*

Mrs. Thompson lived in a little house on Ridgewood Avenue.

Her backyard bordered the driveway my family shared with our next-door neighbor.

The cemented area between our garages doubled as a whiffle ball diamond in the summer and a basketball court in the winter.

Because there was only a low hedge of bushes between our play and Mrs. Thompson’s yard, we regularly trespassed to retrieve one ball or another.

Mrs. Thompson was a small, stooped woman.

Often outside working in her garden.

She always wore a sweater.

Even in the summer.

I don’t know if she was ever married. Or had children.

I do know she never complained about us darting into her yard.

Not like Mrs. Weinswag.

She lived up our street.

And was protected from our stray balls.

But not from an occasional wet newspaper.

That I delivered.

After a few complaints, my mother told her to put the wet paper in the oven. Like mom did after I trudged up the street to exchange our dry paper for crabby Weinswag’s wet one.

Every Thursday night, I collected money from my 44 Times-Democrat newspaper customers.

Mrs. Weinswag never let me inside her house.

Mrs. Thompson always did.

Her house was warm.

Hot to a kid.

But cozy.

Mrs. Thompson died soon after I stopped being a paperboy.

*

I’ve been thinking about her lately, as I, at 73:

Replace my cotton sweaters with wool ones.

Nudge our house temperature to 75.

Investigate a warm destination for next January.

And purchase battery-warmed gloves.

About the gloves, I have Raynaud’s condition. You can read about it here. Below is a helpful diagram.

Two years ago, Rebecca and I started snowshoeing. In the first season, my hands got uncomfortably cold after 30 minutes of walking.

For season two, I purchased heavy wool mittens.

No difference. When I took my hands out of the mittens, they were bright red.

For this year, the temperature-controlled gloves you see in the photo.

*

Isn’t it funny how people you meet when you’re a kid teach you lessons when you don’t even know you are in school?

As the earth is warming, I’m getting colder.

Like Mrs. Thompson.