The sun is shining, and we have a snow shower. The flakes are so tiny they look like bread crumbs. They shine and glint in the sun. It is cold, 22°. Tonight will be colder. Today is winter. Tomorrow will be spring, in the 40’s. Nala will sunbathe on the only strip of grass in the backyard. 

When I was a kid, the night sky was filled with stars. I would lie on the grass in the field below my house and watch the sky. I always thought the stars moved. Sometimes I’d see a falling star. I always made a wish on the first star I saw. In Ghana, where I lived, the stars were so bright you could sit outside and read by their light. I could see the Milky Way, and every night there were falling stars. During the dry season, I’d lie outside on a mattress in the back yard of my house. I was a kid again watching the sky. When I saw a falling star, I’d ooh and ah out loud. Now I go to the beach to watch the stars. I always sit in my driveway to watch meteor showers. I still on and ah.

My grandmother was born in 1898. She was part of the housedress, apron age. She never went outside without wearing a hat. When it rained, she’d wear those ankle high see through boots with a button for closing the top. Her shoes were tie shoes, clunky and ugly. Her dresses were flowered. She was a big woman. She stooped when she walked. She had a loud voice and an annoyingly loud laugh. Once, when she was out to dinner with my father and my aunt, she was so loud they were asked to leave. She wasn’t a kind woman. She lived in wrinkle city, as my father called it, in an apartment in elderly housing. He used to visit her just about every weekend. If I visited my parents, he’d beg me to go with him. I’d give in and go. Every time I visited I swear she told the same stories she always told. I remember telling my father if she told the Japanese restaurant story again, I’d cough, and that was the signal to leave. Well, she did tell that story, and I coughed. My father started to laugh and to hide it he pretended to cough. My grandmother whacked him on the back thinking he was choking. He laughed even harder. She whacked him harder. Finally, he was able to stop and we left, but he started laughing again in the car. It was pretty funny.

My dance card is again heavy on uke events, practice, a lesson and two concerts. We will be singing Irish songs. I have my Irish fascinator, a green sweatshirt with a harp and Ryan on the front. I also have white high tops with green flowers, shamrock socks and shamrock earrings. I’m ready. 

Mother Nature is using clickbait. When I look out the window, I see another lovely sunlit day with a cloudless blue sky. When I go outside, I wish I was wearing layers. It is 27°. Tonight will be between 15° and 20°, and tomorrow will be the same.

When I cut onions, I always cry. Why is it that no TV cook ever cries? What am I missing? I actually bought an onion mask. It didn’t work. I cried in the mask. I then decided to look up solutions. If I cut onions with a strong fan facing me, I’d be cry-less. Also, I could cut them under running water. That, though, seems a bit dangerous at least for me. The best solution was to submerge the onions in a bowl of water to cut them. That’s the one I’ll try.

Last night, while talking to my friend, she asked me how I was doing. I told her I was bland. She laughed, but it is the perfect word to describe me right now. I think February did it to me. 

When I was a kid, I always went to Sunday mass. Sometimes I went with my father, the usher, to an early mass. He ushered at the 8 o’clock. Other times, I’d walk to a later mass. My church had an upstairs and a downstairs. The upstairs was the main church. I preferred the downstairs. The mass was quicker there with no sermon. I was into obligation, not reverence.

My father always carried a white handkerchief. My mother used to iron them. He’d carry one in the back pocket of his suit pants. He was a loud blower, especially in the mornings. I used to think it was gross to use a handkerchief. My father always said it was stronger than Kleenex. 

My socks have holes. That used to drive my mother crazy. When I was a kid, she’d toss the holey socks away. I keep them. No one sees the holes. Mostly, one big toe breaks through. The socks also wear at the heels. I turn the holey part under my toe when I put my shoes on. I walk on the lump. I do buy new socks but I wait for more holes.

My father was a great believer in the magical properties of Vicks. He had a Vicks sweatshirt, one he’d wear every time he lathered himself. My parents’ living room always smelled of Vicks during the winter. When I visited, if I even sniffled, he’d tell me to use the Vicks. I didn’t. It was that smell.

Today will be a quiet day. I have a long to do list, but it will wait. I’m ordering a grocery delivery. I’ll water my plants and put the trash in the trunk for later in the week. My sloth is clapping my inactivity.