Today is sunny and should get to almost 70°. It is another say goodbye to my sloth days as I have a list of chores. Top of the list is washing floors, the small floors, the bathroom floors. I also need to vacuum and water plants. I really hate to do housework yet here I am inundated with housework. I want a fairy godmother just like Cinderella’s who will grant me some wishes or maybe transform a few mice into cleaners. I’ve got the mice.

The other night on my way home from practice a coyote crossed the road in front to my car in a residential area. The coyote was small, smaller than my dogs, but he looked healthy. He was quick across the road. Today it was a rafter of wild turkeys, maybe 10 or 12. They were munching and paying no attention to the cars whizzing by them. The turkeys have been a common sight the last week or so.

Last night I played a slide show of my Ghanaian pictures. I took my time. The first picture I remember well. It was the morning after we had arrived in Ghana. I was on the second floor of the dorm in Winneba. I looked out and saw my first palm trees. I saw tin roofs atop houses, atop what I came to know as family compounds. The roofs were rusty. The compounds were clay. I think that is when I realized I was actually in Africa.

We stayed in Winneba two weeks. We were busy all day with informational lectures and intensive language training. We had a day of shots against anything and everything. Another day we went to greet the chief. At night we’d go across the street to a spot, a bar. We played whist mostly and drank Cokes. It was just a time to unwind. We were at this first place for two weeks. At the end of this phase of training and before the next, people left. I didn’t get it. Two weeks seemed such a short time to be in Africa, to experience a whole different culture and to feel the joy of living there.

When I was in the 8th grade, I followed the presidential election between Nixon and Kennedy. I went to Kennedy headquarters and got pins I proudly wore. He was an easy choice. Kennedy was from Massachusetts, of Irish descent and Catholic, all of which we shared. His religion became a problem which I didn’t really understand. He faced anti-Catholic bias being the first Catholic to run for the presidency. It was feared that he would be loyal to the Pope instead of to his country. He dispelled the fears. I watched the debates. I didn’t know much about all the topics. I learned a bit. I learned about Quemoy and Matsu. These many years later, those two places are still stuck in my memory drawers. I wish they would go away.

The weather is just about perfect. Fall is giving us her best. The days are sunny, bright and warm, in the 60’s. It is still short sleeve weather. The nights are down to the 50’s, usually perfect for sleeping, but I have two dogs in bed with me who radiate a lot of heat. I keep my bedroom window open.

The leaves are changing. A few trees in my backyard have red leaves with tinges of orange. My neighbor’s bush is all red. The cranberries are being harvested. Some newly harvested cranberries are already in stores packaged in plastic bags. I’m thinking whole berry cranberry sauce. I’ll have to get some.

Nala tried to steal my sugar pumpkins. They were on the floor near the door. I found the bigger one in the hall. I checked. No fairy godmother had turned it into a wheeled carriage. The other sugar pumpkin had migrated to the dining room. Luckily, they were too heavy for her to carry too far. I moved both of them. I got them at the farm stand yesterday. I also bought a large pumpkin for the outside steps and a multi-colored mum, also for outside. They are the perfect dressing for my stairs.

When I was a kid, choosing the right pumpkin to make a Jack-o-lantern took effort. I had to turn the pumpkin to make sure both sides were rounded and had no marks. It needed a stem, a long curved stem. After picking up and turning several pumpkins, I‘d find my pumpkin, bright orange, perfectly round and stemmed. When it was time to carve my pumpkin, my mother would cover the table with newspapers and set out the tools, a knife sharp enough to cut the pumpkin but not so sharp as to cut hands or fingers and a big spoon though I liked to use my hands to pull out the guts as we called them. I remember the strands of pumpkin studded with seeds hanging from my hand and fingers. It was wonderfully gross.

I always think of fall as the season of pies. The apples are out, so many different varieties, so many shades of red and green. When I saw them piled in the store, I thought of apple pies and apple tarts. My mother made great apples pies. The crust was browned and flaky. The top crust shined from the egg wash and the sugar crystals. The pie was tall, high with apples. My father warmed his and ate it with cheddar cheese. I liked my pie plain though sometimes I did top it with vanilla ice cream. Pies never lasted long in our house.