Today was supposed to be balmy, but the wind is strong so the morning is chilly. Rain is predicted.

My mother could sew. She made my senior prom dress, and it was beautiful. I can still see the pattern spread out on the living floor and my mother kneeling beside it to cut and pin the cloth to the pattern. She was nervous about it. She had never sewed anything as big as a dress. I remember that prom. During the late morning I went to the hairdresser. Most of the girls did back then. I got one of those tall dos with bit of a flip. My long time friend came down on the bus to be my date. During the afternoon it started to rain and the rain continued. We went with another couple. The prom was at the Chatham Bars Inn, a beautiful spot right across the street from the ocean. I carried a coat over my head in the rain to protect my hair and dress. The closest entrance from the car to the Inn was through the kitchen so we walked through it to the prom room which was beautiful. We had our pictures taken, we ate and we danced. It was the perfect evening. After the prom, we changed our clothes then headed to a friend’s house for an after party. We had a scavenger hunt. I remember some of it. One clue was in a cemetery. Another was we had to stop at the school principal’s house to find out his middle name. I still remember it was Adolph. That prom was 59 years ago.

I can’t sew so I tend to staple. I can cook. When I have company, I try new dishes, but I have favorite old dishes. Chicken curry is one of them. The first time I ate it was in Ghana at the house of a Moroccan doctor and his wife. It was so delicious with all the toppings that it quickly became a favorite. I remember the first time I cooked it myself. I invited friends, skeptical friends. I had toppings to soften the curry heat, toppings likes apples, pineapple, cashews and raisins. One of my guests took only a tiny amount of everything. After he tasted it, he went back and piled the chicken and covered it will all the toppings. He was my barometer of success.

Winter is still here. I have been hoping for a spring like day, but I’ll have to accept the disappointment. I did notice green shoots in the front garden. They are the start of my daffodils so I know spring is waiting in the wings. I’ll just have to practice patience and keep my fleece handy.

Nala makes a mess, several messes. She brings in pine cones and strips them then chews the core. She hauls in small branches and gnaws them into pieces. When she wants something from the toy basket, she pulls out every toy. They end up all over the hall. I am the cleaner. I am the maid.

When I was a kid, I had a bit of a plan for my life. I’d travel and see the world, but I had no places in mind. I just wanted to travel. I loved my town, and I loved roaming all over my town and even some towns around it, but I dreamed of more. My dreams did come true. I have always considered lucky in that respect.

Joining the Peace Corps was my biggest dream. I applied without telling my family because I knew my father would object. I decided to wait and tell him only after I was accepted. The time between submitting my application and hearing the result seemed endless. Just in case, I had a backup plan. I took the LSAT and was serious about law school if the Peace Corps fell through. I asked my father if he would help me pay for law school. He told me no. He told me law was not for women. I applied to schools anyway. After I had heard of my acceptance into the Peace Corps, I called my father and told him. He told me I couldn’t go. I told him I had already accepted. He was angry but only for a while. A month or two later, my father told me he and my mother had been talking, and he would be willing to help pay for law school. I thanked him but turned him down. I was onto his ploy to keep me out of Africa.

Yesterday it rained. Today it may rain. When I went out the morning, it felt warm. It isn’t. The temperature is only 38°. Late yesterday I couldn’t stand the kitchen floor so I did a quick wipe. The dogs noticed and went right outside, and I swear they danced in the mud. My floor is again filled with dog prints.

When I was a little girl, I had a Ginny doll. She looked like a little girl, not a curvy Barbie. I had a set of her bedroom furniture, all pink. Her wardrobe was filled with dresses and a few hats. I still have a Ginny doll. She is wearing a dress, a sweater and a beret. She is on the top shelf in my bedroom. She doesn’t really look her age.

When I was young, I wanted a train set. I never got one. It was considered a boy’s toy. When I was an adult, my friend gave me a set of HO trains. I even built houses and stores from kits. I added trains. I added track. That train set is downstairs in boxes. I had to put it away as my cat used to attack it. I wouldn’t put it up now even if I had the room. I have Nala.

At the end of summer, my mother used to walk us all to the shoe store for school shoes. We never got to choose our shoes. She was into sturdy shoes, hoping they’d last the school year. Usually they were sort of clunky tie shoes. My favorite part of the shoe store was the x-ray machine. I got to see the bones in my feet. The shoe salesman measured my feet with a metal sliding measure. He used to sit on a short metal stool with an extension on the front. That was where he’d place each foot so he could put a shoe on it. He’d pinch the front of the shoe to check where my toes were. I’d walk up and down the store a couple of times to see how they looked. I’d check out my feet in the line of mirrors close to floor. If they fit, my mother bought them.

My favorite sandwich was bologna with squares of American cheese and yellow mustard. If I made the sandwich myself, I’d have to cut slices from the bologna roll. I wasn’t very good at cutting bologna. One side was always thicker than the other. My sandwich was odd looking.

Today I will be a sloth.

Today is almost balmy at 48°. It rained during the night, and rain is predicted for today. Everywhere is wet from the melting snow. My kitchen floor is hidden under layers of paw prints. I think the dogs need boots.

My fifth uke event of the week is today, a concert. We are still playing songs of the 60’s. After next week we switch to Irish.

It still astonishes me that I can play the uke. My rhythm band triangle career ended after the first grade. That was the last time I played an instrument. I now own three ukes. This is getting serious.

I get to be a sloth this whole weekend. I have been far too busy so I will lounge. Next week I have a doctor’s appointment and three uke events, practice, my lesson and a concert, so I need to conserve my energy.

When I was a kid, I loved school. My favorite subjects were English and geography. That love never left. I became an English teacher and traveled to many of the places I remembered from my geography book. I was astonished standing underneath Christ the Redeemer on Corcovado mountain in Rio. When I learned about the Equator, it was described as an imaginary line. I wondered. How did they know where it really is if it’s imaginary. I stood on that imaginary line, taking them at their word. My geography book had come to life, and I was on the pages.

When we had recess after lunch in grammar school, we girls often just stood in groups and talked. Other girls jump roped. The boys played at the two basketball hoops. After I started playing CYO basketball, I asked if the girls could use one of the hoops. I got turned down and was told hoops were not for girls. I politely balked but the nun was adamant. She and I came from different worlds.

Today is bit of a tease. The morning looks warm through the windows. The sun is bright in the clear air. Its light looks almost white. The blue of the sky is azure. The day is lovely, but if I go out, I’ll bundle. It is in the mid 30’s and will stay that way all day.

The other day I heard the time on the radio given as 55 minutes after the hour. I hadn’t ever heard it described that way before then. I would have said 5 minutes before the hour. I am analog in a digital world.

When I was a kid, planning for the future meant deciding what I was going to do on Saturday as Sunday was pre-planned: church and Sunday dinner and sometimes visiting grandparents, my mother’s family. I loved the city where they lived. I loved Italian bakery square pizza and the Italian ice sometimes sold out the front windows of houses on my grandparents’ block. I played step ball. I also played stickball in the street with a broomstick bat and a half tennis ball. I remember the truck with a small carousel on the back flatbed. It stopped on the street so the little kids could have a ride. I can’t remember how much we paid for a ride. I do remember it was small with four horses and played carousel music as it spun. I would go to the corner store up the street with my dime in hand. My grandfather kept a stack of dimes. He knew we’d leave to run to the store and peace, for him, would reign.

Henry is a happy dog. His tail is always high in the air and wagging. He is many firsts for me. He is my first rescue, my first male dog and my first not a boxer dog. Nala is my traditional dog, a female boxer. They have come to an understanding. They even like each other. Henry does growl at her but usually as a warning. She had her head resting on his back the other day, and he growled. She moved. The next day just about his whole body was sleeping on her, but Nana didn’t mind. She slept right through. They play with mouths open eating each other’s face’s. They make a lot of noise.

Today is a day of lasts. I toasted my last two pieces of bread and slathered one piece with the last of my black mission fig jam. The dog’s dry food is finished. They got the dregs yesterday. I am going to cook rice for them today. I’ll shop tomorrow after my concert.

Today is water the plants day and put trash in the trunk day, including hauling down the box of litter from upstairs. It is heavy so I move it step by step. The dump is scheduled for Sunday. I can barely wait says I with tongue in cheek.

Some winter days are so pretty. Today is one of them. The bright sun glints through the trees and the blue sky is cloudless. The air is so clear that the pine branches seem to pop like in a 3d movie. It is cold, but with no wind it feels warmer. Days like today make winter bearable.

My dance card for the week is uke filled. Besides practice and my lesson, I have two concerts, tomorrow and Friday. We are starting to practice our Irish music.

When I was a kid, cold didn’t matter. I still had to walk to school even during a deep freeze. I just bundled more. Mittens kept my hands warm so I could carry my lunch box. My school bag had a long strap so I put it over my shoulder. I wore my school shoes though sometimes I had to wear boots. I never liked wearing boots. I had to pull them on over my shoes. It was always a bit of a struggle but taking them off was even worse. Later, I discovered if I took off my shoes I could easily put them in and out of my boots then slide my foot into the shoes.

My house had radiators. One was against the wall at the foot of my bed. I could hear the water running through the radiator pipes. I could hear the steam hissing. Sometimes, if I were cold, I’d sit with my back against the radiator. I’d put my shoes underneath it until they were dry. I always loved the hissing sound.

Tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches are high on my comfort food list. They were the perfect winter lunch. I think every mother bought Campbell’s tomato soup. The can was the measure. My mother would add half can of water and half a can of milk though sometimes it was just milk which made the soup thick and tasty. The sandwich was always white bread and Velveeta cheese which melted perfectly. I loved dunking the sandwich into the soup. My mother made the best winter lunches, the best grilled cheese sandwiches.

From the window, the day is perfectly lovely. The sun is bright and the sky is clear blue. Nothing is moving. The only drawback is the cold, 36°. Today is an inside day. Today is a day to stay in my cozies.

My backyard and deck have several fallen branches from the wind storms. I haven’t ventured on the deck yet to clear it as the deck is still snowy and icy. I figure I’ll toss those branches in the yard then start a pile. I’ll add the long skinny branch on the ground near the deck. I used to keep all my bird feeders on those fallen branches. I miss my birds, but I do have a crazy idea. A very long branch is leaning on the back fence. I’m thinking to haul it to the deck. I’ll tie long ropes to each end and try to throw the other ends onto the branches high upon the pine trees hanging over the deck and then attach the rope permanently to the branch. I’ll hang the bird feeders on that branch close enough to the deck so I can fill them.

I remembering celebrating both Washington’s and Lincoln’s birthdays when I was a kid, and I remember celebrating school vacation the same week. We entertained ourselves the whole week. We did all the winter fun things. If we had snow, we went sledding. We never had to go far. The hill was perfect for sledding as long as the plow left a layer of snow on the ground. Ice skating depended on cold days, but the swamp and the town rink were shallow so they were usually frozen. Good days meant hauling my bike out of its winter storage, the cellar, and exploring around town. When my mother asked where I was going, I always answered around as I had no idea what routes I’d take. They were spontaneous and serendipitous. If I needed books, I’d go to the library. I hated being without a book to read, still do. I never went home for lunch. I brought it with me, usually a sandwich and some cookies. The only rule was we had to be home when the street lights came on. That was the always rule. No school the next day meant we stayed up later than usual. We got to watch nighttime TV. After I went to bed, I’d read. My mother never checked to see if my room had gone dark. I’d read until I started falling asleep. Sometimes the book hitting the floor woke me up then I’d turn off the light.

I loved school vacations.

Last night was so very cold. The actual temperature was 27° but adding the wind brought it down to 17°. Today’s high will be around 35°, almost balmy. I’m looking for my sunscreen.

I have a concert today at the mall, songs of the 60’s. I will be playing my new uke, a Christmas present from my sister. I’m going to wear a tie-dye top I bought in Ghana, a band of flowers across my forehead, bead necklaces and my tie-dye Converse high tops. I’m thinking my ensemble screams 60’s.

When I was a kid, I never ate many fresh vegetables because there were few available, and I was not a fan of vegetables anyway. My mother tried to sway us by telling us veggies made us healthier and carrots helped us see better, especially at night. We didn’t buy it so she had to employ subterfuge. Fresh carrots were mashed and hidden in the potatoes, a grand deceit, and it worked, but I might have felt kinder to carrots by themselves if I knew they could also be in a cake. Peas and corn came in cans as did French green beans. Yellow and green waxed beans also made appearances. I always thought they tasted the same. We had mashed potatoes just about every week night and at Sunday dinner. I would still eat dinner with baby peas from a can, but I have come a long way. My carrots are no longer hidden.

My mother used to take us to visit family in East Boston. She didn’t drive so we took a roundabout route. First we walked to the square where we took a bus to Sullivan Square. From the bus stop at Sullivan, we’d walk upstairs to the subway. I’d stand as close to the edge of the platform as my mother let me so I could look down the tracks hoping to see the train. We’d board quickly and together in one car. My mother was always afraid we’d get separated. Her one rule was if we did get separated we were to get off at the next station and wait. We’d ride that first train for a bit before we’d get off at an another station where we could transfer to a different subway line, one to Maverick Square near where my aunt lived. We walked a short way from there. We followed the same route backwards to get home.

Snow showers are predicted for today, but I haven’t seen any. It’s cold. The snow crunches underfoot. The dogs are careful going up and down the backstairs, but the ice is almost gone on most of the steps. They run all over the backyard. When they come back inside, their fur and ears are cold. Nala likes going under the afghan on the couch. Henry goes upstairs to my, our, bed.

I was born in Stoneham, Massachusetts in a hospital which is now closed and derelict. I only went there one other time to the emergency room. I remember the bus from Stoneham to Medford used to go up the driveway and stop at a beautiful stone building. Student nurses lived there. I remember they’d come out to the bus wearing their uniforms including white starched hats. I was a candy striper there for a while. My mother made my pink and white uniform. I used to do things like bringing delivered flowers to patients. I always felt a bit official when I wore it.

In Bolga, my home in Ghana, there was a hospital a short walk from my school. I went there twice. The first time was just after a student had died. My school principal sent me there in the school lorry with a few FraFra students, members of her tribe, to bring her back to the school. I also went with my FraFra students to tell her brother. I just stood there as they spoke FraFra. Later, they told me that the custom is just to say she is quite ill, and the brother would know she had passed. The school carpenters made her coffin. At her dorm, her bed had been brought to the porch. It was covered in flowers and pictures. The students were crying and grieving. School staff picked up her coffin and carried it to all the places on the school grounds where she used to go. At each spot, the dining hall, the school block, her dorm, a libation was poured. Everyone followed the coffin.

We brought her to her village. Her coffin was carried by men from the village to her house outside the village proper. I remember watching them almost running as they carried her coffin. We all followed. She was readied for burial by the women. Her brother explained. All her hair would be shaved from her body. She had come into the world naked and would leave naked. She was wrapped in a tall grassy sort of mat and carried to the burial site beyond her house. She was buried in the same tomb as her parents as she was too young for her own burial site. Some naked men went down in the tomb to receive her and place her body. Her brother made sure I was standing in the front so I could watch the whole ceremony. I wished I was in the back.

I still vividly remember everything about that day.

The cold will be with us for a while, not unexpectedly. It is winter after all. I wore a fleece top out yesterday, as close as I get to a winter coat. I always think of winter as the flannel and corduroy season. I even wear socks. Yesterday I donned my boots for the first time this winter and last winter.

When I lived in Ghana, I missed the fall the most, the colors, the crisp morning air and the flowers in the fall garden. I never missed summer. I was living a perpetual summer. I never missed winter either. I used to tell my students about snow. They couldn’t imagine snow. They thought seeing your own breath in the cold air was funny, but they could imagine that, thinking of it as smoke.

When I went traveled through South America and crossed the equator, I pass from summer to winter. The mornings were chilly, but the days never got that cold. I had a hoodie with me and only had to wear it a few times. I would guess that’s where my love for hoodies started. When I flew from Lima, Peru to Cusco, the plane flew over the Andes. I could see the shadow of the plane on the mountains. I could see snow.

When I was a kid, I enjoyed winter. I could ice skate or go sledding and if my world was snowless, I could ride my bike. I loved sliding on patches of ice. I’d run as fast as I could and skid on the ice hoping to go the whole way without falling.

When I was in high school, my friends Jimmy and Bobby and I would go tobogganing on the golf course. I remember one ride down one hill, the killer hill. We were undaunted by its name. Bobby steered. I was in the middle, and Jimmy pushed us off then got on behind me. The snow had a bit of ice so we whizzed down the hill. What we didn’t know was there a smaller hill, toward the bottom of the big hill. We hit that hill and went airborne. We lost contact with the sled for a bit. Jimmy fell backwards. Part of him was still on the sled. I was holding his legs. The rest of him was dragged behind the sled. We couldn’t stop the sled. It stopped itself. Poor Jimmy was in pain, his back. He needed help getting up and walking. We didn’t take another run. KiIler hill had lived up to its name.