The clouds have that white grey color, a warning, snow’s coming. The wind is getting stronger, and the day is getting darker. The good news is the prediction is for far less snow than first thought, only 1-3 inches. That’s broom snow. We are all warm and cozy. The dogs are napping. Nala is leaning against me, her head resting on my hip. She sighs every now and then. Henry is curled into a ball on his cushion. Jack is sleeping on an afghan in front of the heater in his room. All’s right with our world.

My larder is full. I had my groceries delivered yesterday. The Amazon pet order also came yesterday minus dry dog food. It should come today. The Chewy order will be here in a couple of days. My beasties live well.

The other day I had a Ghana Deja Vu. I had finished my first cup of coffee and let the cup sit a little while before I went to get my second cup. I added fake sugar and cream to the coffee, carried the cup to the den and sat down. When I went to drink, I saw two dead bugs, gnats I think, floating in the cup. Bugs in food were a common occurrence in Ghana. I used to have to sift my flour, loaded with bugs. Some remained and we didn’t care. They were protein. When I saw the bugs in my coffee, I just picked them out. Dead bugs are harmless.

When I was a kid, I hunted grasshoppers in the field below my house. They’d jump in the air when I walked through the grass. I’d catch them with my hands and put them in a jar. Later, I’d release them. I didn’t swat or run screaming from bees. I remember a praying mantis in the bushes by the front steps. I watched it for a long time. I had already seen its movie, The Deadly Mantis, starring a giant bug, 200-foot-long and millions of years old. That one would have scared me. I’d be the one running and screaming. I’d probably be the one eaten. I can’t run all that fast or far.

My dance card is mostly empty for the week. I have my uke practice and lesson and nothing else. I’m just fine with that. I do idleness well.

Winter continues its dominance. I find myself checking the weather channel hoping for a change. It doesn’t come. The high today will be 18°. Snow showers start tonight, sort of a prelude for tomorrow’s storm. The amount of snow for tomorrow keeps changing. The last update was 2-4 inches with blizzard conditions from the wind.

I did my errands yesterday. The dogs are official. I just did a grocery delivery order filled with everything I need and some I don’t need. Now I hunker down.

My school in Ghana had a night watchman. He didn’t speak English. He spoke FraFra and Hausa, the language I was taught. He’d roam the grounds at no set time with his dog. He’d stay under the baobab tree. He had sort of a wooden lounge chair and always kept his lantern lit. Sometimes if I went to town I’d find the gate locked when I got to my school. I’d see his lit lantern from the gate. His dog barked. I’d yell, “Watchman, watchman,” over and over from the gate. His dog barking would get more frantic. The watchman never moved, never acknowledged me. I’d end up climbing the fence, not easy in a dress. I’d walk by him on the way to my house, his dog would bark, and he’d pretend he was asleep. Later, one of my students told me he heard me every time, but he didn’t want to get up to let me in. He wasn’t the best watchman. I became an adept fence climber in a dress.

When I was a kid, Saturday was the best day. It was all mine. In the summer I had almost unlimited choices as to what I could do. Most involved my bike. In the winter, the weather determined how I spent the day. Some Saturdays I went to the matinee. Most times I walked up town back and forth to the theater. My mother gave me enough money for my ticket and some candy or popcorn. First came previews of coming attractions then a cartoon. The Roadrunner was a favorite of mine. The movies were old, some even black and white, but we didn’t care. I even saw The Wizard of Oz there. I was thoroughly amazed when Dorothy landed over the rainbow, and it was all in color. The theater always had an undercurrent of noise, of kids talking. Candy flew mostly from the back seats. Jujubes were the missiles of choice. I never wondered why. They flew far, and they hurt when they landed. I remember Al, the owner of the theater, going up and down the center aisles trying to catch the miscreants, but it was dark, and he was always too late to catch anyone.

I think my sloth has a sloth.