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.

The weather is so much warmer today, sunning weather at 34°. Some of the snow is melting. I can hear the sounds of the drips falling from the roof. The sun is shining. The blue sky is cloudless. The air is so still even the smallest branches don’t move. The dogs are out longer. It is a lovely day.

When I was a kid, I used to go to the library often. I loved the children’s side. The chairs were wooden. Some were captains’ chairs with arms. They were all around the long tables. None of the shelves were up very high. I remember the science fiction section had two of the tallest shelves. My other favorite shelves, the folklore shelves, were short, about to my waist. The librarian’s area was in the middle of the room and faced the door. The librarian was iconic. She was an older woman who wore a flowered dress and those old lady shoes with clunky heels. Her hair was in a bun. She didn’t tolerate noise or conversation. She’d shush us. At the desk, she’d take the books I wanted then stamp the due date on the sheet glued to the back page. I always brought my books back early. I didn’t want to risk the penny a day late fee.

I do like to read real books, to hold them in my hands. I like turning pages. I like seeing my progress, how many pages I have read and how many more I have to read. My iPad has many books. All of them were free to download. I go there when I have run out of paper books.

I loved when I traveled. Books were prized. In hostels books were a hot commonly to be traded. I used to hunt bookstores selling books in English. Mostly I’d find one in a big city. I’d carry the books in my backpack and read them on long trips in buses or trains. In Ghana, the official language is English. My town had a store which sold books. I bought several of the African Writers Series, one of each that they sold there. I sent them home. I read every one of them. I even chose Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe for my English classes, in Ghana and here. The University of Legon in Accra had a good bookstore. Just after I was sworn in as a volunteer and before I left to go upcountry to my town, I bought several books. They were a treasure trove. My town, Bolga, didn’t have much, but it did have a library. I always thought myself blessed.

Mother Nature did it to us again. I followed the snow predictions. I went from channel to channel and kept asking my Alexa and my Goggle. They all predicted snow and a heavy wind. I kept opening the back door checking for flakes. I swear I saw a couple around 2 am. When I woke up today, I let the dogs out right away. They are always insistent. I was expecting to see a snow covered deck. Nope, we got no snow. All the complaining was wasted.

When I was a kid, my mother almost always made my lunch. My school didn’t have a cafeteria. The only things sold were milk and candy. I always bought the milk and once in a while the candy. The milk was delivered to the classroom in one of those milk crates. The candy bars came in a lunchbox and was delivered a bit before lunch.

When I was in the eighth grade, I had the infamous Sister Hildegard. My desk was close to the front of the room. Almost every day, I watched Sister Hildegard. It was entertainment. I watched her open the candy box, browse through the choices and take a couple of bars. She’d hide them in a desk drawer. After lunch, I sometimes could hear paper crumbling. I’d watch Sister Hildegard hide her mouth with her hand, put something in her mouth then start chewing. She was eating the candy from the chocolate stash she’d taken from the lunch box. I think she believed we didn’t know. We all did. I remember going up to her desk to show her something. When she answered, she spit nuts on my paper. She knew I saw the chewed nuts so she quickly sent me back to my desk, but it was too late.

The other Sister Hildegard moments, common moments, were when she nodded off at her desk while we were working. She’d sit upright with eyes closed. We’d watch and chuckle quietly. She’d sometimes open her eyes, blankly look around then go back to sleep. That was another of many Sister Hildegard moments.

This is a quiet week for me. I have a few house chores, my usual uke practice and lesson and nothing else. I’m okay with quiet, maybe I’ll nod off

The clouds have that white grey color, a warning, snow’s coming. The wind is getting stronger, and the day is getting darker. The good news is the prediction is for far less snow than first thought, only 1-3 inches. That’s broom snow. We are all warm and cozy. The dogs are napping. Nala is leaning against me, her head resting on my hip. She sighs every now and then. Henry is curled into a ball on his cushion. Jack is sleeping on an afghan in front of the heater in his room. All’s right with our world.

My larder is full. I had my groceries delivered yesterday. The Amazon pet order also came yesterday minus dry dog food. It should come today. The Chewy order will be here in a couple of days. My beasties live well.

The other day I had a Ghana Deja Vu. I had finished my first cup of coffee and let the cup sit a little while before I went to get my second cup. I added fake sugar and cream to the coffee, carried the cup to the den and sat down. When I went to drink, I saw two dead bugs, gnats I think, floating in the cup. Bugs in food were a common occurrence in Ghana. I used to have to sift my flour, loaded with bugs. Some remained and we didn’t care. They were protein. When I saw the bugs in my coffee, I just picked them out. Dead bugs are harmless.

When I was a kid, I hunted grasshoppers in the field below my house. They’d jump in the air when I walked through the grass. I’d catch them with my hands and put them in a jar. Later, I’d release them. I didn’t swat or run screaming from bees. I remember a praying mantis in the bushes by the front steps. I watched it for a long time. I had already seen its movie, The Deadly Mantis, starring a giant bug, 200-foot-long and millions of years old. That one would have scared me. I’d be the one running and screaming. I’d probably be the one eaten. I can’t run all that fast or far.

My dance card is mostly empty for the week. I have my uke practice and lesson and nothing else. I’m just fine with that. I do idleness well.

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.