Winter has decided to hang around for a while. Right now it is only 31˚ and won’t get much warmer, the only flaw in an otherwise lovely sunny day. Not a cloud is in sight. The trees are still. The dogs stay out long enough that I check to make sure neither has escaped though it is only a courtesy to check Henry.

I like jam. I am not a great fan of jelly though I still have a fondness for Welch’s jelly in a cartoon character glass. I think I have one or two in the cabinet, Tom and Jerry glasses. I used to slather too much jelly on my PB&J sandwiches. It always seeped through in the middle and made for an ugly sandwich, a tasty but ugly sandwich. My father loved strawberry jam. I always gave him a couple of jars in his Christmas stocking. I am not particular though I do have a favorite or two. I eat a variety of jams, usually whatever I find when I scrummage through the cabinet. My favorite of late has been black mission fig jam, a Christmas present, but I finished the last of it and have moved to strawberry jam with huge chunks of strawberries.

In Ghana I bought groundnut paste. It was sold in the market and was the base for groundnut stew, but I used it mostly as groundnut butter, peanut butter in American English. It was thick and had to be thinned with groundnut oil or it tore the bread. I bought imported jam. PB&J or GN&J was my favorite snack.

Peanut butter is a stable still. I love a snack of peanut butter and jelly on a Saltine. It has to be a Saltine, a preference carried through time. We always had Saltines. I crushed them into my chicken noodle soup, my Campbell’s chicken noodle soup. Sometimes I buttered the crackers. Other times I used Marshmallow fluff instead of jelly. They were the messiest combination, but that was my favorite. I mean, seriously, what could beat the taste of fluff and peanut butter? The one use which makes me gag at the thought of it is sardines on crackers. I can still see, as if in a bad dream, the opened can, the wound metal top with a key and the sardines in a row. I’d take one and eat it on my Saltine. My sister remembers doing the same. It was my father who introduced us to the joy of eating sardines on Saltines. The three of us would nosh together. I think maybe that was the draw.

I used to give my father a really expensive can of sardines in his Christmas stocking. He was always delighted and offered to share.

Today is an ugly day, an ugly winter’s day. It is downright cold. Right now it is 32˚with a here and gone wind. The dogs come inside with cold fur and really cold ears. The sun isn’t expected today.

The dogs perfectly performed the door shtick. They both tried to go out the same time and both got stuck in the dog door. I unsympathetically laughed before I pulled Nala back so Henry could get outside. Speaking of Nala, my convict trash pick-up stick has arrived. It is a bright yellow. If the wind dies a bit, I’ll clean the trash in the yard today.

Yesterday morning, my coffee maker wouldn’t turn on. I pushed the button up and down and up and down again, nothing. I was in a panic faced with the thought of no coffee. I pushed the button hard up and down again a couple of times. The light came on then went off. With my vast electrical experience, I knew it had to be a short. I pushed the button up and down over and over driven by the need for caffeine. The red button came on and the coffee started then it went off. I did the button thing and got it to turn on but was stuck holding the button until it held. This morning, the coffee maker turned right on and stayed on. It is perplexing.

Mostly I am not afraid of things. I get nervous and wary, but that’s usually where I stop. I have never understood people, sadly mostly women, running and screaming when they see a spider, a beneficial arachnid. My neighbor is afraid of bats. I can’t even remember the last time I saw a bat around here so fearing one seems a bit of wasting one’s psyche. He says bats suck blood out of people’s necks. He’s seen it he says. I do understand a fear of clowns. I mean, really, look at Killer Klowns from Outer Space and any reiterations of Pennywise.

I know my house and all its sounds. At night, I sleep through those sounds, but I’ll wake up immediately at a different sound and listen for it. Rain is one of those sounds. I’ll hear drops hitting my window and roof, sometimes big, noisy drops. A gagging dog is another of those sounds, the grossest I think. Wind wakes me. A barking dog jolts me awake. Most times, once I identify what I heard, I just go back to sleep.

My house gives me not only comfort but also a sense of refuge, safeness. It has always been that way, but now I have an extra layer. Henry, the barker, alerts me to stuff I don’t hear or see. I figure any potential house breakers hearing him will bypass my house. Henry isn’t kidding. Nala follows his lead. I am thankful.