Today is an ugly day, a warm ugly day at 52°. It rained earlier and will rain later. The sky is light grey. A breeze stirs only every and then. It flutters the curled brown leaves at the ends of the scrub oak branches. I have no reason to leave the house today. That is just fine with me.

Yesterday I cleaned the backyard. I took my prisoner stick and a plastic trash bag, watched where I stepped and got all the trash. Nala’s trash. This morning I noticed I missed something white in the back. That will bother me, and I’ll have to pick it up today.

Today’s post is a bit different.

I get to the kitchen for no reason I can remember. I had a reason, that much I remember, but by the time I walk down the hall to the kitchen, distractions like cleaning dust balls or wiping down the kitchen counter take my attention so the original reason usually flies out of my head. Later, I remember why I was in the kitchen, but mostly it doesn’t matter anymore. Words escape me which I find especially frustrating. Thankfully, they do pop back into my head. I just have to be a bit patient, not a strong suit of mine. Every day I am a day older, and parts of me don’t function as well they have the whole of my life or even the day before.

My body is old. I swear my bones creak when I walk. I can’t lift anything too heavy, and too heavy is not heavy anymore. When I was a kid, I used to wonder what it felt like to be old. I know now, but what I’ve come to realize is while my body ages, my way of seeing the world doesn’t.

I have lived my life inherently hopeful. Sometimes the hope faded a bit, but it never went away. I have always believed in people. I loved my kids when I worked in the high school, all of my kids, even the ones who occasionally bedeviled me. I was thrilled for their triumphs. I remember a teacher asking me why I was spending so much attention on one kid not worth my attention. I had to restrain myself from saying what popped into my head, a litany of four letter words; instead, I told him this was a good kid still finding his way. He just shook his head and left. Well, I was patient, and that kid found his way just as I knew he would. I, gleefully, told that teacher my kid had done well, passed all his classes and was graduating. I never really got a reply. I have always wondered if that teacher learned anything from that kid. I sure as heck did.

My daffodil shoots are getting taller with the unexpected winter warmth. The temperature is already 62°, plant boosting weather. I just wish it was sunny.

Yard clean-up tops the chore list today. I’ll grab my prisoner stick and clear the yard of Nala’s trash, mostly paper, empty water bottles and cat food cans. Thieving Nala has a tell. She doesn’t walk down the hall. She struts with her pilfered goods in her mouth. That’s when I usually see her, too late to catch her. I followed her to the yard this morning. She went out the dog door with the whole Cape Times in her mouth, my fault. I left the paper on the floor. She did drop it when I asked and came running, but I think it was merely whim and the thought of a bit of coffee that had her dropping the paper. I collected it from the yard.

When I was a kid, we never did anything special during February or April vacations. My father worked. His vacation time was always in the summer. If it was warm enough and we had no snow, I’d ride my bike. I always rode alone. My neighborhood friends didn’t ride. I never understood that. They missed the joy of speeding down the hill. They didn’t get to ride proudly with no hands, a great feat. They were stuck while I roamed all over town.

I don’t go to my old town often, but when I do, I take a nostalgia tour. I ride on Main Street from the highway exit all the way through up-town pass the fire station, the town hall, the four churches on the corners and my grammar school and parish church. From there I do the route I walked every school day for eight years. The best houses are gone. The railroad tracks are also gone. The hill on which our house sits still looks a bit daunting, but I remember when I finally rode my bike all the way up that hill. I was triumphant.

My mother didn’t learn to drive until her thirties. If we, she and all of us kids, went anywhere on a weekday we either walked or took a bus. We used to go to East Boston to visit my grandparents and my aunt. We’d walk up town, take the bus to Sullivan Square and from there we’d take the subway. We had to change train lines. My mother was always worried she’d lose one of us. The rule was if we got separated we were to go one more station, get off and wait. That never happened. When I used to take the train in high school, I’d tell my traveling buddies, my friends, the same thing. That never happened then either.

Right now it is 46° and sunny. Last night it got quite chilly, but warmer weather is coming. It will probably rain tomorrow, a good thing, to keep us out of drought conditions.

When I was a kid, Valentine’s Day was never just a single day. The celebration started a few days before the actual festivities. In school, during art, we made valentine boxes from shoe boxes. We decorated our boxes using construction paper and crayons. We made slits on the tops of the lids for the valentines. I drew and cut out hearts from red construction paper. They were always a bit uneven, but I thought them perfect.

The next step in the festivities was shopping for valentines. I’d walk up town with my mother to Woolworth’s and spend an inordinate amount of time picking the right valentines. They came many to a package. The valentines were one-sided with pictures and sayings on the front, mostly puns. The backs were white so we could write our names. I remember valentines with chicks and puppies and little boys and girls with ruby cheeks. I have a few I bought on line. One has a picture of an elephant driving a car. It says, “You auto to be my valentine.” Another has a boy and his dog on the front. The boy is dressed like a cowboy, including chaps, a gun, a neckerchief and guitar. It says, “Git along little valentine. I’m a heading up to round your heart.” I usually picked ones with a girl on the front.

The night before the big day I’d sign my valentines and pick to whom they’d go. We pre-dated the give one to everyone so I’d address them to my friends first then random kids. I remember trying to fit my whole name on the back. It was always slanted.

On the big day, we’d also bring sweets, like cookies and brownies, to share. I remember sitting at my desk with my Valentine box on it just waiting for the party to start. We’d put the sweets on the nun’s desk for enjoying after giving out valentines. We went row by row, one at a time. I always sort of held my breath just hoping my classmates wouldn’t pass me by. From all over the room you could hear giant sighs of relief when someone got a valentine. Once we were done, we’d pick our sweets and sit at our desks munching while opening the envelopes.

Just before the bell, we’d clean up the class, put our valentines in our boxes and grab a treat or two left over on the desk as we exited the classroom. The walk home took awhile as we munched and showed off the valentines we’d gotten.

When I got home, I’d show my mother each and every valentine and read off the names on the backs. They were always full names and both names barely fit so most were slanted across the back.

I’d save my box under my bed and pull it out and read through my valentines a few more times. I never thought about the ones I didn’t get. I loved the ones I did.

I woke up to another cloudy day, but rain is predicted so I don’t mind the clouds so much. We are still in the 40’s, and the high today will be 47°. I haven’t any errands so I’ll stay close to home today. I noticed some paper I missed in the other side of the yard so I’ll grab my prisoner stick and get cleaning.

When I was a kid, I mostly walked to Sunday mass. I sat in the back of the church, the best place for a hasty exit. I never wore a hat, but I did wear a lacy mantilla. One time I Bobby pinned Kleenex to my hair when I forgot my mantilla. As silly as it looked, other women too wore the same head covering, Kleenex with Bobby pins. They were always white Kleenex. I found mass boring. Back then it was still in Latin. I was not a fan of sermons. They made the mass longer so I went to mass downstairs where there was no sermon. The pews were always filled. People stood in the back. They didn’t want a sermon either. A couple of times I also stood and sort of hid in the back where there were racks on the back wall filled with pamphlets. I used to read them to pass the time. I was never devout.

Every kid I knew had a sled, ice skates and a bike. They were the necessities of life. My bike was my favorite. I remember the Christmas when I got it. That blue bike was the first thing I saw when I was going down stairs and peeked over the railing to see what was under the tree. My eyes saw only that bike.

My favorite Sunday dinner was always roast beef, mashed potatoes and peas. My mother made great gravy. It was never lumpy. I used to put the gravy in the well I made on the top of the potatoes. Sometimes I mixed the peas and the potatoes. It was ugly but tasty. Mostly we just grabbed cookies for dessert. They were the mobile foods.

My new TV is delayed so I am still watching my iPad and my computer. Last night I watched Revolt of the Zombies from 1936. It was wonderfully bad. I just wished I had popcorn oozing with butter or cheese popcorn or a candy bar, maybe a Milky Way or a Mounds. I’ll put them on the shopping list, all of them.

The morning is a delight. It is 54°. The air is still. The sun is bright and warm. I don’t see a single cloud. I’ve decided I’m going to take a ride. Today is not a day to waste sitting inside. The only chores on my list are easy: do a small wash and clear the trash from the yard.

When I was a kid, today would have been a perfect bike day. In the morning, just after breakfast, I’d have to haul my bike from its winter quarters, the cellar, so I could ride to school. In the parking lot, behind both schools, the old and the new, there was a bike rack under the trees along one side of the fence. It was wooden and painted green, green being one of the school colors. I never had a lock for my bike, but I did have a license plate. The police gave them out if you registered your bike. The license was green and had Stoneham and a plate number on it. My dad attached it to the back of my bike.

Riding my bike to school meant I got home quicker than usual. I’d walk the last part of the hill, drop my bike on the lawn, run inside, change into play clothes and go back outside to ride. I was so fleet-footed I sometimes set a new world’s record for the quickest change.

A day like today has me hungering for spring. The daffodil shoots in the front garden are getting higher. I check their progress every day. I know it is only February, but a warm day can be beguiling, and I fall for it every time.

On warmer days, the dogs go out for a long time. I get nervous and check, a left over worry from Miss Gracie. She was my fence leaper. Henry dances and jumps on his hind legs when he knows dinner is coming. That is as high as he gets. When Nala zooms the yard, she follows the fence line. She doesn’t seem interested in escaping. She sees the yard as her pawn shop, a place to leave her stolen goods.

I am a deep sleeper. Before I fall asleep, the dogs get comfy. Nala starts under my spread leaning against me, but at some point she moves without the spread. I never wake up when she does. Henry has taken possession of the bottom of the bed. He and I form perpendicular lines. Henry is also my guard. If he hears a noise, he leaps off the bed, stands at the top of the stairs and barks a few times then stops to evaluate the situation. Usually he comes back to bed. I’m hoping it’s always that way, but should it not be, Henry makes me feel safe. Woe to anyone who runs a foul of Henry. I know from experience.

Right now it is 33°, but it seemed warmer when I went to get the papers as there is no wind. The sky is covered in light grey clouds, but no rain is predicted until later tonight. l still have a few chores but easy chores, a little sweeping and a bit of dusting.

Last night, on my den table, were two iPads and my computer, all compensating for the dead TV which sits staring at me from across the room. If I were a character in a Stephen King book, the TV would be listening to me and watching me, turning itself on and off. It needs to go, but before that can happen, I’ll have to clear the top of my file cabinet so I can lean over and unplug the TV and the cable. Nothing is simple anymore. I have had two TV offers, kind, generous offers, so I am getting close to a TV, an actual TV. The primitive life is not at all appealing.

When I was a kid, the TV had tubes. If one died, the TV usually died. My father, the handyman (says I with tongue in cheek) would remove tubes and bring them to the TV repair shop to be checked. He’d buy new ones once the dead tubes were identified. He just didn’t remember where they went. Most times he’d have to call a repair man to put the TV back together.

This TV story reminds me of another Dad story. This time he was fixing the toilet (says I with tongue in cheek). He took the inside apart by pulling out the pieces. He bought a couple of parts but had no idea what was wrong. Cue the plumber who wanted to know who killed the toilet. That would be my father the TV repair man-plumber.

Nala is a whiz at taking down the gate protecting Jack’s room and his food. I only catch her once in a while. I always think the gate is secure. Most times I’m wrong. Her technique is to lean the gate against the side of the door so it doesn’t fall and make a noise. She jumps over it and then back. Sometimes she gives herself away by coming down the stairs with an empty can from the cat room trash in her mouth. I grab the can, run upstairs, clean up the trash and set the gate. This morning she did it again. I decided to move the gate so it is on the stairs about half-way up. I hadn’t done it before as Henry likes to nap in my room, but enough is enough, the perfect cliche for how I’m feeling. Well, just a short while ago, Nala tried to get pass the gate. She failed. It fell and slid down the stairs. I jumped at the unexpected crash. Nala ran. Solution? Maybe! But I never underestimate Nala.

The day is warm at 41°. We’re socked in by light grey clouds, but it won’t rain. Both dogs love this weather. They stay out a while. Henry is always first to come inside the house. When Nala doesn’t follow, I call for her. I am always a bit suspicious when she stays out. What is she up to now?

Yesterday I was busy a good part of the day. We, Nala and I, went to the dump. I did three loads of laundry, watered the plants,, swept the hall and kitchen and changed my bed. In the late afternoon I fell asleep sitting up on the couch. It was all the laundry hauling.

Last night I watch movies on my computer. My favorite was Five Million Miles to Earth released in 1968. I’d seen it before but not in a long time. I had hunted to find the complete movie and finally struck gold at Internet Archives.

My house is quiet without TV. Right now my fingers hitting the keys is the only sound. Henry’s barking earlier warned of an intruder. I checked and saw a patron at my little library. Henry had done his job well. My little library is on my to-do list for today as I have some books to add, and it needs rearranging.

When I was a kid, my books were all in my bedroom. I used to organize them by series. All the Trixie Belden were together. Donna Parker was beside Trixie. Both were Whitman published books with those glossy, illustrated cardboard covers. I still have many of them. The spines of a few have cracked because of multiple readings and time. They were mostly released in the 50’s. My Nancy Drews took up half a shelf. The Bobbsey Twins took up the other half. Black Beauty, Zorro, Little Women, Heidi and Robinson Crusoe were a few of the other books, the classics. I have an Annette book.

My dance card has sparse entries this week. Uke practice, a lesson and a concert are the only items, but I’ll have to pick and choose two as my finger objects to all that activity and tightens and swells. It is not a pretty sight.

The other night I had a peanut butter and marshmallow sandwich. I was hungry but not hungry enough to cook. I loved that sandwich. As I was eating, my memory drawer popped open at the familiar taste. When I was a kid, I would make Saltine sandwiches with PB on one side and Marshmallow Fluff on the other. It was the best snack. I need Saltines.