The wind is strong. Even the highest scrub pine branches are swaying. The sky is a light blue. It is warm and sunny, 41° warm. That’s a good thing as last night got cold and everything is icy. I had to take minced steps to keep from falling when I got the paper and the mail. Tomorrow we’ll have snow as many as 5 inches. Mother Nature is gaslighting us again.

When I was a kid, I loved the snow, even if we didn’t have a snow day. I’d sled all day if I could. I remember my mittens would get clumps of snow stuck to the wool. The mittens would get heavy and flop from the weight. I’d shake them but the clumps stuck. When I went inside, I’d put my mittens on the radiator to dry. They steamed.

My favorite comfort food back then was tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich. The soup was thick. The sandwich oozed Velvetta. The bread, Wonder Bread of course, was browned in the frying pan, a cask iron pan. Dunking the sandwich was the best part. 

I remember the lunch boxes we’d buy every fall for the new school year. They were character lunch boxes. I remember my Mickey Mouse Club lunch box. The Musketeers were wearing their talent roundup cowboy clothes. My brother had Davy Crockett. When I was in the fourth grade, my lunch box had a tartan design. I had grown passed characters. In another year or two I didn’t use lunchboxes. I used brown paper bags.

We walked everywhere, to school and back and all over town on the weekends. Back then, most families had only one car. My father took ours to work every day. My mother didn’t drive. She grocery shopped on Friday nights so my father could take her. If she needed something during the week, she’d send one of us to the corner store. Mostly it was for bread and milk. 

Walking in the rain to school was the worst. My hair would get wet, and my shoes would bubble at the toes from all the water. I’d take a while to dry. In the afternoon, cars would line up to collect kids. I’d hope for a neighbor in the line. Usually there wasn’t. I’d get home and put my shoes under the radiator to dry. They always got stiff and would curl. 

Walking in the snow was magical. I’d look up to watch the flakes and would catch some with my tongue. I’d run and slide on the sidewalk and leave skid marks. We’d have a contest to see who could slide the furthest. Falling disqualified you. I was often disqualified. 

When I woke up, it was snowing. I made coffee then ran out to the deck and filled 3 of the bird feeders. I’d been meaning to do that for the last few days, but I guess I was waiting for cold and snow, as if. I didn’t grab a jacket, but it was warmer than I expected. The dogs joined me. While I was filling the feeders, they were playing on the deck. Well, the snow has already stopped. We have a dusting. 

My father bought my mother a hi-fi with his bonus money one year. I remember the turntable was in a sort of a case with a top which you lifted to play the records. I remember how carefully you had to place the arm on the record in the exact right spot where the grooves started. I remember the stack of records my mother had. One was Judy Garland, another Frank Sinatra. I know all the lyrics to Shrimp Boats. Sometimes the records got scratches and would skip or get stuck in one groove.

 I used to play my 45’s. First I chose 45 RPM on the speed selector knob. Next, I had to place a plastic disc in the hole in the middle of the records so they would fit the spindle. My friend had a turntable just for 45’s which I envied. It had a record changer in the middle, and you could stack 45’s records on it which then played in turn. I remember sitting on the floor holding the record in the middle and on the edge so as not to leave fingerprints while I was going through the pile of records, A and B sides. 

I still have a record collection of both 33 1/3’s and 45’s. I also have a few plastic discs for the 45’s. I keep those records stored in boxes just for 45’s. Every now and then I go through the boxes and pick a few songs to play. My 33 1/3 records go back to the 60’s when I bought my first album. I still love playing those, especially the oldest albums. The other day I listened to Gail Garnett and her album with We’ll Sing in the Sunshine.

I wish the same part of my brain which stores lyrics to all the songs I’ve loved would work for other things like names or dates. They take a while to retrieve. When my friend Peg and I are talking and we’ve forgotten something, the two of us try to figure out what word we mean. Sometimes we remember. Other times we don’t even get close, but ask me to sing the lyrics to songs I love, and I remember every verse.

My dance card has one last entry for the week, a uke concert tomorrow.