I swear I saw what appeared to be a rabbit, but it was bundled, dressed in a winter coat, knit hat and mittens. I saw his breath in the air. Poor rabbit!

The temperature is 53° but it feels much colder. It is cloudy and windy. Rain is likely. I have no plans for the day so I’ll leave my frilly dress and patent leather shoes in the closet.

When I woke up on Easter morning, I made a beeline to my basket. The first thing I always saw was the chocolate rabbit standing up straight. I went for the ears. While I was chomping, I checked out the rest of the basket. I was never disappointed.

When I was an adult, we all still went to my parents’ house for Easter dinner. My mother had baskets for us filled with some candy and small gifts, like earrings. I made her a basket. One year I found an Easter stocking and used it as her basket. It stretched and held all the goodies for my mother. My father’s basket had lots of candy. He loved candy. He used to hide the candy dish filled with Hershey miniatures and Reese’s. That made no difference. We all knew his hiding place. My brother and his family came and always brought my mother a lily.

I was my mother’s sous-chef. We started on the dinner the night before. I sat at the kitchen table cutting vegetable while she was at counter readying other dishes. It was fun to be together chatting and listening to music.That gave us a head start for Easter dinner. I used to set the table with a tablecloth and my mother’s dishes. I put flowers in a vase for the middle of the table, flowers with spring colors. She had a few rabbit dishes we filled with vegetables. The table was wonderfully festive. Dinner was delicious.

I wish you a wonderful Easter Sunday. I hope your baskets are teeming with goodies. I’m guessing the rabbits have no ears.

The morning sky did have a bit of blue earlier, but it got overrun quickly by clouds. It is 48°. Henry is outside barking at a ghost. I used to check to see what he was barking at but mostly I found nothing. He is the dog who cried intruder. My house is quiet. Nala is upstairs on my bed taking her morning nap, but she did have her time in the spotlight. She stole a package of dog treats. I had seen the package in the yard and didn’t know what it was so I went to investigate. On the way, I picked up an empty dog food can, an empty cat food can and some unrecognizable trash. It is no wonder Nala needs a nap.

I have a few house chores and I need to put more books in my little library. That’s it on my dance card. I’m going to spend the rest of the day reading and relaxing. I am only missing the bon bons.

Santa keeps lists. When I was little, if I did something my mother didn’t like, she threatened to tell Santa to put me on the naughty list. She kept me in thrall with that threat. Now that I’m older, much older, I have some questions. Where did naughty come from? I only heard it used around Christmas and in old children’s books. Good and bad would have been just fine. What about the poor Easter Bunny? Santa was incentive. We didn’t want to cross him. The Easter Bunny left baskets no matter how good or naughty we were. Granted, Santa’s gifts were far better, and how would the Easter Bunny carry a bike or a sled in his basket and was all that chocolate worth it? The biggest question is hotly debated. Why is a bunny bringing eggs?

The bunny always left us great Easter baskets. In every basket was always a chocolate bunny. The ears went first. Jelly beans were loose. They were the big beans. Every bean tasted the same. Yellow Peeps were a given as were small, round pieces of chocolate covered in decorative aluminum. Big, colored candy eggs were hard to bite. Their insides were white. Sometimes there was a stuffed bunny, always a bunny. Small toys like jacks and a Fl-back paddle were sometimes in the basket. In my Ghana Easter package, I got a Fli-Back. My friend Bill and I had nightly competitions to see who could go longer without the ball missing the paddle. We were great. I’m talking well over 100 then tragedy struck. The elastic broke. We tied it, but it never worked right again. We lamented the loss.

My candy peeps are open to the air, hardening. That’s the only way I liked them. They arrived in Ghana that way. I have no Easter plans. I didn’t buy new patent leather shoes or a pouffy dress. I’ll be casual and comfy.

What a surprise! This morning it was raining when I woke up. It has since stopped leaving behind only white clouds bright with hidden light. The air is still held in check by the humidity.

It is opening day at Fenway Park. The Sox have had a rocky start winning only one game, but at home they are difficult to beat. I used to go to Fenway when I was a kid. I sat in the bleaches, the cheap seats, at afternoon games. I remember my first night game. My friend’s sister worked for the Sox. We arrived for batting practice, and I remember walking through the concourse then standing at the fence behind the outfield. The field was lit so much it looked like daytime. I thought it was magical. I have been to see the Sox several times. I even saw them in Colorado. I’ve sat in seats all over the park including box seats. Now I’m watching the game on TV. I’m wearing my Red Sox uniform shirt, a long ago Christmas gift. I have hot dogs for lunch. I have popcorn. I’m ready. Go Sox!!

When I was a kid, around five or six, there was a whole neighborhood Easter egg hunt. There were regular dyed hard boiled eggs. There were surprise eggs with money and candy inside. There was a gold egg with the big prize inside. The eggs were hidden all round the field and the houses close to the field. I headed to the field. The grass was brown and not yet tall so hunting was easy. The dead tree in the back was a treasure trove of eggs. It was there I found the prize. I found the gold egg. I wanted to hold up the egg and scream, “I found it. I found it,” but I didn’t. I was afraid someone bigger would take it. I walked nonchalantly around holding my basket. The end of the hunt was announced by one of the parents. We stood in line waiting for our eggs to be tallied. We all wondered who had the gold egg. I said nothing. The dyed ones were the least valuable, worth only a penny or two. The other eggs had the prizes already inside. I presented my basket. The parent found the egg and held up for all to see. I was thrilled. I remember that whole day, but, of all things, I don’t remember the prize. The fun of it was the hunt.

I have no plans for Easter. I do have some dye for my eggs. It is, after all, tradition.

Rain, rain go away, come again another day or another week or another month. It started raining over the weekend and continues today. The weather report predicts rain every day until Monday. My neighbor is building an ark in her backyard. I can hear the hammering. I haven’t yet found the invitation for me and the beasties so I’ll just put on my boots, slog through the water and hope for the best. The dogs are sleeping on the couch. They have generously given me some of the middle cushion.

When I was growing up, my hometown was small. I swear my father knew everyone. Saturdays were his chore days, but first he always went uptown to do his errands. He wore white shirts to work every day. The collars were stiff with starch. My mother washed, ironed and put away his laundry but not his shirts. Those went to the Chinese laundry. I’d sometimes go with him. The laundry building was small. It was always thick with humidity from the giant iron at the front of the building. I could see the steam. Most of the clean laundry was folded and wrapped in brown paper. Next, my father stopped for a trim at the barber shop. Hanging outside the store was a small striped barber pole. I sat by the front window reading magazines. There were only two chairs in the small barber shop. Piles of hair were in the corners waiting to be swept. My father’s last stop was to his friend’s drug store. Uptown had many drug stores. His friend’s store was small. It had three stools at a tiny fountain. In the back was the pharmacy. Mr. Pullo was the owner and pharmacist. He always wore a white jacket like Ben Casey wore. I’d sit at the fountain and drink a vanilla Coke while my father visited his friend. When my father was finished visiting, we headed home.

When I was in Ghana, one of my friends was leaving to go home early, before the end of our second year. His school was on strike. Friends and I were in Accra, the capital, as it was a school holiday week. We decided to go out for drinks with him to say goodbye. Back then, expensive hotels were along the airport road. We chose to go to one of the older hotels. It reminded me of pictures I had seen of hotels in old movies in places like Hong Kong. We sat in what was a sunroom. It had wallpaper with green ferns and potted tropical plants placed about the room. The furniture was white wicker. Each piece of furniture had comfy cushions covered in the same fabric. We chuckled a bit as were definitely out of element. The waiter carried a silver tray. He was dressed in black pants and a white shirt with a bow tie. He was from an old movie. We stayed for a few drinks. That was one of the strangest experiences I had in Ghana. It was a step back in time to when Ghana was still a British Crown colony, and the British were given preferential treatment. If it had been a time travel movie, maybe even a Twilight Zone episode, I’d walk out the door and find myself forward in time to my Ghana.

I woke up to rain. It was heavy at times then stopped. The sun came out but the clouds returned. It is a warm day at 55°. Light rain is predicted.

Everywhere I walk in this house clumps of dust mixed with dog hair fly in front of me. I need to clean, but my sloth holds sway. I’ve decided I want the same deal as the Grimm shoemaker. He had no money and no customers and only enough leather for one pair of shoes. He left the shoe pieces on his workbench and went to bed. He figured he’d finish in the morning. When he woke up, the pieces had been sewn into a beautiful pair of shoes. They sold right away, and he was able to buy more leather. He left those pieces. They too were made into shoes, beautiful shoes. The next night he and his wife hid and watched as two elves stitched the leather and made shoes. Those sold at a great price. There is more but not much more to the story. I’m thinking I should leave the vacuum, the polish and dust cloths out. Maybe when I wake up, the house will be clean.

Mrs. McGaffigan lived in the big house on the bottom corner of my street. We shared a party line. We each had separate rings so we knew to whom the call was directed. The phone had no dial My brother and I used to listen to her. We’d pick up the handset and listen. We tried not to breathe but she’d hear us and yell. We’d put the handset right down and laugh. We got a rotary phone. No longer could we be entertained by Mrs. McGaffigan.

When I was in the first grade, I learned to print. I was taught small letters and capital letters. I always used a pencil because of the eraser. Penmanship was one of our subjects and was listed on the report card. We either got an S for satisfactory, an NI for needs improvements or a U for unsatisfactory. It was in the second grade when we started to learn cursive. First we practiced writing exercises. We had to draw things like interlocking circles and straight up lines in a slant. My circles were never good. They were sort of short and long in the same line. I remember my hand rested on the paper and the side of my hand blurred the letters. Cursive wasn’t easy. We had a card of each letter around the outside of the black board. The card had the capital letter and the small letter. We practiced during penmanship. By the third grade, we never used printed letters again.

When I was in the ninth grade, I had to learn to print all over again. We all took the national Latin exam and only printing was allowed. I loved the irony.

Mother Nature can’t seem to make a decision regarding the weather. It is 50° but the wind is strong and cold. We do have some sun and a bit of blue but there are clouds, no rain, just clouds. I did a few errands. When I got home, my landscapers were clearing the limbs, raking the gardens, blowing the drive-way clean and cleaning off the deck. My yard looks great. Now I am in the hunt to find someone for a dump run.

The dafs have buds. The tops of the grape hyacinths have broken through in the front yard. I saw purple croci, the first flowers of spring. Color is coming back. Winter grey is disappearing. I feel like singing a happy tune while skipping down the sidewalk.

I loved it when the buds appeared, tiny specks on the branches and the bushes. I could put away my winter coat. I still dressed in layers but light layers compared to winter. The sweet aroma of spring arrived with the flowers. The mornings were still chilly, but the afternoons got warmer. We could play outside in the afternoons. The sun hung around longer every day.

I didn’t learn to do house things when I was a kid. My mother cooked all the meals, baked the cookies and brownies, cleaned the house, made my bed and did the wash. When I was in college, I’d bring my laundry home. Once I tried to wash the laundry myself. A buzzer went off and the washing machine stopped. It kept buzzing. I had no idea what that meant. When I opened the machine, the clothes were still soaked. I wrung them as well as I could then put the clothes in the dryer. I was not a fan of washing clothes or cleaning.

During training in Ghana, the hunt went for someone to wash our clothes. We found some women in each village where we stayed. It only took a day for them to wash and iron clothes. The cost was small. I never did my own laundry, not once in over two years. I did bake, made cookies for the first time ever. My mother had sent me Christmas cookie cutters so. I gave sugar cookies a try. I even made frosting. Those were darn good cookies.

Now, I love to cook, to bake. I am unafraid of trying new dishes even with company. I haphazardly clean. I still don’t do laundry.

When I look out the window, I see sun and a vibrant, take your breath away blue sky. I see nothing moving, not even the smallest branches. It all looks perfect as long as I stay inside. It is cold again, 38°. It will get warmer, possibly up to 41°, but tonight will be in the 20’s. Every day has this same pattern. Old Man Winter just won’t let go.

My days this time of year are mostly routine. Winter does that. When it is cold, I prefer to stay home. I have plenty of books. I have movies to watch and popcorn to eat. I stay in my cozies all day. Sometimes I take a nap. Only my ukulele lesson and practice get me out of the house. They are givens. Now and then I also have an errand or two. These quiet days my version of hibernation.

We never counted the days until Easter. We didn’t light any candles like we did for Advent. My mother took us Easter clothes shopping. We also got new shoes. My sisters liked shiny patent leather. They liked frilly dresses and hats. I was never one for fancy. I remember one Easter when I chose a skirt, a blouse and a jacket. We went to my grandparents’ house after Easter dinner as did aunts and uncles and cousins. My mother, grandmother and the aunts were always in the kitchen sitting around the table. I was heading into kitchen when I heard my name mentioned. I stopped to listen. One of my aunts wanted to know why I was so plainly dressed for Easter. My mother told her it was my choice. That ended the conversation.

When I was a kid, every Easter was warm. That’s what I remember. The trees had buds and some early curled light green leaves. The winter brown grass was giving way to green grass. We stood on the steps for pictures to show off our new outfits. The steps were in the sun giving an allusion of warmth, of spring. It didn’t matter how cold it was. We always smiled.

I still have a concert tomorrow, the sixth one this week, so I decided to post tonight. The week has been hectic. It started with my toothache last weekend. Today my shower rod fell and hit me in the head. I couldn’t get it hung back up so it is on the side of the tub. I need a new shower curtain rod or I have to start taking baths.

When I was a kid, I went to a dentist who used gas. I loved it. I’d drift off then when I woke up, everything was done. My father was horrified at the cost so he decided to take me to his childhood dentist whose office was in East Boston. First of all, the guy was ancient. I think he shuffled when he walked. He used no Novocain, no gas, nothing numbing. I think he was smiling as his hand moved the drill to my mouth. The pain was horrific. My fingers dug into the chair arms and left permanent impressions of my fingerprints. I cried silently. Tears fell down my cheeks. I jumped out of the chair when he was finished. I barely survived. I developed a healthy hatred of dentists. When I saw Little Shop of Horrors, I swear the dentist, Orin Scrivello, was based on that dentist in East Boston. Next came Marathon Man. Even now I get the chills thinking about the dentist who wanted information from Dustin Hoffman and kept drilling his teeth hoping to extract the information by inflicting pain.

Before I left for Ghana, I had to have a physical and a dental check. I found a dentist near my college and explained what I needed. He was fine with everything. I told him I was not a fan of dentists and why. He told me not to worry. He was excellent. He filled even a hint of a cavity. The only thing he didn’t have time to do was clean my teeth. During staging, before we left for Ghana, we each had to have a dentist check our teeth. Mine told me I needed a cleaning which he did. I didn’t even mind.

Now, I no longer leave finger imprints on the dentist’s chair. I visit my dentist religiously. I even like him, but I won’t ever watch Marathon Man again.

Mother Nature is running amok. The rain started last night and hasn’t stopped. Rain and, yes, even snow have been predicted. It is in the 30’s now, and the temperature will stay right there all night. It is an ugly day.

When I was a kid, my grammar school, St. Patrick’s, had one building opened in 1910. It was across from the convent and beside the rectory. We outgrew the school so a new school was going to be built. I attended the old school for my first, second and fourth grades. My third grade was in the rectory’s garage. In my fourth grade we had double sessions. The start of my fifth grade was in the next town. I loved that old school. It was brick and had two doors, but mostly we used only one. We walked through that door into the school two by two by grade level, maybe a throwback to Noah’s ark. The seldom used door faced houses. I figured out early on that if I exited by that door I could bypass the wait at the main door.

My favorite classroom was when I was in the fourth grade. The room had windows on two sides. They were long windows which could only be opened and closed using a wooden rod with a hook at the top to catch the lock. The lights hung down from the ceiling. On a day like today, a rainy day, despite the lights, the room was dark. The rain drops would hit the windows and would slide down on the glass. I’d watch the drops hit the windows. We were quiet, subdued by the rain. The only sounds were of pages turning and chairs squeaking. It always felt as if we were protected somehow.

My classrooms in Ghana had windows with no glass. Each desk seated two students. There were four classroom blocks with two classes in each. I taught the T2’s, the second years. Because the roofs were metal, heavy rain drowned out any teaching; instead, I assigned reading or writing and just walked around to check progress.

The bathrooms were in a separate building close to the classrooms. I remember the first time a student raised her hand and said, “Please, madam, I have to urinate.”During the mid morning there was break for tea and rolls. I went home and had coffee. One day, when I was returning after the break and was close to the classroom block, I could see my students throwing rocks at some bushes right outside my classroom. I stopped and asked why, “Madam, we are killing the snake.” I nodded and walked into my classroom to wait. It was just an ordinary day.

The morning is ugly, cold and cloudy. The air is damp. Rain is predicted. It is a perfect day to hunker down with a good book, but I have another concert. This one is at the mall. I’ll have to hunker later.

Lately my sloth has held sway. I’ve been lazy. This morning I swept down the stairs, the most cleaning I have done in days. I’ve become more tolerant of dust balls of Henry hair. I clean up a few as I walk down the hall, but mostly, I’ve learned to ignore them. Every time I pat Henry his white fur flies, and he has a lot of hair

I used to get an allowance of fifty cents. That doesn’t sound like much but back then fifty cents was a fortune. My father used to talk about the ant and the grasshopper. The ant worked and saved. The grasshopper played. I was a kid. I was a grasshopper. I remember buying books for forty nine cents which left me a penny. The books were mostly about girl detectives like Trixie Belden. They were published by Whitman. The library didn’t carry those books. I still have a few of them. They have colorful cardboard covers and are in a bookcase in my bedroom. I also read the classics. I remember the sadness of Black Beauty. I thought Jo, Little Women Jo, was brave. She was a rebel. She made choices contrary to the customs of the time. She had her hair cut then she sold it. Her family was appalled. Long hair was femininity, but she sacrificed it for money, for her mother to travel to see her father in the hospital. Jo was my hero. I read Zorro and Heidi and Robert Louis Stevenson. I was a quick reader. Once I started a book I got so enmeshed in the pages everything else disappeared. If my mother called for me and I didn’t answer, she thought I was ignoring her. She didn’t realize I was with Long John Silver.

I have a downstairs book and an upstairs book. I always have a book.