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Today is supposed to be warm, at least 40°. It is also supposed to be sunny. It isn’t. There is a moderate chance of rain. Very little snow is left. My walkway is clear. I let Mother Nature do the work.

When I was a kid, snow was a delight. I remember the piles on the sides of the roads left by the plows. I remember one pile in particular. It became a sort of igloo with rooms, a Fortress of Solitude. We had dug out the rooms and splashed water on the walls to turn them to ice. I remember eating lunch in the back room. I also remember snowball fights using the walls as protection. Those walls lasted into spring.

Even in winter I walked everywhere. I bundled to stay warm on freezing walks to school. I remember ski pants under my skirt, knee socks, long underwear which went to the knees, a sweater, a coat, mittens, a hat and boots. Undressing in the cloak room took a while. The hat and mittens went up the sleeves of my coat. The boots took the longest. They were the kind you wore over your shoes. I left the sweater on.

My mother would have been horrified to see me go out for recess. I only wore my coat. I put the hat and mittens in my pockets. I don’t remember being cold.

I can ice skate, not very well, but I do stay on my feet. On Saturdays when I was young, I’d skate at the town rink. I could glide, and I did learn to go backwards but not very far. I’d skate until my feet hurt. I’d walk home with my skates tied together and slung over my shoulder, and my feet feeling weird in shoes.

I still take delight in watching the snow fall. I turn on my back light so I can see the flakes. I keep track of how much snow has fallen by checking the height of it on the deck railing. I use ice melt safe for pets outside the back door and on the deck stairs so the dogs don’t fall. They don’t mind the snow so much.

Today is another lovely day. It is also another cold day. I still have a walkway covered in snow, but my car is clear. I’m glad for that as I do have an errand.

The cold breaks tomorrow. We’ll be in the 40’s. In comparison, it will feel like summer. I’ll sweep the walk later today so the sun can melt the walk clear.

I have been home for what seems like forever. I don’t see people so I talk to the dogs to maintain my communication skills. I want to be Doctor Doolittle so I can carry on a conversation in dog.

I don’t remember feeling cold when I was a kid as I was bundled with several layers, and I had my mother. She helped. She’d reach up my coat sleeve to pull down my sweater. She yanked and pulled my boots over my shoes, not an easy task. The mittens were last. She’d put them on my hands and tuck the tops in my jacket sleeve. I was prepared for a new Ice Age.

When I was a kid, I had to walk by a huge field on my way to school. When it was snow covered, the field was like the tundra, a vast expanse. The wind whipped across that field. I’d sometimes walk backwards to keep the wind chill from my face. I’d open my arms. They were like sails.

In Ghana, the seasons were the rainy season and the dry season. I lived in the hottest part of the country with the shortest rainy season. During the dry season, I remember watching the fires in the fields burning the detritus, the left over debris from the crops, from mostly millet and corn. The air was filed with smoke. I could see the line of fire moving across the fields. Even the field behind my house was burned.

My eleven year old self would be amazed and thrilled at where I have been. That was how old I was when I vowed to travel the world. Ghana was my first country. I was going to Africa. I was going to live in Africa. That still amazes me.

I let the dogs out around 2:30 before we went to bed. It was snowing. It was freezing. They peed on the run. Luckily, that snow was only a dusting. I hope it melts. I don’t shovel. I don’t even own a novel. I noticed the snow on my car is melting so I am optimistic. If I have to, I’ll sweep. It is 23°.

No concert for me today. My croaky voice has yet to disappear. It is the only symptom left so I have high hopes that by Tuesday, my uke practice day, my voice will be back to its usual dulcet tones. We have two concerts this week.

When I was a kid, Saturday was my day while Sunday was a family day. I sometimes went to the early mass with my dad then we’d go to Dunkin’ Donuts. He was a plain donut man, an old fashioned donut man. I was a butternut fan. Once home, my father would make his coffee, always instant, and slather his donut with butter. He’d sit at the table and read the paper while enjoying his breakfast. I still have a vivid memory of my father at the table. He always faced the windows.

My favorite Sunday dinner is still roast beef, gravy, mashed potatoes and peas. My mother made the best gravy. I always drowned my potatoes. It was my last dinner at home before I left for Ghana.

I used to love to color. I’d get a coloring book in my stocking and in my Easter basket. I’d also get a set of crayons. I remember the set of 64 which came with a sharpener. I have a few unopened boxes of crayons I’m saving. One box includes all the retired colors. It came in a tin. One of my Christmas presents from Moe this year was a coloring book, My Coloring Book About Ghana. It has animals, masks, women dressed in cloth and a map of Ghana with all its regions. It is for kids under 8 years of age.

I am watching the very first episode of The Lone Ranger. The description says the Lone Ranger and his Native American partner fight for law and order. Tonto, when I was first watching this, used to be described as his Indian companion. It is Tonto who saves John Reid, the only Texas Ranger to live, after the ambush by the Cavendish Gang. I had forgotten that Tonto and the Lone Ranger had met when they were both young when it was John Reid who saved Tonto. Tonto calls the Lone Ranger Kemosahbe. I looked it up. I found, “Derived from gimoozaabi, an Ojibwe and Potawatomi word that may mean ‘he/she looks out in secret’, it has been occasionally translated as ‘trusty scout’ (the first Lone Ranger TV episode) or ‘faithful friend'”. I’m now on Episode 2. The Lone Ranger has just found a wounded Silver.

Today’s is a hunker down day. It is freezing. The actual temperature is 21°, but if you add the wind, it goes down to around 11°. From inside out, the day is a pretty one, a lovely winter’s day with plenty of sun and a deep blue sky. The dogs were quickly out and back inside. Their ears were cold.

When I was a kid, winter Saturdays often meant a matinee at the movie theater uptown. My mother would give us a quarter for the movie and a nickel or a dime for candy. I remember for the quarter we got a cartoon and a movie. I always bought long lasting candy like a Sugar Daddy. It was on a stick and was a hard caramel. You had to chew the end several times to bite off a piece. My favorite part was when I pulled a strand, a long strand.

We got an inch, maybe less, of snow. It has frozen and is now crusty. I may not be able to see the dogs in the yard, but I can hear them. Last night, while it was still snowing, Henry came in a short time after he had gone out. Nala stayed out. I got worried. I yelled Nala out the back door but no Nala. I yelled treats out the back door, and she came running.

I know all the sounds my house makes. I ignore most of them like the hot air blasting from the furnace or the growls of the dogs as they play. Henry is my early warning system. He reacts to everything. He barks. Sometimes I hear an unknown sound. I quiet the TV or I stop reading so I can listen. When Henry doesn’t notice, I feel safe.

My dance card has a few entries. I have a concert tomorrow. I am quite excited as my uke playing of late has been on Zoom. Finally I get to emerge from my self-imposed quarantine. I get to be with people. My coughing has stopped. I don’t get weird looks from the dogs anymore.

When I let the dogs out (Yup, it was I) just a short time ago, I saw tiny flakes, but they didn’t last. They are but a preview and should return as we are due for about an inch of snow or maybe just a little bit more. It is in the low 30’s but will fall to the teens. I have nowhere I need to go except maybe the kitchen. Even the dogs aren’t interested in going to the yard. Nala, the theft, is asleep under the afghan. Henry is on my bed.

I remember my fourth grade classroom the most. It was in the old school on the second floor. We had two banks of huge windows, in the back and on the side. My seat was in the back in front of the windows but close enough to look out the side windows. I loved those windows. I got to watch the rain and, even better, the snow. The rain would pelt the windows so loudly we’d do silent reading. The snow was gentle. Lessons continued.

When I was young, I always wore mittens because I had trouble finding the right spots for my fingers in gloves. Mittens were easy. I still own pairs of mittens and only one pair of gloves, leather gloves. Mittens keep my hands warmer than gloves. I only use my gloves when I drive.

Last night I cooked scrambled eggs with cheese for supper. I toasted two slices of my honey wheat bread. I slathered one slice with butter and the other with black mission fig jam. It was the best supper.

When I was a kid, supper always meant mashed potatoes, some sort of veggie and usually chicken or hamburger. I loved meatloaf. I also loved hamburger in gravy on my potatoes. The chicken was always pieces like legs. The whole chicken, roasted, was for Sunday dinner.

The sky is changing. It was light gray. Now it is darker, a storm gray. The temperature has fallen to the low 30’s. Snow is imminent!

We are stuck in winter. The warmth of last week is a memory, a wish, a want. This morning is in the low 30’s. I may have to wear socks. It is serious when I break out the socks.

Yesterday was a day of rest. I stayed home in my cozies with an afghan around my shoulders. I zoomed my uke lesson. I napped twice. I coughed a bit. It seems this plague hasn’t quite disappeared.

When I was in Ghana, reading was my greatest pleasure. I read everything I could get my hands on. I got Reader’s Digest in the mail, a few months late and several together, but it didn’t matter. I read the magazine cover to cover. It was sent free for two years, a gift from Reader’s Digest to Peace Corps volunteers. It was an amazing gift, a most valuable gift.

The house I mostly grew up in was small. It had three bedrooms sandwiched around a tiny hall. The living room was the biggest room. The kitchen was narrow. The appliances were small. Even now I can close my eyes and see that kitchen. I can see my mother at the sink doing dishes. I can hear my father complaining about dirty glasses on the counter, his bugaboo. We were supposed to wash out the glass and leave it in the sink. Sometimes we did.

I have a winter jacket. I never wear it. I have scarves and mittens and earmuffs. I don’t wear them either. I usually wear a hoodie or a fleece if it is really cold. Mostly I just go from the house to the car to the store then back again so I don’t need to layer. I do have boots, but I don’t know where I’ve put them.

A little bit ago, no dogs were on the couch with me. That is unusual. I figured they were still out so I went to check. That was when I heard it, the stampede, two big dogs coming down the stairs. It was thunder. It was a herd of mustangs. It was Henry and Nala. They had been upstairs sleeping on my bed. Now they are in their usual nap positions. Henry is at the end of the couch. Nala is beside me under a blanket. Such easy lives they lead.

Last night we got a dusting of snow. It started around 2. I went to bed. When I woke up this morning, I could hear the rain. I looked out the window and the dusting, now filled with rain holes, is slushy. It is supposed to rain all day.

I am still getting better. The coughing is pretty much gone. My voice, though, is still a bit hoarse. I have energy again. Last night I washed the upstairs bathroom floor. Today it is the downstairs. My house has been neglected. Dust is everywhere. At least I have no trash.

When I was a kid, the dusting would have been hopeful. Maybe it would snow all night so we’d have no school. I remember running to the window first thing in the morning and being disappointment.

I love rainy days. I didn’t love them so much when I was a kid as I always got wet walking to school. My classroom used to smell like wet wool. My shoes used to bubble. My socks got soaked. Coats dripped on the cloakroom floor. The puddles stayed all day.

I remember getting home from school on a rainy day. I’d be soaked. My mother would have me hang my coat in the cellar to drip dry. My shoes went on the mat, my school uniform in the closet. I usually put on my pajamas, the coziest clothes. I’d lie in bed and read by the bed lamp hanging on my headboard. I’d read until supper.

I find my house comforting in the rain. I can hear the drops falling all around me, but I’m warm and cozy and dry. The dark day is blunted by the lamp on the table. The rest of the house is dark. The dogs are asleep beside me. Nala is under the afghan. They are not lovers of rain.

The sky is a beautiful blue. The sun is bright. The air is still. It’s a pretty day. It is also a cold day at 33°. I am staying home. I am taking another day of rest.

I did the dump run yesterday. Just as I got into my car it started to rain. Of course, it did. Just as I got home, it stopped. Of course, it did.

I still have my cough, but it is an easy cough now. I do not fear death will ensue.

My dogs live the good life. They have a dog door so they can come and go at will. Nala also uses it to take her pilfered goods to the yard. I don’t pay much attention so I only catch her if she makes noise when her booty is too big for the door.

I bought some small potatoes and some a little bigger, two bags of potatoes. I was going to fry the potatoes with onion and ground beef. I put the packages in the sink, the safe spot. Later, I went to cook my dinner. The potatoes were gone, both bags. Nala had found my safe spot and carried the bags outside. I looked and saw her with one bag on the driveway. I walked outside, and she took off with the bag spilling potatoes as she ran. I saved ten of them; however, I figure she has some hidden. She comes in with a potato, plays with it as if it were a ball then eats it. She doesn’t mind the skin.

When I was a kid, I never noticed how regulated my life was. Every weekday was the same. I got up, ate breakfast, got dressed and walked to school. I waited for the bell, lined up in the schoolyard and walked into school, two by two, sort of a throwback to the ark. I hung up my coat and then sat down. The nuns took over from there. I did what I was told.

I am back for what I hope is a long run. Yesterday, all of a sudden, I realized I felt better when I made it to the kitchen without stopping to cough and catch my breath. I am not completely cured as I am still coughing but I can breathe. It has been just about one month.

My house is a dust bowl. My car is a trash truck. The trunk is filled with bags and two more need to be loaded. I know. I know, but I can’t help it. The dump will be closed the next two days, and I have just about a month’s worth of trash in the car. I have no choice.

The day is ugly. The clouds are getting darker. Rain and snow are predicted. Of course they are on my first day back in the world.

The dogs are asleep the couch. Actually, I think they are pretending to sleep. They are tired of listening to me. They had even stopped noticing when I coughed.

When I was a kid, my world was filled with wonder. It was huge. My bike took me everywhere. I collected errant golf balls across the street from the course. I watched the train. I went to the zoo. I window shopped. I stopped at the library. I ate my lunch on a bench by the town hall, my bologna sandwich. The bread was white and soft. The mustard was yellow. The cookies were Oreos.

When I traveled in Ghana, I never packed any food. I could buy it along the sides of the road as I passed through even small villages. I bought oranges, peeled at the top with razor blades, bananas, mangoes, yam chips cooked over charcoal in large white porcelain bowls, fresh bread, plantain and Guinea fowl served in banana leaves. I’d find a place to sit where I could watch the world. I have always been fascinated by Ghana.

Contrary to rumor, I am still alive though l use that term loosely. I coughed for a long while last night then finally fell asleep as it was getting light. I slept until 2:45. I didn’t get my x-ray yesterday as they had no technician. I will try again tomorrow at a different clinic. I also hope to do that dump run and blood test.

I find myself talking more to the dogs. They tend to be patient and seemingly attentive. They haven’t started answering me yet. I’ll let you know.

My world is quiet. The wind which toppled tree limbs and knocked down my fence has finally moved on. It sounded like a hurricane. Even Henry and Nala kept looking at the ceiling.

The sky is pretty as the sun sets behind deep yellow clouds. Today was warm, in the 40’s. I was out but only for two minutes getting my newspaper.

When I was a kid, I didn’t cook or clean. My culinary skills were limited to a sandwich and a bowl of soup. I was partial to a fluffernutter sandwich and tomato soup though I would never turn down chicken noodle.

Okay, having been housebound for so long, my usual witty banter is waning. Please be patient.