We had snow yesterday, mostly a dusting, maybe an inch, maybe less. During the storm, I turned on the back light and watched the snow fall. It fell gently. I was going to sweep the front stairs and walkway this morning, but the snow is mostly gone from there. Last night was in the low 20’s. Right now it is 33°.

When I first got Henry, he wouldn’t let me pat him for months. He even saw a dog shrink three times. Finally, after six months, he let me pat him and scratch by his tail. I was thrilled. Jump ahead to now. Henry sometimes drives me crazy. If I get off the couch, he follows. I don’t go to the bathroom alone. I don’t go anywhere in the house alone. He does enjoy a nap upstairs on my, think our, bed, but if he hears me moving around he comes right downstairs. I have a shadow, a big white and brown shadow.

Life is quiet. Other than uke practice on Tuesday nights and a lesson every Wednesday morning I seldom go out. I do go to the dump but not on any particular day, and I sometimes skip a week. I used to feel guilty about doing nothing, but I have wholly embraced the sloth in me.

When I was a kid, clean laundry magically appeared in my drawers and closet. The bed made and changed itself. Trash walked out the door to the barrels. All of it happened without me. All of it happened when I was I school. I had no chores. That was the beginning of the birth of my inner sloth.

My mother used to mash carrots and potatoes together so we’d eat the carrots. I loved baby peas and corn though I was less enthused about cream corn. It looked a bit gross and spread all over the plate. In Ghana I ate vegetables I hadn’t ever heard of before then. Okra was one of them. I always ate it in soups. It was a bit slimy but that made it more interesting. Garden eggs were just as the name implies, small vegetables shaped like an egg. I didn’t know for a long while they were tiny eggplants. I ate yams, not sweet potatoes but actual yams with skin which looked like bark. In September FraFra potatoes appeared in the market. They were small but were actual potatoes. They were only around a short time soI always ate my fill. I added hummus to my diet with its chick peas.

My palate was greatly expanded in Ghana where I didn’t know what I was eating some of the time. I had learned not to ask.

Today is a winter’s day. The sky is steely grey. Pine tree branches stand as dark silhouettes outlined against the grey. Nothing is moving. It is 22°. The high will be a whopping 25°. It is the perfect day to stay in my cozies.

The dogs stay out a while. They chase each other all over the yard. Both come inside panting. Both have cold ears. They do have coats but not earmuffs.

Today is laundry day. I have finally begun to run out of my uniform of a sweatshirt and flannel pants. I also need to wash the spread from my bed. The CDC has been leaving messages about wanting it for testing.

For some odd reason, a singular memory of Ghana I haven’t mentioned before or I don’t remember mentioning leapt out of my memory drawer. I was in my house reading when I heard a, “Caw, Caw,” which a visitor always said to mention his presence in lieu of a doorbell, followed by a knock at the screen door. A man I didn’t know was there. He greeted me, and I returned his greeting. He told me he was looking for a white woman. I thanked him for the offer but said I wasn’t available. He asked if I knew any Canadians. I told him no. He thanked me and went on his way.

I have the makings of a cheesy science fiction movie in my backyard. Call it The Case of the Creeping Garland. Last week I finally removed the pine garland from my mantel. I had left it there so long after Christmas because green is a hopeful color, the color of new beginnings, but the garland had dried and the needles had sharpened. I moved it slowly and unwrapped the lights around it. The needles fell all over the floor and rug, but I managed to get it out the back door where I threw it down the steps. A few days ago I noticed it was missing. I found it in the backyard. I left it there. This morning it is back on the stairs closer to the door than it had been so I’m keeping an eye on the movements of this potentially murderous garland. I will not answer knocks on the back door.