Last night was chilly, down to 49°. Today is sunny but not much warmer, only 50°. It is most decidedly sweatshirt weather in the house. The dogs are snuggled beside me on the couch. They know comfort.

I didn’t publish yesterday. I have been under the weather most of the week so I took it easy to give myself time to moan and groan, the purview of the unwell. Yesterday was a better day so I hope the same for today.

When I was young, I wasn’t sick often, but if I was, my mother had a sick day regimen. She’d give us tea and dry toast or flat Coke for stomach upsets. Even now, I still associate tea with being sick. I’d spent the day in bed reading and napping. My mother would bring up a tray. I remember tomato soup for lunch. She made being sick sort of special.

My grammar school always had huge classes. The smallest was usually in the mid-40’s. The desks were crammed together so the aisles were narrow, and you had to walk sideways to move up and down the classroom. When you asked or answered a question, you had to stand up, and your hands could touch desks on each side. My desk was flush against the nun’s desk up front. I remember despite everything the rooms were well-ordered. Most of my classmates were quiet and paid attention. I have a copy of my eighth grade graduation picture. It was taken in front of the convent, now gone. Father Sexton, the pastor, was in the middle of us. We are over a hundred graduates. I am easy to find in the front row. I am wearing a fluffy dress.

We had to cover our text books. Rather than buy book covers, we made ours out of grocery bags. I still remember. I’d cut the bag open, put the opened book in the middle of the bag, trace around the book then cut out the cover. I’d fold each end then slide the book ends into the folds. Sometimes I had to tape the folds but mostly they held. The front of the books always had fold marks from the bag. Sometimes I’d use crayons and decorate the front covers. I was big into sun, grass and trees. I remember my sun always had rays.

I have a totally empty dance card until Tuesday. I do have trash in the trunk, but that can wait. My house is dog hair dusty, but I have become inured. I don’t see anything needing immediate attention. I do see a nap in my future. I am not psychic, just tired.

We have clouds. It is in the mid-50’s. The air has a chill about it, the way fall mornings do. We have a wind from the north, 20 to 35 mph. Everything is blowing, even the tallest branches on the backyard oak trees. So many trees are bare now and more will drop their leaves in today’s wind. Winter is on the doorstep.

When I travel, I try not to have too many expectations. I have learned that serendipity is around the next corner. When I was in Marrakesh, I walked through the souks, some days taking lefts and other days rights. One day a small boy asked me if I wanted to eat. I said yes. He led me through a furniture and rug store to the back where there was a restaurant. It was open to a garden filled with flowers. The floor and building around the garden were white. It was a lovely stop. I had Moroccan food which always included a dish of chopped tomatoes to scoop with bread. I had an amazing meal. It was so unexpected behind a furniture store. Also in Marrakesh, I was wandering through the Mellah, the Jewish quarter, when a man stopped and asked if I wanted to see the synagogue, the Lazama Synagogue. When I got there, a caretaker unlocked the door so I could walk inside. I was so thankful I had said yes to the man who found me wandering.

I have eaten food which had no pedigree, meaning I didn’t know what I was eating. Sometimes I had to point at pictures that looked good. Potatoes were easy to recognize, not so much the meat. I just took a chance. I did eat reindeer in Finland and Guinea pig in Ecuador. In Iceland I ate Icelandic game. I did recognize some sort of fowl but the rest was unknown. I just ate. It was delicious. In Ghana, during my live-in with a Ghanaian family, I was served meat in a sort of stew into which I dipped a gelatinous mixture using my hands, no utensils provided. The meat was fatty and bony. It tasted fine, but I was curious as to the sort of meat. Come to find out, it was goat. T-zed, tuo zaffi, the most commonly eaten food in the far north where I was staying, was the gelatinous mixture. I was not a big fan though I did eat it often. It was because I loved all the stews served with it.

I plan a broad outline before I travel to places I have never been before, but those plans tend to be fluid. I leave plenty of room for the unexpected, for serendipity. That adds richness to my travels. It expands my palate. It fills my memory drawers. It is the best part of traveling.