I’m not missing winter weather at all. I know some people–I’m even related to one–who feel the year would be incomplete without winter, but I am not, as it turns out, among those. I am perfectly content without winter.

I am missing a few things. Top of the list would be my friends and neighbors. Although technology makes it easy to keep up, and to some extent I do, casual outings, last minute symphony tickets, and serendipitous encounters in Griggs Park are just over. We are starting to make some friends here, but we are not at the level we were in Massachusetts, and possibly never will be. Nor would I want to in any sense replace my friends from there.

I miss my children a little. They had already launched, and I feel close to both, and we stay in contact, and they were here for the holidays. But I do feel the expanse of the continent between us. Neither will be popping in for a weekend unexpectedly.

I’ve missed the BSO all season, and am missing Tanglewood in advance. We have a Santa Cruz symphony, but it is not the BSO, although Yuja Wang will be soloing next performance. We are looking forward to hearing the San Francisco Symphony in Davies Hall for the first time in February, with tickets behind the violin section, but it will never be a subway ride away. I have been mooning over the Tanglewood schedule. TW may not be unique, but it is very special, and I don’t know if we will be there at all this year.

I miss Speedpass. There’s only one Mobil station in Santa Cruz, and it doesn’t accept Speedpass. Considering my professed disdain for corporations, I should be overjoyed to be rid of Exxon-Mobil, which is not even one of the palatable ones. But I confess, I am enamored of the swipe.

I miss Wegman’s, more than I would have thought possible. I have to go to so many grocery stores now, and still I can’t find everything I need*. Wegman’s had it all, plus catering, plus the people who worked there were super nice. I don’t even like the place I get my prescriptions filled here.

My husband shared a story about a woman who remembered her late grandmother lovingly for decades, until she visited the woman’s grave and realized her grandmother had died before she was born. I recently read a similar story of a woman who remembered details of her father reading a certain children’s classic to her, then found out it hadn’t been written until after his death. So maybe I don’t actually miss any of this? Life is but a dream.

• One example: There is just no dried cilantro in California. It doesn’t exist. Bill brought some back when he was in Massachusetts in December.