The morning is perfect. The sky is that deep blue which almost defies description, the sun is bright, and there is a slight breeze. When I asked Alexa the weather for today, she said light showers. I didn’t believe her given the beauty of the morning so I asked Google the same question. Google said cloudy with light rain. He got the cloudy part wrong, but he did agree with Miss Alexa about the showers. It is 63°.

I took Henry to the vet’s on Tuesday to have his leg checked. He has been limping on his right front leg. The vet checked his paw and felt all round his leg then she took him out back so she would watch him walk. When she came back, she did he did not limp at all. I was a bit flabbergasted. She gave him pain pills and told me to use them at my discretion. When we got home, Henry limped to the house. He is still limping.

When I was a kid, every day was just about the same. I had breakfast, hot cereal or eggs in winter and cold cereal in the warmer months. Breakfast was always ready on school days when I got down stairs to the kitchen. I didn’t have to choose school clothes. I wore the same uniform, a blue skirt, white blouse and a blue cowboy tie, for eight years. My only fashion flairs were shoes and socks. Mostly my shoes were sturdy and meant to last all year unless I grew out of them or something catastrophic happened. It never did. On cold days I wore knee socks, on warm days, ankle socks. I never complained about having to wear a uniform. That was just the way it was, the norm when I was a kid, just because.

My plate was expanded when I went to Ghana. It wasn’t just Ghanaian food. It was also Lebanese food and Indian food. I remember thinking how exotic the Maharaja restaurant was to me, whose only foray into exotic food was spaghetti and meatballs and fried rice, Chinese spare ribs and pork strips. The restaurant was on the second floor of a building near the post office. It was decorated exactly how I had imagined an Indian restaurant should look like. We sat on floor pillows. I don’t even remember what I ate. I do know I developed a taste for Indian food. Small corner Lebanese restaurants were common in Ghana. I used to eat at a place called Talahl’s, right near the Peace Corps office. That was the first time I ever had hummus. I never asked what was in it. I just tried it. The hummus was served in a circle on a flat plate. It had a small amount of sesame oil in the middle and was ringed with red pepper. The pita bread was large and freshly made. I remember being told to take a piece of bread and scoop it through the hummus after running it through the oil and making sure it got some pepper. I still love hummus. I’m not so sure if I would have eaten it if I knew about the chickpeas and tahini.

After all the rain, this beautiful morning is welcome. The bright green leaves are brilliant in the brightness of the sun. The flowers in the front yard, the blues and the whites, are striking. It is already 71°. I can taste summer.

When I was a kid, a day like today was my favorite sort of day. Walking to school in the warmth of the sun gave me the energy to face the grueling day ahead. I remember the trees with their overhanging branches filled with leaves. The houses along the sidewalk were old. Some had porches. Ivy climbed the walls. Along the way there were still railroad tracks crossing the road and continuing out of sight on both sides of the road. We used to jump over them. I remember the station master’s house. I always thought it would have been a great place to live. I’d get to hear the trains pass and watch the bar come down to stop the cars. On one side of the street was a long grass hill, part of the landscaping of the old brick high school. Before we got to our school, we could see part of the convent, the little building with the stone front. The convent was huge with so many windows in the front. We knew those windows were in the nuns’ rooms. I always imagined those rooms were stark with a bed, a bureau and a cross on the wall. Across the street from the convent was my school.

When I graduated from the eighth grade, we had a class picture taken. We sat in front of the convent. Many years later I found that picture. It was rolled, and the picture cracked when I unrolled it. I decided I wanted to save it so I took it to a photography shop where a copy was made and mounted for hanging. I see it every day. It is over the sink in my downstairs bathroom. That probably sounds like an odd spot for a school picture, but my bathroom has sorts of school stuff including a small rolled desk where I keep soap and hand towels. The room even has a blackboard. Ding Dong school artifacts are on the side of the sink and under the blackboard. On the walls are old class pictures and diplomas I bought. I don’t know anyone in the pictures or any of the names on the diplomas. I chose the school theme as something unexpected for the bathroom.

I have to miss my concert today to take Henry to the vet’s to check his leg, but not to worry, I have two more concerts this week and the usual practice and lesson. Uke events again are the only entries on my dance card.