Winter is still heavy handed. The other night the water in my birdbath froze. It was in the low 30’s. Last night was only a tiny bit warmer. The days, though, are giving me a bit of hope, a hint of spring. They jump into the 40’s and feel warm if there is no wind. Right now it is 46°. The sun, with its deep blue background, is bright and magnificent, after all the rain. The vibrant yellow of the goldfinches at the thistle feeders cuts through the drab. There are so many of them they have to wait in line. I swear I saw one goldfinch take a number from the deli machine on a branch. 

When I was a kid, I knew I would travel. It was the only known. I made that vow to myself when I was eleven. The when and the where weren’t part of my vow. The idea of traveling was enough. 

Over my lifetime I have been surprised by experiences I never imagined. 

It is sixty-six years since my vow to travel. My young self would be amazed at where I’ve been. I still marvel that I lived in Africa, that it holds a special place in my heart. About Africa, I only knew what the geography books taught me. I could talk climate, capital cities, exports, rivers and mountains. I had so much to learn, so much to experience, and I took in everything I could. Ghana became a comfortable place. I think my eleven year old self would have thought that remarkable.

I can play a musical instrument. I thought my debut with the triangle in the second grade would be it. I saw no symphony hall in my future. I saw no ukulele in my future. I didn’t even know what a ukulele was. Big Brother Bob Emery played the uke on his TV show when he sang The Grass is Always Greener, his theme song. I thought it was a guitar. When I decided I wanted to play a musical instrument, the uke came to mind. I thought it might be easier than the guitar. It only has four strings. I still don’t see Symphony Hall in my future, but it doesn’t matter. I love my uke.

When I was growing up, I never did laundry, make a bed or cook. I was just fine with that. During college I had to figure out how to work the washing machine. I seldom made my bed. Cooking was out of a can. Dinty Moore’s beef stew was a favorite. I loved chicken noodle soup. In Ghana, I never did laundry. I always found someone to pay to do it, by hand as there were no machines. Ironing was a necessity. It was a charcoal iron. I didn’t do that either. I didn’t cook. I had no stove, only a small charcoal burner, a sort of forerunner for the hibachi but round. I cook and bake now. I’ll try to make anything, nothing phases me. That was a surprise. I still seldom make my bed. My washing machine died so I have my clothes washed at the laundry. Some habits don’t change. 

The rain has stopped as has my work on the ark, but scattered showers are predicted so I’ll keep the tools handy. The kitchen floor is filled with paw prints. The backyard is soaked. 

My sloth must have been napping this morning as I have already changed my bed, taken my shower and cleaned down the stairs. I’m exhausted!

In the winter, my mother usually made us a hot breakfast before school. My favorite was soft boiled eggs. She used to serve the eggs in yellow Fanny Farmer duck egg holders. She would cut off the top of the egg and have toast around the plate. The toast was cut into strips the perfect size for dunking. When I first moved into this house, I had only a few pieces of furniture, a frying pan and two pots, a few dishes, a TV and a couch for my bed. My parents came to visit to see the house. My mother brought a few memories. She brought down two duck egg cups. Each duck had lost its beak. I loved those ducks, beaks or no beaks. They are still in my kitchen.

I remember classmates from grammar school. Many of us were together for eight years. After graduation, I lost touch with most of them. I wonder about them. I had a crazy, old nun in the eighth grade, Sister Hildegard. It was our life’s mission to take advantage of her. She hated us. One poor classmate was somehow related to her. Her name was Eleanor, and she sat in the last desk in the fourth row. I remember one day when Sister Hildegard went off on Eleanor who had rolled her skirt at the waist to make it shorter. Somehow Sister Hildegard noticed and went up the row toward Eleanor so fast her veil was blowing behind her. She yelled and pulled the skirt so far down you could see the top of Eleanor’s slip under the skirt. Eleanor started crying. No one made fun of her or laughed. We were horrified for her. I have never forgotten.

When I was a junior in high school on a late Friday afternoon, only a nun and I were left to finish decorating the gym for a dance that night. She was on a ladder. At some point she dropped the decoration and said, “Shit.” I was taken aback. A nun swearing? I never really thought of nuns as regular people. They were a breed unto themselves. We had three sexes: men, women and nuns. 

My dance card has three entries, all uke related. I have practice, a lesson and a concert on Friday. We are still singing funny food songs. 

I keep checking my hands and feet for webbing. It is raining, again, and it is supposed to rain all day. I was going to do a couple of errands, but I’ve decided to stay home, to stay warm and dry. 

My muse has gone to sunnier climes. I don’t blame her. We seem to be stuck in the last bit of winter. The next few nights will be downright cold, down to the 30’s. Where did I put my mittens? I need to wear a bed cap like Scrooge and the man in The Night Before Christmas did. I’d like mine to be colorful. Their’s were white.

I remember my hometown so very well. I was roamer, sometimes on foot but mostly on my bike. There used to be a small train, a narrow gauge, which took riders through the trees behind the China Moon and Hago Harrington’s miniature golf course. Sunnyhurst Dairy’s bottling plant was close to the route of the train. Sunnyhurst also sold ice cream, cones and such, from the front of the brick building near where the Italian bakery is now. My friend Pat and I used to stop there. I have a couple of Sunnyhurst milk bottles. The square had an army-navy store. I never shopped there, but I wish I could now. The town horse barn faced the road behind the town hall. It was one of my stops. I think if I could go back in time, I’d go back to the the late 50’s, early 60’s, and spend a Saturday on my bike riding all over town. 

I have shelves filled with cookbooks. I store many of the books in wooden boxes against one wall here in the den. The boxes are old. One is from a cranberry bog and is labeled 1982. Another is a Gnome beverages box. A beverages’ box has slots for bottle storage, for 12 bottles of flavored drinks sold at a small plant I remember was near the Fellsway. I have an insulated Hood box which used to sit on the back steps of our house. The milkman left the bottles of milk in it so the milk could stay cold. Many of the books are Christmas books filled with crafts and recipes. My mother used to send me one every year. 

The floor to ceiling bookcase in the kitchen is filled with all sorts of stuff. I have a collection of glass cocktail shakers and old drink stirrers, some from TWA and hotels and bars which are long gone. My favorite cookbooks are ones with recipes from books like Nancy Drew, Barbara Pym, Anne of Green Gables and Shakespeare. I have an ugly collection of souvenirs. A fondue pot is on one shelf. Dishes and bowls are on the lower shelves. 

I love all my collections.

The rain has stopped. The morning is cloudy and damp. We have pre-spring temperatures, in the mid 40’s. The dogs are content to stay inside. Henry is napping on my bed upstairs while Nala is here the couch. The house is quiet.  

 Nothing much is happening. I have no plans, no necessary chores. Yesterday I watered plants and cleaned the den. That was more than enough.

When I was young, my mother read to me. She read me Golden Books and fairy tales. My favorite story was Chicken Little, aka Henny Penny. The story starts with her panic after she is hit on the head by a falling pinecone, “The sky is falling!” She goes to tell the king, and, on the way, tells all the animals she meets on the road. The animals have the best names like Turkey Lurky, Goosey Loosey, Ducky Lucky and Foxy Loxy. That last one was a mistake. Foxy Loxy ate all the other animals. I remember the whole book except for the ending, the eating part. Maybe my mother didn’t read it to me or maybe the horror erased it from my memory.

I loved fairy tales. The ones I remember most had happy endings. the good guys won. Most, though, were a bit violent, but I cheered because the bad guys got what they deserved. Hansel and Gretel’s witch was going to eat them. Gretel tricked the witch who ended up on the oven. The Three Little Pigs hoodwinked the fox who was looking for dinner. The Billy Goats Gruff did in the troll who was waiting to eat a goat. Little Red Riding Hood’s wolf was hoping to dine on Little Red. Some fairy tales didn’t end in dinner like The Ugly Duckling, Snow White and Cinderella, but there were trials and tribulations they had to endure. 

 I read all the classics. I read the three Little books: Little Women, Little Men and Jo’s Boys. I was a Robert Lewis Stephenson fan. My favorite was Treasure Island, but a close second was Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. I think it was my first horror book. Robinson Crusoe, The Secret Garden and so many more were in personal library. My favorite of all was The Wind in the Willows. I still have a copy.

Every now and then I read one of those books again. Treasure Island was the last one I read. When I was young, the characters and the action held me enthralled. Now I appreciate how the metaphors, the similes and the imagery deepen the language, the descriptions of places and people. Long John Silver is the best character but the most treacherous character. I remember my shock when I found out he was a bad guy. 

I think I might just read Kidnapped next.

Today is chilly and cloudy. Rain is predicted. The temperature is in the mid 40’s, today’s high. My house is warm. The furnace is blasting lovely hot air. The fix was easy. He turned on a switch I had turned off without noticing when I was hanging a picture. I was that old woman oblivious to the world at large or at least to the outlet on the wall. 

My inner sloth has full rein today. I watch the dust balls fly into the air when I walk down the hall, and I don’t care. The dogs and I are on the couch. They are sleeping, breathing deeply. My feet are up on the table. It is just one of those days. 

My jigsaw puzzle is still in progress, but I am at the point where I can pick up a piece and generally know exactly where it goes. I’m hoping to finish this weekend. 

When I was in Ghana, Peace Corps had Range Rovers, the sort you’d see in National Geographic pictures crossing the desert in caravans. I hitched a ride a few times. The Range Rover always seemed exotic to me, a vehicle for adventures, for faraway places. 

My house has a deck but I’d also like a front porch. On the Andy Griffith show every Sunday after dinner, Andy, Barney and Aunt Bee settled on the porch. Barney was still wearing his church suit, his really ugly church suit. Andy would bring his guitar, and they’d sing. Neighbors would walk by and they’d say, “Hey!” The porch was neighborly. 

When I was a kid, my clothes were functional, not fashionable. I had school clothes, church clothes and play clothes. My school clothes were a uniform. My church clothes were usually a skirt and a blouse. My winter play clothes were pants and warm shirts. My summer play clothes were shorts and sleeveless blouses. In Ghana I had to wear dresses. I had most of my dresses made there with Ghanaian cloth. For the first time, I was fashionable. 

I don’t intend to move much this weekend. My longest walk will be between the den and the kitchen either to let Henry in or to get myself food and drink. If I get tired, I’ll rest in between.

Last night it rained. Right now it is 56° and cloudy. Today should get as high as 60°. This warmish weather has the dogs wanting out but only Nala coming in. Henry stands outside the back door looking in and hoping I’ll see him. I feel like a Jack-in-the-box. I’d wait him out but he cries and whimpers. 

When I was young, we lived in South Boston in an apartment complex of huge brick buildings. Our back yard was mostly fenced in clothes lines. My mother used to check on me from the back window of our apartment. Only a few old black and white pictures of our apartment still exist. I have a few memories prompted by those pictures. One picture is of me on Santa’s lap on the couch. I don’t remember sitting on Santa’s lap, but I do remember sneaking a peek of him from the barely opened bedroom door across from that couch. A neighbor took a picture of me one Easter in all my finery. I am standing on the front steps. I remember being a bit embarrassed, and I can see that look in my picture. Another picture is of me and a few other kids standing against a wall. We look scruffy. I don’t remember the kids, but I do remember the wall. Strange memories lurk in my memory drawers.

As far back as I can remember, we’ve had a television. My mother told me the first one she ever saw belonged to a neighbor who lived in an apartment beside ours in that apartment building in South Boston. Every night, neighbors would bring their chairs, sit in the hall and watch TV. My parents would leave their apartment door open so they could hear us, my brother and me, if we started crying. When we moved away from South Boston, my parents bought their own TV.

If I could choose to go where I’ve never been, I’d be hard-pressed to pick a place. I haven’t been to Asia so I’m putting it on the list. I had a trip planned, but, instead, I bought my house. A long train trip would be high on the list. It wouldn’t have to be anywhere exotic though I’d love to ride the Orient Express. I’ve taken a few overnight trains and loved falling asleep to the clicking of the train wheels on the tracks. I’d go to Alaska but not Hawaii. I’d love to see Turkey and India. There are more places, but these are enough for now.

The house is cold. The furnace died again last night. This time it feels ominous. I could have had an emergency visit last night but chose to wait for a regular appointment to save money. I do have one electric heater and have put it here in the den. The dogs are asleep on the couch beside me. Jack is in his house upstairs and is also sleeping. I’m wearing a sweatshirt under fleece and socks under muk-luks. Our appointment isn’t until tomorrow.

The morning is cloudy. Rain is predicted. It is now 48° but it will get a bit warmer. I’m hoping for 80’s, as if….

I always knew I’d travel. I made that vow to myself when I was a kid. I had no places in mind. I  just wanted to go somewhere. Canada was my first foreign country, but it didn’t seem foreign. Everybody spoke English. Both sides of Niagara Falls looked the same, but I still counted it as country number one. It wouldn’t be until years later that I added to my list. Country number two was Ghana. I had read about Ghana before I went, but when I arrived, Ghana was so much more, a place filled with different sounds and colors, strange foods and sights, sights I had never imagined. Over time Ghana became familiar but never common. 

I traveled by myself to Morocco. My first view of the city was from my calèche, a horse drawn carriage, I had chosen to take one at the airport instead of a car to take me into the city, into  Marrakech. The air seemed to be filled with the aroma of spices. The buildings were red from red sandstone. I was so excited to be there I even waved at people as we passed their carriages. We got to the main square, the Jemaa el-Fna. From there I had to walk to my riad, a small hotel once a house, in the old section of the city. I memorized how to get to my riad, how to get there by navigating the small, narrow turns. Most days I wandered all over the city. I walked through the maze of the Medina. I followed a small boy to a restaurant at the back of a furniture store. I saw sheep heads being baked in large, tall round ovens. I didn’t stop to try any meat. I stopped at souks to look and to shop. The spice souks were amazing with mounds of colored spices on tables in front and on shelves lining the walls. Every afternoon I stopped at the same cafe for coffee, a cup or two. I ate at night in the square. I watched the dancers. I bought dessert at kiosks and ate it as walked to my riad. Marrakech was different. I loved it for all those differences.

I have no plans for today. I’ll just bundle and try to stay warm.

Last night it poured. I could hear the rain hitting the windows. It made me wish I had a metal roof. When I lived in Ghana, that was my favorite sound. I always felt surrounded by the rain but safe inside my house.

The morning was cloudy, but now the day is lovely. The sun is bright and is framed by a deep blue sky without a single cloud. It will be warm, Cape Cod spring warm, with a high of 50°. The dogs are loving the sun. Both of them are outside. Nala is lying on the one patch of grass in the sun.

Happy April’s Fool Day!! My mother was the champion of April Fool’s Day. She pretty much always caught my sister which was really funny as my sister knew it was coming and got caught anyway. My mother sounded so sincere you had to believe her. 

When I was a kid, I loved days like today. I got to play outside after school until it got cold in the late afternoon as the sun was going down. It wasn’t yet spring, but I had my favorite places. The field below my house was still brown, and the grasshoppers had yet to make their appearance, but it didn’t matter. I ran through the grass leaving a path behind me. I checked the swamp for tadpoles. I ran up the hill pass the water tank, crossed the street and checked on the horses. They always came over to the fence and took grass from my hands. I wished I could ride them. As it got colder and was heading toward darkness, I hurried home to beat the street lights.

I remember a night when I believed in aliens. I was in Ghana. My school was at the top of a hill, not too steep a hill but long. My friend Patrick and I were riding our bikes, our motos, the Ghanaian name for motor cycles, back from town. The road was empty. We were the only vehicles. Patrick was ahead of me. The sky at night was brilliant. You could even see the Milky Way, a pale blanket of stars across the horizon. I was checking the sky, awed by the stars. When I looked to the road again, Patrick was gone, an impossibility as the road was straight. I should have seen his lights. I checked the side road, no lights. I checked the fields on both sides as the light was bright enough to see, no Patrick. I got a bit scared. Where did he go? Was he taken? I yelled his name then I heard him, “Help!”I moved toward the voice. He and his moto had fallen into a big hole in the middle of the road. No aliens, just a hole. I helped get him and his bike out. I admit I was a bit disappointed to find him. He ruined a great story.

Today is cloudy, again. Last night it rained a bit. Intermittent showers are forecast. The day is warmish at 54°. The dogs ran around the perimeter of the yard a couple of times in a sort of celebration for the warmth. Nala is speedy. Henry takes his time. Maybe ran for Henry is an exaggeration. 

Today I’m going to get my second new tire. It will replace the tire with the gash. That’s it for my to-do list. 

When I went through my albums, I was surprised by some of them. I have an original Mickey Mouse Club album with the theme songs for each day like circus day, special guest day and rodeo round up. It is even in its original cover none the worse for wear. A couple of albums made me laugh. Right now I’m playing Pizzas and Bongos. On the cover is a woman befitting the 50’s as the album was released in 1958. Sorrento Cha Cha is playing now. Another gem is Sing a Song of Italy also released in 1958. Kate Smith and her patriotic songs is in the pile as is Glenn Miller. I have no idea what prompted me to buy these albums, but I do like their quirkiness.

When I was young, I had a record player. It was a kid’s record player. It was just the turntable. My records were different colors. They were red or yellow. I still have some, mostly Christmas records. Many of them are Golden Records or Peter Pan Records. On the yellow ones the singers and musicians are listed. Two list Mitchell Miller and his orchestra. One singer is Betty Clooney, Rosemary’s sister. They all have a regular holes in the middle so no plastic adapter. I thought I’d listen to a few of them later.

I think I am caught in a whirlwind. I seem to be cleaning the hidden places. I remember doing that when I was a kid. My closet was the main target. Most of the clothes were on hangers, metal hangers which left their imprints on the shoulders of the blouses. It was the floor of the closet that was just a jumble of things. It was like a junk drawer but bigger. The pile would get taller and taller until I was forced to clean. I have a closet like that. I keep eyeing it. I just hope my sloth can be strong.

Come on. Come on, spring. Last night was downright cold, in the 30s. I’m still wearing flannel and sweatshirts. Spring, take your turn. It is time. 

In the front garden, a purple crocus has opened, sort of a signal that the garden will bloom despite the temperature. The dafs’ flower buds are high and have a tinge of yellow. Those signs of spring will have to do for now. 

If you heard screaming yesterday, it was my inner sloth because I did the improbable. I took everything off the top of the fridge. I don’t know what prompted that. Nobody can see the top without a step stool. The dust was over everything, thick dust, old dust. I put my tulip bowl set from the fridge top into the dishwasher. It is a set of four Fire King bowls I bought years ago. When I was a kid, my mother had a couple of the same tulip bowls. I remember the smaller one often held mashed potatoes on the dinner table. When I saw the set at an antique shop, my mother was with me. I told her that the bowls are a memory, a piece, of my childhood so I bought them. I made room for the bowls on the bookcase in my kitchen. 

When I was growing up, our vacations were mostly spent at home doing something every day or so. Sometimes we did go to Ogunquit where we stayed in a tiny cottage belonging to a family friend. The cottage was one of many small cottages in rows in a community of cottages separated by single lane dirt roads. When I was young, I enjoyed the visit. I spent time trying to catch the small fish in the warm tidal pools. I hiked through the dunes. We mostly ate burgers or hot dogs and chips. We were free to wander. When I got older, I was mostly bored. I’d sit in the car reading so I could have some peace and quiet. I sometimes wonder if the cottages are still there.

Last night it rained. The day is dark, cloudy, and damp. It will stay in the mid 40’s even tonight. Today will be a quiet day befitting a Sunday. I have no plans, no weird cleaning urges, but I will grocery shop for delivery. My larder is empty. The fridge looks abandoned. I think my inner sloth will be delighted with today.