

In Ghana, I was the victim of some crimes. On my first weekend during training, I hitched to Accra. I was walking on a bridge with a couple of friends when I felt someone pulling one strap on my pocketbook. I looked and it was a guy pulling with both hands trying to take my purse. I grabbed the other strap and pulled it with all my strength. His strap broke off, and he took off. The two guys I was with just watched. When I complained about the watching, they said it didn’t appear I needed help. I felt triumphant, not scared. I wasn’t the target. My bag was. The next crime happened at the railway station. I loved the train in Ghana and usually took it upcountry. I was on my way to Kumasi. When I sat down, I noticed my bag had been picked. My money was gone. The thief was slick. Peace Corps reimbursed me.

The last theft was right out of my house. I had visitors, and the three of us slept in the yard because of the heat. When we woke up, my back door was being held open by a stone, and my friend’s pants had been taken off his mattress and thrown on the back wall. Inside the house, my desk and wardrobe had been rifled. My camera was gone as was my wallet. The camera was useless. You couldn’t buy Instamatic film. It was the end of the month, and I had very little money so stealing the wallet was a bust. What was amazing was how deeply I must have been sleeping. I had locked the house doors and put the key under my pillow. The thief took the key, and I slept through it. I found my camera outside of my yard. I never found the wallet. I thought about that key and figured someone who was close to me knew it was under my pillow. I reported the theft to the police. They had a couple of thieves in jail cells and the police officer asked me if they were my thieves. I was sleeping and never saw the “perp.”

I never felt unsafe in Ghana. I hitched rides and took rides when offered. I walked home from town even at night. The thefts were just a small part of the backstory.

Snow started a little bit ago, but it will be under an inch, more of a snow shower. The cold persists. Today will be in the 20’s and tonight down to the teens. I’ll hunker down with my book and some M&M’s. The dogs are already asleep on the couch. They had a traumatic morning. They had to go out into the cold.

When I was a kid, on a cold Saturday like today, I’d be home. I’d be planted in front of the TV with my cereal bowl in hand. Snap, Crackle and Pop would be the soundtrack. Back then, children’s programs ruled Saturday morning TV. I had some favorites. Sergeant Preston of the Yukon, Sky King, Robin Hood, Captain Midnight, The Cisco Kid, Kukla, Fran and Ollie and Howdy Doody come to mind. My favorite Howdy Doody characters were Flubadub and Dilly Dally. Captain Midnight was the first science fiction show I remember watching. Sky King with his plane was unique. Sergeant Preston shared the show with Rex, his horse, and his dog Yukon King. One summer we stayed on an island in Maine. The house had a radio. I remember sitting in the kitchen and listening to Sergeant Preston. I remember the sound of the wind and the clomp of Rex’s hooves.

My father loved Spam. He especially loved it fried. My sister too was a Spam fan, still is. Once in a while I’d eat it fried in a sandwich as a last resort for lunch. The biggest problem in opening the can was the key. It was attached to the bottom of the can. You pulled it off. The key had a slot. The can had a lip and under that was a strip of metal, a piece of which was inserted into the key slot then you turned the key. This is where it all went wrong for me. The key started fine then went awry. The strip would twist, bend and stop turning. I had to use a knife to finish the opening. I had to be careful. The top had a sharp edge. I admit I did cut myself a couple of times, not unexpectedly. I always keep band-aids on hand in a variety of sizes.

Today is cloudy. It is still cold but at 32° warmer than it has been. The lethargy etched by the cold has permanently settled. I’m still in my cozies. I have nowhere I need to go or even want to go. Both dogs are quick to go out and quick to come back inside for nap time. They too are not fans of the cold.

I’ve been spending my days reading, watching movies, old movies, and checking out recipes and such on the internet. I fell asleep yesterday afternoon sitting on the couch with my remote in my hand. When it fell, the sound woke me up. I was surprised.

My front steps are icy, particularly the top step. I have to hold on to the storm door and gingerly step outside on the ice. Yesterday I had two packages delivered, all animal food. The heavier one had cans of dog food and cans of cat food. I couldn’t lift it. I slid it down the walkway and then turn it over and over to get it up the two steps. I managed the door, the boxes and the ice. I didn’t slip. I didn’t fall. That still amazes me.

When I was a kid, I loved to ice skate. I used to skate at the temporary rink built every year by the town at Recreation Park. When the cold came and settled, the town flooded a part of the field and then surrounded the rink with a fence. They placed a small hut on one side of the rink. A wood stove kept the hut warm. A guy always sat inside the hut to keep an eye. A bench was on each side of the hut so we could sit and put our skates on and off. Under the benches were piles of shoes and boots stacked high. When I had finished skating, it took a little time to hunt through the pile to find my shoes. I walked home with my skates tied together slung over my shoulder. It took a little walking before my feet stopped tingling. I was always tired.

I’m watching the Olympic Opening Ceremony. I do love pageantry.

My muse has deserted me, gone to warmer climes. We are mired in the 20’s. I have no inclination to go outside. I’ll just enjoy this lovely sunny day from inside the house. My dance card is empty. I get to stay home dressed in my comfiest clothes, in my flannel pants and hoodie. I’m going to schedule a nap. The dogs are ahead of me. They are both asleep on the couch.

The front steps are icy. I held on to the door to keep from sliding. When I got on the walkway, the sun glinting off the snow was so bright I couldn’t see when I went to get the paper. I stood unmoving on the walkway until my eyes adjusted. I made it safely from in to out and back again.

Adjectives to describe me today include sluggish, lethargic and my personal favorite, torpid. I think I can even out sloth a sloth. I am a champion of inertia.

My mother often gave me soup in my thermos on freezing days like today. Mostly it was either chicken noodle or tomato. She’d add a spoon, Saltines, a half sandwich and dessert, usually cookies, to my lunchbox. On the days after she’d grocery shopped, I’ll sometimes get a Hostess snack. I didn’t have a favorite. I loved the cream centers of the cupcakes. First, I’d pull off the chocolate frosting and put it to aside. It came off in one piece. Next, I’d eat my way to the cream center. The frosting was last (the icing off the cake, sorry I had to). My second favorite treat was Hostess Snoballs. It didn’t matter the color of the Snoballs. The pink and white marshmallow frosting tasted the same. My favorite part was the frosting was covered in specks of coconut. As with the cupcakes, I took the frosting off first and put it aside. It too came off in one piece. I always saved it for last.

I need to make more coffee.