Today is warm but dreary. It rained during the night, and the clouds are still hanging around. Every now and then a strong breeze blows the top branches of the pine trees. I saw a cardinal this morning. His bright red feathers caught my eye. The beautiful bird was on a branch near the feeders and reminded me I need to fill two of those feeders. I brought the seed in from the car.

When I was a kid and before my fashion independence, I always got a new pocketbook as part of my Easter ensemble. It was often white. I’d hold the one strap or carry the bag on my wrist. I can’t remember what was inside the pocketbook. I really had nothing I needed to carry. I’m thinking Kleenex but that’s all I can come up with.

I haven’t carried a purse or a pocketbook for years. The last one I remember having was a straw bag which was the victim of an attempted purse snatching on my first weekend in Ghana. I can only imagine what perfect targets we both made, the bag and I. There I was walking along a bridge, swinging my bag and swiveling my head to catch all the sights while a nimble thief waited his opportunity. He tried but didn’t get the bag. Later, I ditched the straw for a mesh shepherd’s bag and that’s what I used for the next two years. When I got home, the natural transition was to a small back pack sort of bag. My early ones were nylon with lots of zippered pockets. Later, I got a bit of fashion sense and switched to leather. I still carry one. It is my winter bag.

The bag is black with soft, beautiful leather. I bought it in a leather store when I was looking for sandals. This bag has a roomy middle but only two pockets, one inside and one outside, but I still manage to carry all sorts of necessities. Here is a rundown:

In the front pocket are my keys, a pen and a measuring tape. I use the tape to measure furniture I find to see if it’ll fit in a spot in my house. The inside pocket has my cell phone, a watch and a few gift cards left over from Christmas. Everything else is in the roomy middle. Besides the usual wallet, checkbook and glasses, I have a comb, two kinds of lip gloss and some dental floss which tastes like cinnamon. A small notebook is for sudden inspirations as is the case holding blank cards. My change purse has keys, never change. I have a Tide pen, and it gets used almost as often as my wallet. My trips have taught me to keep odd things so I have sanitizing hand-spray, dissolving soap sheets and a couple of toothettes in case I need to brush my teeth. I also have a small Swiss Army knife attached to my key chain. I figure I’m ready for just about any contingency.

The day is a delight. It is sort of sunny and 50˚. The snow is just about gone. A few small mounds sit along the roadway. The nights are still cold but spring is definitely in the air. I saw a daffodil bud this morning.

When I was a kid, the only old people I knew were my grandparents. They didn’t make old inviting. Both grandmothers wore the old lady’s fashions of the day: a nondescript flowered dress, clunky shoes and a full bib apron. My grandfathers had work and play clothes. For work they were dressed in the standard suits and fedoras. For play they wore more casual pants and shirts with collars. My grandmothers never wore pants, but my mother did.

I am seventy, but I have no idea how seventy feels. When I look in the mirror, I see a woman with quickly graying hair and wrinkles on her face though my mother once told me they were laugh lines. I don’t get it. How is that me? I feel the same inside as I always have. I do admit I tire more quickly and forget stuff more often. I’ve lost so many things in this house. I put them somewhere safe, but they are so safe I can’t find them. I guess I have to make greater use of stickies but then I’d defeat the purpose of hiding something. I dress comfortably most of the time. I never use an apron though I should. I always wipe my hands on the back of my pants and leave flour fingerprints. My grandmothers would be horrified at my wearing pants all the time. The hooded sweatshirts would mystify them. They at seventy would find me at seventy an anomaly which pleases me.

I have a few to do items including filling the bird feeders. Yesterday was a lazy day and today is shaping up to be the same. I’m almost finished my book, but I have more.

When Henry sits up and stares, I have learned he needs out. I put the leash on him and open the back door. He goes out by himself though I stand on the deck and watch. When he’s done, he comes running back inside and jumps on the couch. He doesn’t explore. I figure that will come as he gets more settled. He and Maddie are just fine. He has only been with me five days but he is already mine, and I think I am his.

It was 37˚ this morning, but the cold had a different feel. It felt like spring. Maybe it was the sweetness of the air or the bright sun or the vibrant blue sky which made me realize that winter is gone even when it is 37˚.

The snow hangs around on street corners and along the sides of the road. The piles get smaller and smaller each sunny day. I think of those piles as the last remnants of winter. April is coming and with its arrival all I can think of is spring. In my mind’s eye I see hats with flowers, pastel dresses in the lightest of colors, white gloves and shiny shoes. I see my whole world coming to life.

Maddie has dismissed Henry. She jumps on the table and sleeps on my sweatshirt, her usual spot. Henry is on the couch, and he too is sleeping. He paid no attention to the cat except when she started to eat his breakfast. I have been feeding him on the couch because that is his safe spot. This morning, though, I showed him his dishes and put them in the hall. He kept looking but didn’t move until Maddie started eating his canned food. He was torn and a little unnerved. I collected the dishes. Henry was prancing on the couch where I fed him. Later on, when he gets his dinner, I’ll try the hall again. I’m hoping to work his way to the kitchen.

Last night was TCM’s science fiction night. It started with good ones: The Incredible Shrinking Man and Them, one of my favorites. Next came the laughable B movies. First was The Phantom from 10,000 Leagues from 1955. The monster was radioactive and burned people to death from underwater. His eyes never moved. He opened his mouth and his tongue never moved. He had two fang like teeth. The actors, all unknown to me, were befitting the movie. I next watched The Giant Behemoth from 1959. It too was radioactive, burned people and came from the ocean. Both were created by men, by scientists who should have known better. This movie did have a redeeming quality. It had great scenes of Cornwall and London. I was in B movie heaven all night long.

Today Henry and I have a few errands. I hope he’ll be good in the car. I do love having a co-pilot.

Last night it rained on and off and the day is still cloudy, chilly and damp. I am longing for the sun. The nights are in the 30’s. My heat still blasts. There are shades of spring but winter has a heavy hand.

My neighborhood is a quiet one despite the kids. Across the street my neighbors keep their shades down most of the time. Their front door has triple locks and is always closed. Joanne calls me every now and then. She loves the lights still shining on my fence  especially the giant star and she thanks me. The house on the corner changed hands a year or so back. I always wave to the woman living there. She has a couple of dogs. I found out her name is Liz. We have spoken maybe once twice. Next door my landscaper and his family live. They are wonderful neighbors. I tutored his wife for a long while for her citizenship test then celebrated with the family when she became one. We both love mimosas and get together every now and then to have a few. All summer Sebastian, my landscaper, barbecues chicken every Sunday. He always calls over from his deck to invite me. Sometimes I go. His chicken is always delicious. Another house also changed hands a year or so ago. A single woman lives there too. Her living room curtains are always closed. I can see white lights shining. I haven’t ever met her. My front door is often open especially on sunny mornings. The living room curtains are lace. I bought them in Dublin. That must make me lace curtain Irish. The other front windows are the dining room which has no curtains. I’m comfortable with all the openness.

I want to learn to decorate cakes. I watch The Spring Baking Championship and am in awe when I see the finished cakes, especially the ones with flowers. My cakes are just plainly frosted though I do swirl the top frosting sometimes and think I’ve done well. I love chocolate cake with or without flowers.

Today the high will be 35˚ with snow flurries.

I am so tired of describing the day as chilly and damp. I just filled the bird feeders, and I got cold, a chill to the bone cold. While filling one feeder, I dropped a bag of sunflower seeds off the deck and just left it there on the ground below. The spawns will have a feast.

I am in love with spring. Every year I wait patiently for warmer days. This month has been uncharacteristically cold with weather more like January than March, but I am hopeful anyway. The crocus in the front garden bloom every morning. Their colors are vibrant, eye catching. They are the perfect start to spring.

The clouds are getting lighter. Maybe the sun will appear. If it does, I’ll open the front door to the light. Maddie loves to sleep stretched out in the warmth of that light. She is an interesting cat. She sleeps here in the den. One favorite spot is a sweatshirt of mine I had put on the table. She took it over. The other spot is a newspaper on the couch. I had put it there after I’d read it. She curls up on the front page and sleeps soundly.

I remember the Cuban missile crisis. We watched it unfold on TV. We heard President Kennedy describe the installation of nuclear-armed Soviet missiles on Cuba and his decision to place a naval blockade around the island. The scariest part was when the President said the U.S. was prepared to use military force if necessary to neutralize this threat to national security. We all were so afraid this confrontation would lead to war, but two days later the Soviet ships did not breach the blockade.

We knew how dire the situation was because President Kennedy told us. He didn’t threaten without purpose. He never used bravado. He didn’t name call. He was believed because he was respected and he never bandied with the truth.

It is a scary time now.

I like this morning. It is sunny and not too chilly. I surveyed my yard and garden this morning after I got the papers. The garden is even more alive as the day lilies have poked their heads above ground. The lawn is a mess and is covered in branches and twigs from the pine tree which fell during storm 3. The broken tree is still lying on the ground. Now that much of the snow is gone I’m hoping the tree will soon become deck firewood.

When I was a kid, I loved spring. It meant a freedom of sorts, the end of winter hibernation. It meant longer after school play time because the street lights came on later. It meant no more boots, mittens or dreaded hats. It was the season of wonder. The grass in the field below my house began to grow, to turn green. The swamp came alive with darting tadpoles. I remember lying down by the edge of the water watching the tadpoles change, watching them grow tails then legs. The trees in the woods on both sides of the field grew buds then thickened with leaves. The insects and the birds were louder. Spring was taking over from winter.

Ghana this time of year was still in the dry season. The roads and paths were dust. The fields empty of crops. The humidity, the lead-in to the rainy season, was making day and night miserable. I slept outside on my mattress. I remember lying on my back and looking at the sky and being amazed by how thick the stars were and how bright they made the night. I have never seen the like.

I had Peace Corps friends who said they would not have survived had they lived in Bolga.  They thought the heat unbearable which was funny as they visited in the rainy season, cooler than the rest of the year. I remember the relentless heat of the dry season, but it was just part and parcel of living in Bolga.

I have a couple of errands to do today, and I need to fill the bird feeders. That’s it.

Last night it poured. I expected at some point while I was sleeping the rain would turn to snow as the prediction was we’d have 3 or so inches, but when I woke up, there was no blanket of snow, just piles of rain pocked ugly snow from the last storm. The worst, though, is the slush. While my coffee was brewing, I walked to get my paper and yesterday’s mail. My street has two clear ruts for cars, but the rest of the street is all slush so deep it almost went up over my shoes. I removed the mats on my front steps as they are soaked, and I don’t want them to freeze. That’s how I broke my arm, slip sliding away.

Today is such an ugly day I’m going nowhere. I’m not even going to get dressed. I have everything I need including two cupcakes I bought yesterday. One is chocolate and the other lemon, two favorite tastes. The world is a wonderful place!

It’s time to welcome spring with pastels and colorful new Easter clothes. I think, though, I’ll pass on the Mary Jane’s. I remember these weeks before Easter, and my poor mother dragging us Easter shopping. My sisters always went frilly. They wore petticoats under their dresses, wide brim hats with ribbons and white shoes with a single strap. My brother got new pants, a white shirt and a clip on tie. My sisters loved to come home and try on their new clothes and new shoes. They’d prance. Yellow and pink and light blue were their favorite colors. I got a dress most years but it wasn’t ever frilly. I was never the type. I do remember my favorite Easter dress. It was a style straight from the 1920’s with its low waist. My shoes were squat little heels which I always think of now as training heels. The dress was a light blue-green, and it had a flower on the side at the waist. I felt sophisticated and older when I wore it. I was probably thirteen.

We always got new clothes. It was part of the Easter ritual. I never thought about it back then, but when I was older, I often wondered how many weeks my mother put money into the budget envelope labeled Easter clothes. She never disappointed us.

It is late I know, but I have had a busy day. It started at 5:15 when my obnoxious alarm went off. I whacked the snooze once then decided to drag myself out of bed. Coffee first was a necessity. I then turned on the news to keep an eye on the next nor’easter. Snow is definitely coming starting tomorrow afternoon. I find this storm an insult. Today is the first day of spring. I should be in the garden planting flowers. I shouldn’t be wearing layers, warm socks and a hood.

My friends and I celebrated our first day of spring tradition by greeting the sunrise at West Dennis Beach this morning. It was extraordinary. We sang our songs: Rocking Robin, Morning Has Broken, a third song whose obscure title I don’t remember and then we each read lines from Frost’s Two Tramps in Mud Time. The sun began to rise over the rocky jetty. First came the light then the top of the sun then more of it until the brilliant ball of light had risen completely. Its light glinted on the water and a band of color spread across the beach looking like a carpet of light. It was so bright I had to shade my eyes. It was glorious. Before we left, Clare looked for and found shells, our reminders of the beauty of today.

We ended the morning, as we do every year, by going out to breakfast. I had the usual, eggs over easy, bacon and toast.

I got home, read the paper for a bit then left for my library board meeting at nine. It was quick, and I was home by 9:45. I was tired. I took a nap.

I don’t really care that the snow is coming. Today is the first day of spring. Soon enough my garden will be filled with bright, colorful flowers. The birds will sing every morning to celebrate the day. I’ll open my windows to the fresh, sweet air. I’ll hear the rustling of leaves again. It’s all coming. I just have to be a little patient.

Yesterday’s St. Patrick’s Day dinner was superb. We feasted on the traditional meal of corned beef, potatoes, carrots and cabbage with wonderful Irish bread slathered with butter. In the background was Irish music compliments of Alexa. We were all in green as befitting the occasion. My friend Tony gave Clare, his wife, and me bags of St. Patrick’s Day goodies including green Snowballs, Necco Wafers and chocolates covered in shamrock decorated foil. It was a festive evening, a wonderful evening.

The weather is wintry with below freezing nights and mornings. Right now it is 24˚, but the sun is bright and the sky cloudless so the day is a pretty one. I do need to fill bird feeders and do a load of wash. That’s it for the day’s to do list.

Sometimes a perfect moment occurs, and I recognize it right away. These feelings of delight, of glee, usually come from something simple but wonderful.

I remember being in Ireland at a B&B in Youghal, a summer resort. It was off-season. My family and I, mother, father, grandfather and two aunts, were the only guests. My room was cold, no heat. The bed had layers of comforters. I took a bath, quickly toweled dry, put on warm clothes and jumped into bed.   I grabbed my book, a Dorothy Sayers Lord Peter Wimsey novel, and unwrapped my Cadbury fruit and nut bar. I broke off a piece and ate it. It was the food of the gods. There I was in Ireland warm under all those comforters, reading one of my favorite authors and eating chocolate. I knew I would never forget that moment.

I remember a summer day when I was sitting on the deck. Gracie was lying on the deck beside my chair. I was idly patting her. The sun was hot but there was a cooling breeze. The birds were in and out of the feeders. I could hear only their chirping. I realized they, Gracie and I had shared serenity.

The first sip of coffee in the morning, an outside shower at the close of a summer day, a favorite song playing on the radio, a book so good I can’t put it down, Maddie purring while I pat her, the first light of dawn and the last light of the day are moments to be savored, to be remembered. They are perfection.