2023 did not have an auspicious birth. The last few days I had what I figured was the flu. The worst days were Tuesday and Wednesday. I was considering moving into the bathroom and bringing amenities given how much time I was spending there. I was thinking iPad, coffee and bon bons.

When I was a kid, I had all the usual kid illnesses: mumps, measles and chicken pox. I remember the measles and being in a dark bedroom so I wouldn’t go blind. I don’t remember the mumps too much except for checking in the bathroom mirror at how gross my face looked. Chicken Pox was the worst. It itched and scratching wasn’t allowed particularly on the face because if you broke the chicken pox blister you’d end up with a scar, with a small, round scar. My mother was ever vigilant, “Do you want scars on your face?” was not said gently or kindly. I didn’t scratch, but my neighbor did. She got chicken pox as an adult. She scratched and had the round scars on her face my mother had predicted if we scratched.

In Ghana, during my Peace Corps training I got sick. It was week 7 or 8 in Koforidua. My symptoms necessitated sitting all night by the bathroom door. Burnt into my memory drawer are those steps, the dorms to the left and inside the bathroom by the door. The Peace Corps doctor came.

After training, I periodically had the usual, diarrhea. The first few days meant sleeping on the kitchen floor close to the door so I could run to the backyard where my toilet room was. Speed was of the essence, but after those first few days, the diarrhea merely became an inconvenience and a topic of conversation. I only worried when I traveled, but I had trusty little pills.

I have told this story before, but it is one of my favorites if not the favorite story of my day to day life as a Peace Corps volunteer in Ghana. I had taken the magic pills and traveled to Old Tafo to visit my friends Bill and Peg. They lived on the second floor in a house with no plumbing. Bill hauled water in buckets for the house. Down the stairs were the necessities, a row of single seat outhouses. No longer taking the magic pills meant running down the stairs and staying awhile in one of the outhouses, my own single seater. Now that you have the background, here is my story. I was sitting there in my little house biding my time when I heard a sound behind and underneath me. I stood up and a head appeared below the hole. It was the night soil man whose job it was to empty the buckets. He saw me, gave a little wave and said, “Hello, madam,” as he emptied the bucket. When he was finished, I sat down again.

Today is a nice day, 41° and partly cloudy which also makes it partly sunny. That’s the part I notice. That’s the part I can see out my den window, the light blue sky part. The rain is gone. Everything is quiet. Nothing moves. The air has a chill, like an early spring chill. This is the oddest winter.

When I was a kid, I yearned for snow, especially if I had gotten a sled for Christmas. Back then all the sleds were wooden with metal runners. The steering was left to right or right to left in the front, one hand on each side, left and right. A rope was attached through a hole on each side of the sled’s steering, and pulling the rope was how we got the sled back up the hill. I have a picture in my memory drawer of pulling the sled up the hill. I can see my mittens covered in ice pulling the rope also covered in ice looped on the sled from side to side, left to right or right to left. That is my most vivid memory image of sledding when I was a kid. I remember the feelings, especially the glee at the down-hill speed. If you left from the top, it was a long hill, steep at the top, wider at the bottom. Sometimes the bottom got slushy before the rest of the hill. It was, nonetheless, a great hill with lots of options like sledding from the top or starting in the middle. I sledded from the top.

As long as there was no wind or snow, I could ride my bike. It always seemed a bit odd to be riding my bike in winter. It was also cumbersome. The bike had to be moved out of the cellar then back into the cellar any time it was used. It was mostly worth it, that sense of riding my bike and holding back winter.

I think the snow is pretty, but I have no interest in any snow activities. I do like watching the snow fall lit by the back light, but that is the extent of my interest. I look every now and then to check how high the snow is on the rail and how much snow is still falling. That snow check dates back to the start of my teaching career. I loved the unexpected day off even though I knew it had to be made up at the end. It was like a late Christmas present.

Today is a sloth day, one of the finest. I am taking a break. It is an ugly day, another damp, chilly day, a perfect day to be inside cuddled under a blanket. I think I might have a cold coming on so I’ll hang around, do nothing and see what happens. I am almost at the end of my book so today I’ll finish it.

Talk to you tomorrow!

Today is pretty, sunny, but only 37°. I could feel the cold when I got the papers so I decided to forego yesterday’s mail until later. l’ll grab it on my way to the dump.

I didn’t get the Globe. I got The New York Times. I did get The Cape Cod Times, the paper often missing. I was happy for it.

What a glorious day say I with tongue in cheek; however, tomorrow won’t be much better. I’ll have a couple of stops, PT and the post office. My sister Moe in Colorado mentioned she was going to buy a calendar. I said no. I told her I had one for her and one for Rod, parts of their Christmas gifts. She said she’d wait a couple of days: hence, the stop at the post office. The gifts are late, I know, but think of the drama. More gifts are still to be found, let alone wrapped and sent, but I knew exactly where the calendars were. We’re still in Act I of Christmas 2022. More is piled in my bedroom. I’ll start dividing after I put my Christmas away, probably tomorrow.

I admit it. I watch Hallmark movie channels, and, today, much to my surprise, re-runs of Lori Loughlin, antique dealer detective, are back in the line-up. Hmmmm! I wonder.

Some days make me feel settled, not like an old house settles, but happy where I am. All my life I have had those sorts of days, even when I was young. I remember lying in bed on rainy afternoons and reading by the lamp light hung over the back of my bed. Those sorts of days became my favorites. I remember the rainy seasons in Ghana and sitting inside my house surrounded by rain.and reading by the light hanging from my ceiling ( I don’t remember, Bill, how high the ceiling was, 7′?) Anyway, the loudest sounds were the early rains pelting the roof over my head. They were the welcome rains after so many dry months.

I love the early rains of spring here. They too are often heavy and wonderfully noisy.

I find it amazing what you bring along with you all of your life. I feel comfort from the sounds of the rain.