The weather is bizarre. For two days it has been frigid weather, and my heat has been constantly running. Going outside even for a little bit was brutally cold. The dogs were out just for their business though I think Nala stole a box from the recycle bin and shredded it before she came back inside the house. Today the high will be 45˚, perfect dump weather. Tomorrow will be rainy and maybe even snowy.

I can’t believe I will actually get dressed today. It has been a while. I do, for cleanliness sake, change my cozies after my shower, but as far as I get beyond the house is usually the mailbox across the street.

Henry and his battle with the dog door continues. Yesterday he came back in himself through the dreaded door every time. Today he’s been standing outside and whacking the door with his nose, his method of summoning me. I am well trained.

When I was a kid, I never thought about how my every day was the same except for weekends, but even they had a pattern. Saturday was mine. Sunday was family. Saturday was morning TV, bike rides around town, hot dogs, beans and brown bread for dinner and a bath Saturday night. Sunday was doomed from the start. I had to go to mass. After mass I usually stayed around the house, watched some TV, read the funnies or hid in my room and read until dinner time. Sunday was the only day of the week with dinner. Every other day we had lunch and supper. Sunday dinner was usually around two. Sunday supper was light after the big dinner.

In Ghana, my week days too had the same pattern. I was up early, sometimes early enough to watch my students line up with their metal buckets at the shower stalls outside. I remember the sound of water hitting the bottom of the buckets. I’d have my first cup of coffee then breakfast, the same one very day, then I’d walk across the school compound to the classroom block to teach my first class of the day. In between classes, I’d walk home and maybe have another cup of coffee. After school, I’d go into town, roam around the market and hope to find a surprise like the watermelon I once found. I’d visit people in the stores and my husband at the Super Service Inn. On picture day, his mother, my mother-in-law, dressed him in new clothes. He looked adorable though a little uneasy, nervous and probably wondering why the white lady was taking pictures of him with her trusty Instamatic. When I looked at the picture just now, I realized it was taken fifty three years ago. I expect my husband is a grandfather.

When I let the dogs into the yard this morning, I swear I saw an elf. The purported elf was wearing green and red and slippers like a genie wears. He had on a tool belt and had a toy in his hand. I shook my head and looked again. The elf was gone. Am I delusional? Has being inside finally gotten to me? Then I realized the elf had probably been lost. He was thinking this is the North Pole at 15˚ and -1˚ with the wind and snow, yes snow, a dusting last night. No doubt, he wanted to go home where I suspect it’s warmer. Whoosh! The elf is gone and so is my sanity!

Nala has a new thing. The last few nights she has worked her way under the covers, gotten comfy and gone to sleep with a happy sigh. Another boxer, my Maggie, always slept under the covers on cold winter nights. Both dogs have winter coats, real coats, not just fur. Nala has Gracie’s, and it fits perfectly. Henry has the one I bought his first winter with me. It was fitted at the store. I’m a bit hesitant to put it on him. New things make him nervous.

I’m watching disaster movies. Right now it is lava from Vesuvius destroying Pompeii again. I started watching a different movie, one about snow covering the pyramids, but decided it was too close to home. I’m liking the heat from the lava.

When I was a kid, on days like today, I wore my long winter coat to school. It had buttons instead of a zipper. My mother had us layer. Underneath my coat I wore a sweater, a blue sweater which matched my uniform skirt. Sometimes I wore ski pants while other times I wore knee socks. I still remember the pink long underwear my mother bought me. It was thermal looking and covered my legs to about my knees. Every time I wore it, I lived in dread. I was always afraid the underwear would slip below my skirt to my ankles in front of everybody. I dutifully wore my hat and my mittens.

The weather is erratic at best. Today is frigid. Tomorrow will be in the 40’s. I’m going to keep nice and warm by staying home today. I need nothing. My larder is full. I do want something which I definitely don’t need. I want chocolate. It would make the isolation more bearable, and I’d be smiling a whole lot more.

The clouds are getting darker, but rain is not predicted, just clouds and cold. The high today will only be in the low 30’s with a wind making it feel colder. The low will be in the teens. I guess winter is reminding us this is his time. I’ll let him have it. Meanwhile, I’m going nowhere.

I have been especially industrious. Last night I washed the kitchen floor. I just couldn’t take the paw prints. My sensibilities cringed. I also brought boxes and a trash bag to the car. This morning I changed my bed. I’m working my way up to the dreaded laundry.

Bananas are probably my favorite fruit. On the road, in iffy spots, they are pretty safe to eat having a peel and all. They travel well. My Rice Krispies rise to a new level when banana slices are added. I haven’t had banana pudding in a long while, but I remember the taste and the silkiness of the custard. Bananas are my favorite start of the day. Both dogs love bananas. I give them each a piece from mine when I’m feeling especially generous. Henry usually blows bubbles around his mouth while he’s waiting for his. It is both gross and humorous.

When I was a kid, I wore uniforms to school so my wardrobe was a bit skimpy. I had a few skirts and a dress or two, Sunday clothes and play clothes. I had school shoes which doubled as church shoes, and I had play shoes, usually sneakers, always low rise, white tennis sneakers. In the summer it was shorts, Bermuda shorts, and a blouse, usually sleeveless. As proof that life goes full circle, I have a skimpy wardrobe again though I have far more pairs of shoes.

The most clothes I ever owned at one time were when I lived in Ghana where I had to wear dresses all the time and everywhere except in my own house and yard. The wife of a teacher who lived next door was a seamstress, and she made my dresses, all of which were sewn with Ghanaian cloth. Traveling had its difficulties. Pit stops were exactly that, but wearing a dress made it easier to squat. Not that I went to fancy places, but I was dressed for them anyway. I do remember during training I went to Accra with one of the staff members. We went to a bar. It was in an area in Accra I didn’t know existed where there were casinos, fancy hotels and restaurants. We played liar’s dice at the bar with the owner. In that game, winning is losing. I was perfectly dressed.

My dance card remains pristine. I did acknowledge the new week by changing my flannel pants for a new pair I just got on sale. The rest of my uniform remains the same: a tee shirt under a sweatshirt, socks and slippers. It’s a good thing I don’t expect company.

Today is an ugly day but a warm day. It is 45˚. I can hear the melting drops of snow dripping off the roof and hitting the deck. The dogs come in wet from running around the backyard soaked from melting snow. The steps are clear in the front and in the back. We had sun, but it was only a tease for a little while. Showers are predicted for later today so the clouds have moved in and taken over.

The wind is so strong I could feel the breeze blowing through the dog door up the hall. I closed the door. About five minutes later both dogs wanted out. I opened the door. They poked their heads out but stayed in the house. I think it was a test to determine their hold over me. They backed into the house and went down the hall. I got their tail ends. I hope that wasn’t a political statement.

The sun showed up a few minutes ago. All of a sudden the clouds lightened. I can see and hear the melted drops falling fast outside the den window. The sound is constant as if it were raining. The wind is still strong. The few brown oak leaves still on the trees are losing their battle with the wind.

My father cooked Sunday breakfast when I’d visit for the weekend. He’d always ask how I wanted my eggs cooked. I usually said over-easy. I loved dipping into the yolk with the toast. My father always started with the bacon. He cooked it in the cast iron frying pan. The eggs were next. They cooked in the bacon grease and were delicious. I always chose the rye bread for my toast. My father never broke the yolks.

When I was young, Chinese food was exotic. The only ethnic food we ate was spaghetti and meatballs. I remember my first foray into strange dining. We were visiting my aunt, the aunt whose husband owned the fish market. She served us spaghetti with clam sauce. It wasn’t red. It didn’t have meatballs. It had pieces of clams and a few clamshells with cooked inhabitants. I liked clams, and I liked spaghetti but wasn’t so sure they went together, but I was game. I was also surprised. It was tasty.

Mother Nature can’t seem to make up her mind. When I woke up this morning, it was a brilliantly sunny day with a deep blue sky extending as far as I could see. When I looked again a bit later, the clouds had taken over the sky and the sun had disappeared. But a short while later, they came back: the sun and the blue, but they brought a few clouds with them. That has become the pattern. The sun comes and goes. The clouds come and go. It is cold, 27˚.

Yesterday we didn’t get much snow. I threw out deicer on the back steps so the dogs don’t slide. I wish I had done the same on the front steps. No, I neither fell nor slipped, but I had to walk gingerly and carefully over the step mats now frozen and covered in ice. It is a good thing I have nowhere to go. I also have no ambition so it all works out perfectly for me, the sloth.

When I was a kid, I loved Hostess cupcakes. I had a routine. The frosting used to come off in one piece, and I’d save it for last. I always ate around the middle cream. That was second to last. It was the best day if I found Hostess cupcakes in my lunch box. I think I squealed.

I usually have three or four kinds of cheese in the fridge. My favorite changes, but cheddar is always on the list. I like it in chucks so I can cut a piece off and eat it on the run. When I was a kid, I thought cheeses was only yellow. My mother bought it by the box and by the slice. The box cheese made the best grilled cheese sandwiches, melty and hot and oozing out of the sides of the bread. Slices were for sandwiches, bologna sandwiches. What’s funny is the bologna came in a roll and had to be sliced. I was never a good slicer.

My outside Christmas lights are lit every night. I was going to shut them down after Little Christmas, the Epiphany, but the lights scare away the night, scare away the darkness. The rest of Christmas is put away, only the snowmen remain. They’ll stay around all winter.

The snow is coming down in smaller, wetter flakes than it had been earlier. The first snow was fluffy and perfect for snowballs and snowmen, but that has passed. Schools are closed today. The 2-3 inches of snow we have now weren’t enough to close schools, but the potential for up to a foot was. The kids down the street were sledding on the hilly driveways. The dogs have been out three or four times. They come back inside panting from running in the snow chasing each other all over the yard. Their fur is wet. They just went out again. We must be getting close to nap time.

Henry News!!!! Yesterday he came in the dog door all but twice. Today he has come in every time. I watched him once, and I understand his reluctance. He is awkward as if trying still to figure out exactly how to maneuver the door. It sort of hangs on him just a little bit. He’ll get it.

The Covid test I took yesterday was negative. I got the result this morning. It has been negative all along, but I just wanted to double check.

The wind is picking up and blowing the pine tree branches. Small mounds of snow fall off with every sway. Some of the branches are already clear. It is only 33˚. A freeze of the wet snow is imminent.

When I was a kid, I would have had school today. A couple of inches of snow is nothing, not even high up on my boots. I would have spent the morning at my desk sneaking peeks out the window to watch the snow fall. I never see the snow hit the ground. I just see it from the windows. Watching the snow fall is enough.

When I was really little, my mother dressed me for the snow. We started with warm socks then snow pants over my dungarees, the ones lined in flannel. On the top I wore a blouse and a sweater. The boots were next. They were worn over my shoes, and I can still see my mother with my foot between her legs pushing and pulling the boot over the shoe all the while exhorting me to help. My winter jacket was next. It zippered. My hat and mittens were last. I was clothed for a blizzard of major proportions.

My grandmother had snow boots. They had little heels and a button closure. They were black with a small bit of fake fur at the top. I have no doubt they were fashionable.

My dance card is still empty. I did go get the Covid test yesterday, but I didn’t even bother to get dressed. It was a car line. My mother would have been horrified if I had been in an accident.

Yesterday we had rain. I stayed around the house the whole day. The dogs went out into the yard. Neither one of them minds the rain. Today is cloudy. Snow is predicted for tomorrow, but, according to Google, we’re getting only an inch and a half. That hardly merits mention, but just in case, I asked Alexa. She is is predicting closer to three inches, not exactly a nor’easter.

I’m going out and about today, maybe even the dump, but I’m not sure, and I don’t want to raise your hopes.

My first airplane ride was an Easter gift when I was in college. There it was sticking out of my Easter basket. My parents had given me a ticket to Boston from Hyannis, a spectacular plane ride over the cape and the ocean just off shore. I tried to find my house by following Routes 6 and 28. I didn’t. I loved that plane ride. I was hooked.

My second plane ride was to Accra, Ghana from Philadelphia. The plane flew over the Cape. I tried to find my house. I didn’t. It took over ten hours, with a stop in Madrid, to get to Accra. We ate, we drank and we watched The Love Bug. None of us slept. I remember my seat belt got caught around my seat, and I couldn’t pull it free to use it. I remember the clinking of the glasses on the drink cart as it was pushed up the aisle. The aisle was busy. I remember running to the left side of the plane to see the Sahara. I was awed. There it was, the actual desert as far as we could see.

During my two years in Ghana, I would go on short hops from Tamale to Accra if I was in the money. I remember leaving Tamale after my two years for what I supposed was the last time. I put my head on the tray and quietly cried for the entire flight.

I flew from Niamey, Niger to Ougadougou, Burkina Faso (Upper Volta in my day) at the tail end of my vacation. I had gotten there overland, but I had gotten sick in Niamey and couldn’t face all that travel, hours of travel, so we flew. It was an Air France jet. Given the time change, we arrived in Ouga before we left Niamey. We stayed and slept at the Ouga airport as it had been the wee hours of the morning when we arrived.

Since then I have traveled. I have traveled in both prop and jet. I have been up in a balloon and in a helicopter. I have taken one cruise. I love trains and travel them whenever I can. I have to get back to Ghana one more time with my friends, Bill and Peg. I need to see my town and my students one more time. I’ll hold them close and keep them with me.

Grab the women and children! Run for the hills! We’re doomed. Okay, maybe a bit of an exaggeration, but it has been a long time since we last had sun, and today is sunny. To add to the wonder, the sky is blue. It is, however, quite cold at 27˚ with a wind making it feel colder. I will admire the pretty day from inside the house.

I woke up and slid off the mattress to the floor propelled by dogs wishing me good morning. It wasn’t a long drop. It was mostly a slide. My mattress top had shifted beyond the side of the mattress. I sat on nothing; hence, the slide.

I have ordered delivery from Agway. The dogs will expect to eat today. Yesterday I went out the back door, looked into the yard and noticed cloth. I knew right away what it was from its colors. It was the Asafo flag I brought back from Ghana, a flag of the Fante tribe representing militias of a sort from villages. The flag has hand stitch appliqué figures and dates from sometime before 1957. I ran into the yard horrified but hopeful. Nala, the destroyer of worlds, usually just drags cloth and its kin into the yard and leaves it intact. I picked it up-intact, no damage.

I decided to clean the yard a bit. It had torn paper and pieces of cartons strew about the yard close to the end of the deck. I knew the perp. What comes next is the surprise. A few days ago, maybe three or four, my 4 Red Sox wooden coasters and a beaded giraffe from Ghana disappeared from a living room table. Without question or hesitation, I knew the perp. I found one coaster in the house, but the rest went missing. Yesterday, with cloth safely in hand, I noticed near where the cloth had been left were a couple of shallow dog holes. Near the holes, I saw one then another red disc. I turned the red discs over. Two Red Sox coasters found, only one still missing. Next to one disc was the beaded giraffe, intact, unharmed. The biggest surprise was the small tagine top lying sideways in the dirt. The top with a white background and swirls of black across the white was a piece from one of the three, wonderfully colorful, small tagines I had brought back from Morocco. The top went missing months ago. Only the saucer like bottom had been left on the hearth. I never found the top. I finally adjusted to its loss and stopped looking at the empty saucer. Without question or hesitation, I knew the perp.

I couldn’t believe it. There it was, the tagine top, intact, lying on its side next to a mound of dirt. I felt a bit like an archaeologist. I held up my find, my serendipitous find, to the sun, proverbially. The tagine is back on the saucer on the hearth. I hope it stays there.

Wait!! There is more! As I was cleaning trash in there same area as the other finds, I unearthed the hand cream I had just bought. I didn’t even know it was missing yet, and here, I find it in the yard, near the dirt. The tube was fine, no holes.

The last find is a sad one. There were red thin slats on the ground in the yard. I knew right away what they had been. They were from the Santa’s suit basket, belt and below, my friend had brought me with some cookies, not enough, I think, warm, fuzzy socks, and bread. It was a neat basket. I found no large pieces. I could have collected all the individual pieces but it would have taken forever. I left them in the yard. Without question or hesitation, I knew the perp.

The impending storm got me out early, and I’m just back from finishing my errands. My fingers are about ready to break off from my hands. They are bordering on numb cold. The frigid air and the wind are shocking and take your breath away. Snow is predicted for this afternoon. At first it was a dusting to an inch. Now there could be up to four inches. My philosophy today is simple: Let it snow! Let it snow! I’m home, comfy and getting back to warm. I have cream for my coffee and a blueberry turnover. The dogs each got a biscuit in a cat shape. The irony was lost on them. I have no further need to go out today.

Dark clouds and cold days seem to invite a nap. I’m penciling one in on my otherwise empty dance card for today.

My kitchen floor will finally get washed today despite the impending snow. I break out in hives every time I go into the kitchen and see paw prints covering every inch of tile floor from the back door across the kitchen to the hall.

When I was a kid, I walked to school every day. The weather didn’t matter. Every kid in my neighborhood walked to school, meandering on warm, sunny days and fast walking on cold or rainy days. We didn’t complain. That was the way it always was.

In Ghana, my house was on school grounds as were the houses of most of the staff. My classroom block was about a two or three minute walk across the compound from my house. Every day I walked pass one of the dorms, the dining hall and the principal’ s office/ staff room combo then back again, sometimes there or four times a day. I got wet on rainy days, but my clothes dried quickly. If I were out and about in town and it rained, I’d just duck into a store or covered spot until the rain ended or lessened to mist. Life goes on in the rain.

A cloud follows me everywhere. It is right over my head. Sometimes I get wet. All the time I live in the shade. Okay, I’ve not fallen off the deep end here. I am spreading my wings, merely waxing poetic. I have moved beyond screaming into a far different realm where my words rhyme.

We have no sun. We never have sun. We have 49˚ with clouds. We had fog but it has dissipated as they say on the weather. It will get cold tonight. Snow is predicted for tomorrow, an inch or a bit more. I guess we’re easing into winter, real winter one inch at a time. Meanwhile, my sister in Colorado is living with snow, inches of snow, and single degree temperatures. She stays hunkered.

I had some groceries delivered today. I needed light cream for my coffee. It was the first item on my list. It was also missing, the only item they did not substitute. I don’t dare leave my house today, something about karma. I’m humming Clouds in My Coffee.

Henry came in the dog door twice today, but he is right now banging the door cover alerting me he wants to come in again, and I should open the door. I don’t get it.

When I was a kid, Sunday was a lost day. We were stuck with church in the morning. Most times I walked there by myself, but sometimes I went to early mass with my father. I was never a fan of early mass, but it had perks. I got a dime for the basket and a donut of my choice after mass as my father always brought home a dozen. His donut choices were boring, and he never remembered what I liked. He bought plain donuts, called old-fashioned at Dunkin’, in cruller and round shapes, glazed donuts and jelly donuts. His favorite was the plain. He used to spread butter across the top of the donut. His butter had texture with hills and valleys. I think he bought all those plain donuts as he knew they would be the last to go. I swear it was the same half donut left in the box every week in a sort of haunting. I never buy a dozen donuts.