The clouds are getting darker, but rain is not predicted, just clouds and cold. The high today will only be in the low 30’s with a wind making it feel colder. The low will be in the teens. I guess winter is reminding us this is his time. I’ll let him have it. Meanwhile, I’m going nowhere.

I have been especially industrious. Last night I washed the kitchen floor. I just couldn’t take the paw prints. My sensibilities cringed. I also brought boxes and a trash bag to the car. This morning I changed my bed. I’m working my way up to the dreaded laundry.

Bananas are probably my favorite fruit. On the road, in iffy spots, they are pretty safe to eat having a peel and all. They travel well. My Rice Krispies rise to a new level when banana slices are added. I haven’t had banana pudding in a long while, but I remember the taste and the silkiness of the custard. Bananas are my favorite start of the day. Both dogs love bananas. I give them each a piece from mine when I’m feeling especially generous. Henry usually blows bubbles around his mouth while he’s waiting for his. It is both gross and humorous.

When I was a kid, I wore uniforms to school so my wardrobe was a bit skimpy. I had a few skirts and a dress or two, Sunday clothes and play clothes. I had school shoes which doubled as church shoes, and I had play shoes, usually sneakers, always low rise, white tennis sneakers. In the summer it was shorts, Bermuda shorts, and a blouse, usually sleeveless. As proof that life goes full circle, I have a skimpy wardrobe again though I have far more pairs of shoes.

The most clothes I ever owned at one time were when I lived in Ghana where I had to wear dresses all the time and everywhere except in my own house and yard. The wife of a teacher who lived next door was a seamstress, and she made my dresses, all of which were sewn with Ghanaian cloth. Traveling had its difficulties. Pit stops were exactly that, but wearing a dress made it easier to squat. Not that I went to fancy places, but I was dressed for them anyway. I do remember during training I went to Accra with one of the staff members. We went to a bar. It was in an area in Accra I didn’t know existed where there were casinos, fancy hotels and restaurants. We played liar’s dice at the bar with the owner. In that game, winning is losing. I was perfectly dressed.

My dance card remains pristine. I did acknowledge the new week by changing my flannel pants for a new pair I just got on sale. The rest of my uniform remains the same: a tee shirt under a sweatshirt, socks and slippers. It’s a good thing I don’t expect company.

Today is an ugly day but a warm day. It is 45˚. I can hear the melting drops of snow dripping off the roof and hitting the deck. The dogs come in wet from running around the backyard soaked from melting snow. The steps are clear in the front and in the back. We had sun, but it was only a tease for a little while. Showers are predicted for later today so the clouds have moved in and taken over.

The wind is so strong I could feel the breeze blowing through the dog door up the hall. I closed the door. About five minutes later both dogs wanted out. I opened the door. They poked their heads out but stayed in the house. I think it was a test to determine their hold over me. They backed into the house and went down the hall. I got their tail ends. I hope that wasn’t a political statement.

The sun showed up a few minutes ago. All of a sudden the clouds lightened. I can see and hear the melted drops falling fast outside the den window. The sound is constant as if it were raining. The wind is still strong. The few brown oak leaves still on the trees are losing their battle with the wind.

My father cooked Sunday breakfast when I’d visit for the weekend. He’d always ask how I wanted my eggs cooked. I usually said over-easy. I loved dipping into the yolk with the toast. My father always started with the bacon. He cooked it in the cast iron frying pan. The eggs were next. They cooked in the bacon grease and were delicious. I always chose the rye bread for my toast. My father never broke the yolks.

When I was young, Chinese food was exotic. The only ethnic food we ate was spaghetti and meatballs. I remember my first foray into strange dining. We were visiting my aunt, the aunt whose husband owned the fish market. She served us spaghetti with clam sauce. It wasn’t red. It didn’t have meatballs. It had pieces of clams and a few clamshells with cooked inhabitants. I liked clams, and I liked spaghetti but wasn’t so sure they went together, but I was game. I was also surprised. It was tasty.