The sun is shining, but it is cold. The tree leaning on my door is now upright. The holly bush too is almost standing tall. The back stairs are icy, but the dogs seem to maneuver well without slipping. They enjoy chasing each other in the yard. Nala is out a long time. Last night it seemed too long so I put on my boots and my fleece to go check on her. I swear she was watching me because as soon as I was dressed she came inside. I cleaned off my car windows. My factotum Skip never came to plow. I don’t shovel so my car is snowbound. Today I will try to push through the pile left from the plows. The only other option is hibernation until spring which actually doesn’t sound all that bad.

My friends Bill and Peg celebrated their wedding anniversary by having a dinner of Ghanaian food from a restaurant in Concord. I oozed jealousy as they had two of my favorite dishes, jollof rice and kelewele.

When I was a kid, my father sometimes attached our sleds to the back of the car and took us for a ride. We were thrilled. We lived in the best place for sledding, almost at the top of a big hill. When we went inside the house, we used to leave our sleds outside standing upright in pile of snow by the steps. They were in a sled line. After a day outside, we’d do back into the house through the cellar door as we were always soaked from being in the snow. We’d slide down the steps as they never got shoveled. Once inside we’d hang up all our wet clothes and leave the boots to dry. There was always snow inside my boots. My wet socks would leave footprints on the cellar floor.

Cocoa was my go to drink for winter. My mother used to add milk, stir in the cocoa then add hot water. I remember the cocoa always had little bubbles around the inside rim of the cup. I don’t drink much of it now, but I always have cocoa in my cupboard.

Well, it is almost time to face the world but first the car.

The prediction was the snow would start around one in the morning. I kept checking, no snow. During the night I also checked, no snow. Now, we have snow. It started around nine this morning. It is a fierce storm coming from the north, always the direction of the worst storms. The pine branches had a light covering, but the snow is wet and is sticking to everything. The branches have begun to dip under the weight of the snow. Henry went out, but Nala didn’t. Well, she did go out but turned around and came back inside. I’ve left the inside doors open so Henry can keep an eye on the snow. I keep checking out my den window.

Yesterday I went on a cleaning frenzy. I had reached my breaking point. Clumps of dust would rise into the air everywhere I walked. The bathroom floors had paw prints. I cleaned all of upstairs, including washing and waxing the bathroom floor and down the stairs. I changed the bed. I cleaned the living room. I cursed my cleaning affliction.

I took off my shoes so I could stand on a chair and dust stuff hanging on the walls. When I was safely back on the floor, only one shoe was left. Hmmm, did it walk away on its own? Nope! Hmmm, where could it be? I checked outside. Somehow it had made it to the backyard so I went out to get it. The thief followed me. She grabbed the shoe and ran further into the yard. I didn’t give chase. I picked up trash. After the cleanup, I mentioned a treat. Nala dropped the shoe and ran into the house. It was none the worse for the journey.

When I was a kid, a snow day was a wonder. It was like having another Saturday. I’d watch the snow through the picture window as it fell. I kept checking the blue mailbox on the corner. The snow covered the top, and the pile got higher and higher as the snow fell. The pile never seemed to slip off. I used to guess how much snow had fallen by the height of that pile.

Today I’ll hunker down and read. I’m thinking of making cookies. Chocolate chips sound great.

Today is a beautiful, winter-warm day at 44°. It belies the weather prediction for tomorrow, the snow prediction. Cape Cod can expect severe winds with wind gusts as high as 60 mph and snow total accumulations of between 4 and 8 inches. The only saving grace is the Cape is under a snow watch, not a winter storm warning because somewhere along the line it will rain for a bit then turn back to snow.

I am taking a break today. I am not sick. I haven’t fallen. All is well, but I have quite a bit to do here in the house. If I don’t start now, the sloth in me will have full rein, and I’ll nothing.

Talk to you tomorrow.

Today is still warm, 46°. My Google says the day is sunny. He obviously doesn’t have a window as it is another cloudy day. It is a stay at home day. I did my errands yesterday. I do have some chores I’ve been ignoring. I just may vacuum, but I just may not.

My Christmas lights still shine every night. They keep the darkness at bay. Usually I just have white lights on the deck bannister all year, but this year I kept the colored lights. I am not alone. When I ride anywhere at night, I am amazed at how many houses still have their Christmas lights lit. They make me smile.

If I were wealthy, I’d circle the world. I would visit places I still dream about like Polynesia and some of its islands. Bali is one of those islands, an idyllic island bursting with beauty, at least according to the pictures. I’d take a safari in East Africa. I’d go to India. It has long been a place I’ve wanted to visit. Cambodia and Ankor Wat are on the list. I’d go to Thailand. I’d see countries in Europe like Croatia and Romania. It is my dream list.

Last night I watched The Creeping Terror which rivals Plan Nine for the worst movie ever made. The plot is simple: an extraterrestrial which looks like a giant slug eats people whole. There is almost no dialogue. A narrator is the only speaker throughout most of the movie. The Terror swallows a mother hanging laundry, a grandfather and his grandson, couples at Lover’s Lane, some picnickers and a crowd at a dance hall. These victims did not run. I loved the line from the narrator after Lover’s Lane,” Anyone who witnessed that catastrophe and survived would never go there again.” Most victims just stand in front of the Terror screaming or just looking dazed. The army came as it often does with rampaging extraterrestrials. One army group kept shooting, but the Terror was not stopped; instead, it swallowed most of them. “My God!!! What is it???!” is my favorite line. I watched it until the end. I couldn’t help myself.

Today we have hit 50°. If this weren’t February, I’d be talking about spring. No layering today, it is a straight up flannel shirt day. I have to get dog food so I’m adding the dump to my errand list. My car is already filled except for the heavy box of used litter upstairs I’m leaving for another trip, no room.

When I was growing up, Saturday was my sacrosanct day. It was a day to wander or go to the movies or just stay at home to watch Saturday TV and then read the day away. Sometimes I went to the library. I’d take as many books as the librarian would let me, so many they’d fill my bike basket. They were my week’s entertainment. In my wanderings I always felt safe even if I was by myself. I’d ride around my town then sometimes pedal to one of the next towns. I was gone until late afternoon. My mother never worried.

We had an encyclopedia. It was the one from the supermarket, a new book a week. I’d take a book and open it at random then read where I landed. I learned about odd things and old things and spectacular things. I read about countries I dreamed of visiting. I learned about the world. I always thought of those books as my private library.

During the early days of Peace Corps, volunteers were given book lockers. They were made of cardboard and opened in the middle. On each side of the locker were two shelves filled with paperbacks. I was lucky enough to be given one by a volunteer who had completed service and was going home. Books were sacred. They were passed along or traded. With no TV or radio or newspaper, reading was one of the great joys. I spend afternoons sitting in my living room devouring my book. I carried one with me when I traveled. The long ride to go south went quickly when I read. That book locker was amazing. It had The Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings trilogy. There was the Daphne du Maurier novel, My Cousin Rachel, which I probably would never have read otherwise. I read every book. I also traded them for different books. My book locker was never empty.

The weather report says mostly cloudy, but I’m thinking that a sky thoroughly filled with light grey clouds is a bit more than partly. It will be warm, 41°. The weekend weather will be even warmer. The winter is strange this year.

When I was a kid, I would always look for the man in the moon. I could see his mouth opened always in surprise. Hey Diddle Diddle is still one of my favorite nursery rhymes. It had me imagining. I could see the cow jumping over the moon while the cat fiddled. I laughed about the dish and the spoon.

We couldn’t eat meat on Friday so that limited the lunches my mother could pack. Tuna was her go to sandwich. I ate it on countless Fridays. I ate it so often I don’t like tuna. When I was in Ghana, the rainy season was late one year. That meant no new crops, no yams. Rice, though, was plentiful so I ate it pretty much every night. I don’t eat much rice now except fried rice and jollof rice, a Ghanaian dish I love and ate, by choice, just about every night on my last trip back.

I can eat hot dogs without tiring of them. Mostly I eat them in buns. I slather them with mustard. My fridge is loaded with all different tasting mustards, all except yellow mustard. My favorite of late is German mustard. I also add relish or piccalilli and sometimes chopped onion. I never, never add ketchup. That, to me, is a mortal sin, the big sin.

My days all have the same pattern, a bit of hibernation. I go out to the dump every couple of weeks and match it with other errands. I pick up needed groceries. I go out for my uke. I’m not sure you can count it, but I do go across the street to get my mail. It is outside after all. I wear my cozies every day. I wear slippers or muk luk socks lined in fleece. I have no problem staying home. I have adapted well to the cold and to winter.

The sun is shining. The blue sky is speckled with puffy clouds. The air is still. It is actually warm at 40°. Today is a lovely day. The dogs went out, came back inside for a treat then went back out again. They are still in the yard. They are my barometers.

I have favorite places. The first, as you might figure, is Ghana. It is a second home to me. When I went back after so many years, it was very different than when I had lived there, but in some ways it was very much the same. I recognized my Bolga even though it was now huge. I easily found my school and house. On market day, I wandered the market so much bigger than my market had been. I felt comfortable. I felt at home.

Portugal is on the list. I went there with my parents. We always had a deal. I would drive if they paid for the car. We traveled from Lisbon to the Douro Valley. We stopped along the way. My mother and I climbed a hill to see Iron Age ruins. We stopped at Roman ruins still being excavated. The town of Óbidos was one of my favorite stops. I took the narrow walkway along the castle walls which surround the town. The view was extraordinary. If I had to imagine a castle, it would look like the one in Óbidos. Miranda do Douro was another stop. We wandered the narrow streets and stopped for lunch at what looked almost like an old Western saloon. It was an enchanting town.

One summer my friend and I traveled from Venezuela to Rio. That trip lasted almost eight weeks. I can’t even begin to describe all the places I loved. Here is the short list: Ecuador, especially the old town in Quito, the gold museum in Bogota, the salt mine in Columbia, Puno and Lake Titicaca, the Iguazu Falls, the altiplano in Bolivia, La Paz and the Parana River trip from Paraguay to Argentina. There are more but this is enough.

I have been lucky to see so much of the world. The vow, the promise, I made when I was eleven was to travel, and it was fulfilled.

The sun, about which I waxed eloquent yesterday, has disappeared. It is 33°, and snow showers are predicted. It seems the sun has a cruel sense of humor.

When I was in the sixth grade, my teacher was Miss Quilter. I had had a nun in the fifth grade so the sixth grade was my nun-less year. Miss Quilter is one of the best teachers I’ve ever had. She pushed us to be better. She had us writing every week. She brought history alive. I love English because of her.

It was also in the sixth grade when I realized I could see things in my mind’s eye. That revelation happened during a history test about the revolution. Her tests were she’d ask a question, and we’d answer on our papers. One question had to do with Lexington as in Lexington and Concord. I couldn’t remember the answer then I saw the page it was on. There was a drawing at the top of the page of revolutionaries shooting at Redcoats from behind a New England wall. The text below the picture had the answer. I could see that answer in my mind’s eye. That was the beginning, the revelation. I had a neat talent. I could close my eyes and see things lodged in my memory drawers.

Yesterday I washed the kitchen floor and vacuumed the hall and upstairs. I don’t know what came over me. All the paw prints are gone for now, but I do fear the beasties will track in new ones if we had those snow showers. The dogs need boots or I need a maid.

The sun is here again. It will be a partly cloudy day. It will also be a cold day. It is my cleaning day. The dust is taking over. Every surface is covered. My sensibilities can’t take it anymore.

When I was in the eighth grade, President Kennedy signed the Peace Corps bill. “The toughest job you’ll ever love,” was part of all the TV public service announcements. I knew right then I’d go into into the Peace Corps. Eight years later I did.

My house in Ghana was on school grounds and was one side of a duplex. It was a brand new house. A living room, two bedrooms and an eating area were the inside rooms. Flanked around the concrete yard in the back were the kitchen with the stove and a shelf unit for storage, a shower, cold water only, a toilet, aka a nesting spot for the chickens, and an extra room where Thomas, my Ghanaian factotum, lived. The house was furnished, and I had a fridge, inside. I seldom used the stove, no gas. The house was by the back gate and across from the school garden. It was the last in a line of staff housing stretching from the front gate to the back gate. The school had a night watchman, but he slept a lot. When the gate was closed at night, I had to climb over. Scaling a fence in a dress and sandals is never easy.

I learned amazing things in Ghana. I could easily choose the good eggs over the bad. I learned to pluck a chicken. In the market, I bargained. Mammy lorries were the cheapest way to travel but not very far because the seats were like wooden stadium seats, and you had to climb up then shift your leg over the side to sit on them. I got adept at lorry climbing. I learned to eat t-zed, a blob made from millet, and soup, with my right hand without dripping and making a mess. When I went back to Ghana after so many years, my first meal was fufu, a Southern Ghanaian dish, and soup. I ate with my hand. I did not make a mess.

People were screaming and running amok through the streets. They feared for their lives. What is that flaming ball of fire? Are we doomed? Don’t worry I told them. It is the sun. It has returned. The day is bright and pretty. The sky is blue. Both, though, are deceiving. It is cold, 33° cold. The wind is blowing. The pine branches are swaying. It is a day to bundle.

Today is a mishmash.

On my kitchen bookcase are bobble heads triggered by the sun. Their heads haven’t moved in days. This morning, after I opened the door to let the dogs out, the sun hit those heads. All of them are bobbling. I can hear the clicks as they move.

When I was a kid, Sunday was special. The big stores were closed. Corner stores, donut shops and some restaurants were all that were open. People stayed close to home. It was a family day. It was a quiet day. My father always brought home donuts after he ushered at mass. I had cocoa with my donut.

My wardrobe was divided into play clothes, church clothes and school clothes. The school clothes were a uniform of a blue skirt, white blouse and blue tie, the sort you’d wear at a square dance. Church clothes were a dress or a skirt and a blouse. Play clothes were just about anything else.

I wore two piece pajamas to bed. In the winter, they were flannel. In the summer, they were cotton. For Christmas, they were always brand new.

I was never without a book. I sneaked one into church and hid it between the pages of the mass book. I looked reverent with all my attention directed to the mass responses and hymns, but I was really reading about Trixie Belden and her detecting. In school, I’d hide the books in textbooks. Instead of studying science, I went somewhere else. I was quite adept and never got caught.

My mother taught me to tie my shoes. I remember sitting on the floor by the arm of the chair. She showed me a few times how to tie the bow. My first attempts were failures. The bow was too loose and fell apart, but the more I tied it, the better I got. I can honestly say I now tie a tight bow.

My mother also taught me how to ride a bike. I remember we were on Prospect Street. She held on to the back of the seat. The bike wobbled. I tried to maintain my balance but failed. I tried again and again, but I did it. I rode off into the sunset.