Today is cold. It is 25˚. The low will be 19˚. We are most decidedly in the throes of winter. We had snow flurries starting last night around midnight and continuing intermittently into this morning. Right now a bit of blue is starting to come from behind the clouds and bringing the sun along, but it comes and goes. A wind has started blowing. It is not a day to be out and about, but I have no choice. I need some groceries.

Jack was especially vocal last night. He meowed from the top of the stairs for a while then went half-way down and meowed some more. I gave him lovings, and I brushed him. Jack enjoys being brushed. I feel bad for Jack as he is relegated to upstairs. Nala needs to learn that Jack is family and ought not to be chased. I think I’ll take a nap with him today.

My first load of laundry is in the washing machine. The basket was still in the hall where it had been for a week, okay maybe two weeks. It was overflowing as I kept adding laundry to the basket. I had hopes that the elves who took care of the shoemaker and his shoes would take pity, and I’d find clean, folded clothes in the morning. It didn’t happen.

This will be a short musing today. We are all trying to handle losing Gwen in our own ways. I find myself short tempered. It was strange this morning not greeting Gwen. The first thing in the morning is when I went into the cats’ room to feed them and to give Gwen her morning shot. This morning it was all Jack.

Before I posted my music for today, I went up for my afternoon visit to the cats. Gwen was lying on the floor and having trouble breathing. I put her right into the crate and called the vets. We immediately went over. Gwen passed away before we got to the vets. I heard her. I knew. When I got to the vets, I opened the crate to give her some lovings and to say goodbye. I brought her inside. They came to tell me what I already knew. The vets thought it was her heart by the symptoms. I’m having her paw print saved. I thought I’d put it on my aunt’s grave. She loved her babies.

The rain is heavy and loud. I heard it as soon as I woke up. The dogs balked about going out into the rain. Nala poked her head out the dog door then she backed into the house. Henry ran out, his need greater than his dislike of the rain. When I went to get the paper, I was pummeled by the rain. I put up my hood. It did little good.

Despite the rain, I need to go out to pick up a few essentials like cat food, cream for my coffee and something to sweeten my day. I’m thinking anything chocolate. I was going to the dump, but today is not a dump day. It is not even a going out day, but I haven’t any choice.

When I was a kid, a rainy day was the worst. I hated walking to school and getting wet. My shoes and socks got the wettest. They were usually soaked. I left footprints when I walked in my socks.

In Ghana, during the dry season, we used to joke about the weather, the same weather we got every day, hot and dry. Many mornings, we’d look at the sky and say it looks like rain. We did it in all seriousness even though we were kidding. We knew, of course, that rain was months away.

The first rain storms after the dry season were spectacular. Small bushes were bent to the ground by the fierceness of the wind, a sign of the rain to come. The sky darkened for the first time in months. It really did look like rain. The drops came in waves. Lightning struck right in front of my house. The road through the school ended at the back gate, by my house. It was a dirt road. It only took one storm for the heavy rain to cause crevices through the dirt. The rain ran like a river through those crevices and turned the dirt to mud. The mud slid.

I loved having a whole season of rain. Unless it was torrential, it never stopped me. I walked to the classroom block. I walked through the market in the rain. In Bolga, being wet was short lived. After the rain, the sun came back, and it was hot. I dried in no time.