Posted tagged ‘flurries’

“Shut the door not that it lets in the cold but that it lets out the coziness.”

February 16, 2017

Last night we had a sprinkling of snow, less than an inch. The sun was out when I woke up but has since given way to clouds. The melting has stopped. Cold is creeping in, and it is down to 32˚. We’ll have flurries today.

Yesterday it poured most of the day. Gracie and I went to the dump, and, of course, it started to rain just then. I got wet.

I’m ignoring my lists. The last few days I have been lazy and have crossed off nothing, except the trash and the dump from Saturday’s list.

Winter is a time for hibernation, and I think I’m hibernating in my own way. My days are routine. I mostly stay inside. I find ways to keep myself occupied. I watch TV. I read, and every now and then I randomly clean. I live in my comfy clothes. Afternoon naps are common. The phone rings and strange phone numbers from all over the country appear in the corner of my TV. I don’t ever answer, and they don’t ever leave a message. They interrupt my naps.

Spring training has started. The Globe is filled with baseball stories. I read them all. Thoughts of baseball conjure green grass, warm days and steamed hot dogs.

I hate commercials, but I don’t hate them all equally. Some I hate more than others. The Dole fruit cup commercial where the haughty woman says to her husband, “Oh, they are drainers,” is the worst. She looks at the other couple as if they are plague carriers instead of drinkers of sweetened fruit juice. I change the station.

The catalogs stopped for a while, after the Christmas sales were over, but now they’re back. Some I toss right away into the recycle bag. Others I thumb through hoping to find a treasure.

It’s time for lunch: chicken noodle soup from one of my favorite places, Spinners. The soup is perfect for a cold winter’s day. It warms the innards.

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“Hobbies take place in the cellar and smell of airplane glue.”

February 13, 2016

The sun was shining and the sky was blue but I blinked. When I looked again, the sky had turned grey, a white ominous grey, and the sun had escaped to warmer climes. I hyperventilated when I read today’s weather report. The high will be 24˚ and the low tonight will be 1˚. No, I didn’t forget a number. 1˚ is the prediction. Snow squalls are also predicted. The walkway and the car were covered in about an inch of snow when I went to get the paper. Tonight we’ll have flurries and another inch of snow. Tomorrow will be basking weather. It will be 16˚ during the day and 10˚ at night with more flurries to add to the excitement. The ocean is the warmest place around here at 40˚.

I don’t remember if my mother made us stay inside on really cold days. I know we usually walked uptown to the movie theater on Saturdays, but maybe, with single digit temperatures, my dad offered to drive us. He was going up town anyway. He had Saturday rituals. I know we always walked to and from school no matter the temperature. We could have adopted the unofficial postal creed minus the gloom of night part.

When I couldn’t go out, I’d play in the cellar. It was a big cellar divided by the stairs with a landing at the bottom. I remember being a cowgirl. The newel post was my horse. The bannister held the reins. I’d saddle my horse by putting old blankets on the newel post top and then I’d chase the bad guys. They were always caught. Bad guys had no chance with me riding Old Blue.

The sun shined through the small cellar windows high up on the concrete of the wall. I remember the rays sparkled. I’d learn later it was really just dust in the air highlighted by the light from those small windows. Sometimes the cellar was the only peaceful part of the house.

“I see great things in baseball.”

February 19, 2015

The sun has appeared. The ice and snow are actually melting. How lucky for us it will get cold again tonight and all that water will freeze. We are on a treadmill. Last night there were flurries. Tomorrow night will be the coldest night yet. If I go to a dictionary to look up winter, I’m going to see a picture of the pile of snow at the corner of my street, the icicles on my house and my car stuck trying to get up the hill. Winter has been redefined this year.

Gracie and I are going out later. I need cream for my coffee and cat food. I also need food for my soul. I’m thinking of my favorite sandwich and a whoopie pie. We are going to the dump first as we never made it last week with all the snow. Gracie will be glad. Me, not so much.

I seem to be talking to myself a whole lot more since my involuntary hibernation, but I am not yet hearing responses. I figure if I do, I’m probably too far along the crazy spectrum to find it peculiar. I might even enjoy it.

My inside winter uniform never changes style. I wear socks, slippers (alternating between my two pairs), a t-shirt with a sweatshirt over it and kick around the house pants, mostly flannel. I am not dressed for company, but I don’t worry as I don’t expect any. I am wearing my Red Sox sweatshirt, the most hopeful sweatshirt I own. It speaks of spring and summer, a reminder that someday Fenway will be clear of snow, hawkers will be selling Fenway franks, and we’ll be hearing the crack of the bat hitting the ball and maybe, just maybe, watching the ball sail over the Green Monster.

“Hope is the thing with feathers-That perches in the soul..” I always think Emily Dickinson is right and her description perfect.