The morning is foggy, damp and cloudy. The only thing to commend it is the warmth of 42˚. I have already been out and back to an early morning dental appointment just to have my teeth cleaned, but they found something. I have a fractured tooth. I’m going back in a couple of weeks to have it filled. It seems parts of me are falling apart, a piece at a time. It happens to old cars and now it’s happening to me.

When I was kid, we never went to the dentist unless there was a problem, but I did start with an orthodontist when I was seven. His office was on Comm Ave. in Boston. On appointment day, my mother had to find a babysitter for my sisters. We walked uptown to take the bus to Sullivan Square, and, from there, we took the T. We walked from the T station to the office. I have pictures in my head of the office, the room and the furniture. His waiting room was enormous and filled with oversized furniture like giant puffy chairs and sofas covered in flowers. One giant old wooden desk sat near the door. In my memory drawer the desk is as large as the Resolute desk in the Oval Office. The nurse was there to check me in for my appointment. My mother and I sat for a bit then I went into the office. Dr. Nice was oldish. He wore a white jacket with buttons on the top which opened a flap. On the old Dr. Casey TV show, the brooding Dr. Casey wore the same white top only he kept the buttons unbuttoned. Dr. Nice had white hair which stuck out in places. His office was at the front of the house. It had a bank of windows which kept my attention. I watched the cars. I don’t remember the appointments too well, just the windows and the chair in the center of the room and the going and coming. We took the T back then waited at Sullivan Square for the bus home. My mother usually bought me a treat from the station kiosk. We’d get to Stoneham Square where my mother would buy me lunch. The two of us then walked to school. She was my late note.

My house feels chilly even though the heat is cranking. I have forced hot air. When I was a kid, we had radiators and forced hot water. I loved the hissing of the steam and the gurgling of the radiator. One was in my room under a window near the foot of the bed. It was the sound I heard when I was falling asleep.

Today is drab. The sky is covered with grey white clouds. It is warm but only by comparison. The road is slushy in-between the ruts. The icicles on the roof are melting. Snow is falling off the branches of the trees in the backyard. It is an ugly winter’s day.

My plans for today are simple. I’m finally going to tackle that laundry. The basket in the hall is overflowing. I have just about run out of my cozies, an impending catastrophe needing to be averted, so laundry it is.

When I was a kid, my favorite pajamas were blue. They were made of jersey material and had cuffs. They always kept me warm. Every day, when I got home from school, I had to change into play clothes. In the winter, when we couldn’t go out to play, I’m get home and put on my cozies, my pajamas. That’s where my love of cozies began.

The Xfinity guy is coming with my new cable box, and my Agway order is ready for pick-up. Yesterday I had groceries delivered. My uke practice was on Zoom. Other than a hand-off from a delivery person, I don’t see people any more. I might as well be a hermit living alone in a cave in the desert and wearing an animal hair shirt for atonement.

My bedroom is a mess with storage boxes looking for a home, but my living room is back to normal for the most part. The only difference is my rug has been chewed in two places. As for the perpetrator, I figure you already know. It’s too easy a guess. I love that rug which I bought many years ago at the Topsfield Fair. It will be difficult to replace. I’m already in mourning.

Life is slow. I have a dentist appointment this week and my usual uke lesson, and that’s it. I’m expecting no visitors. The cable guy has come and gone. He replaced the old box. We chatted a bit. He is originally from England. His father has had Covid twice but is okay. He and I agreed that we do miss spending time with people, face to face, but I am content.

My street is quiet. Nobody goes by the house either in a car or walking. My dogs are the only live noises I hear. Henry barks. Nala whines. They go and in out the dog door at will, even Henry. Both dogs love the snow. Maybe we should be more like the dogs and romp and gambol in the snow. Maybe we should build a fort or have a snowball fight. Follow the dogs. The dogs know joy.