The rain came early and stayed all night. The morning is dreary and dark. It is warm at 53˚. Intermittent showers are predicted. My kitchen floor has Henry’s dirty paw prints from the door to the hall. I washed the floor once then it rained again. I’ll wait for a bit of sun before I wash the floor again even though the dirty floor drives me crazy. I’ll just have to close my eyes when I near the kitchen.

Everything is still. Everything is calm. The breeze is so slight it moves only the smallest branches.

The snow is almost gone from my backyard, and half the front lawn is down to grass. My neighborhood has no sewers for drainage so flooding is always a possibility. Tonight will get down to the 20’s, freezing all the wet spots. Black ice is the worse.

Yesterday was delivery day for human food. Today will be delivery day for animal food. Agway is due later. I’m even thinking of treating myself to delivery for dinner.

Every time I hear the rain beating the roof I smile and give thanks. In other parts of the country, they have been inundated with snow. I feel bad for those places which never see snow. Driving on it without experience can be perilous.

Naming snow storms seems a bit silly, but my research found, according to the Weather Channel, that naming the storms makes communication about them easier. Okay, but my local channels just call them snow storms.

When I was a kid, I would have hated the rain washing away the snow, but I would have loved the rain if it was followed by a freeze. Sledding after the storm was down icy hills. I loved the speed, but at the bottom of the hill, I’d try to steer into a plow bank because stopping was nearly impossible on the ice. It was both dangerous and exciting.

Today is warm but only in comparison. It is 37˚. The icicles are melting. The roads are wet. That horrific dangerous ice storm is heading this way, east, but not for me. Rain is predicted. The next storm is right behind this one. It will start as snow here on the cape then turn to rain. There might just be a thunderstorm. I hope so. I need the drama.

When I was a kid, Washington’s Birthday on February 22nd was within my winter vacation week, my least favorite vacation week. It was cold and not so snowy that we could go sledding. Any snow left on the ground was old, and nothing looks worse than old snow. I remember the piles of snow left on the corners of the streets by the plows melted slowly and lasted into spring, but they were blackish from road dirt. I rode my bike if I could, if it was warm enough. My friends and I ice skated sometimes on the swamp and other times at Recreational Park where every winter an ice skating rink was erected by the town. I dropped into the library. On the coldest days, I stayed inside.

That week passed slowly when I was a kid. When I was older, it wasn’t near long enough. My friends and I bowled, wandered Harvard Square, saw a movie, sometimes rambled or we just hung around together. That was the most fun.

My plan for today is simple. I am a sloth, and I am just fine with that. It seems I have become quite adept at doing nothing.