Such a lovely day! It is 72° and sunny. Last night it rained for a bit, little enough the dogs didn’t mind. I didn’t hear the rain. It was only Nala’s wet coat which let me know. This has been a slow morning. My TV keeps losing the Wi-Fi network, and it constantly buffers. I spent a while trying to figure out how to fix it. I was all over the place following suggestions. I hope I found the answer. If I haven’t, you’ll hear me screaming, even a few obscenities.

I just don’t want to do anything today, but I have to go out. My trunk already has some trash, and I need to add more then I’ll be off to the dump. I have no bread and Jack needs canned food. That means a stop at the grocery store. I’m not happy, but each is necessary. I miss my morning toast and Jack loves his canned food.

I have moments that fill my memory drawers. Some I could label surprises, happenings I didn’t expect or imagine. Others had always been wishes, some even expectations. I have images, pictures saved in their own drawers. They make me smile. They help me remember.

I think every Christmas of my childhood is in those drawers. I don’t remember ever being disappointed. I remember when I got my bike. I took it out on Christmas morning. We have a picture of me standing with it by the steps. My grin is almost too wide for the picture. I remember my first transistor radio. I can still see it in my mind’s eye. One Christmas, when I was maybe ten, I got this great new outfit of a skirt and fluffy sweater. I also got a gold medallion on a gold chain. I put everything on as soon as I opened it. I wore it to church that Christmas morning. I wanted everyone to notice. So many more Christmases are crammed into those drawers. Some are from when I was older. One of my favorites is my first Christmas in Ghana. I thought being away from home at Christmas would be the worst. It wasn’t.

My dad drove up Mount Washington. I remember looking over the side at how far up we were. I remember taking pause and being nervous when a car driving by our car on the inside of the road passed us. I remember how cold it was on top of the mountain. The hairpin turn on the Mohawk Trail was amazing. I kept looking out the back window to see where we’d been. The Eisenhower Locks are in one memory drawer. I watched as a ship went through. Later, the Panama Canal reminded me of that lock. My own travels fill drawer after drawer. First was Africa. I never thought I’d travel to Africa. I hold on so tightly to those years, to all the memories. I did Europe. That seemed a rite of passage for my generation. You had to include a backpack.

I have to stop here or I’ll go on forever.

Mother Nature has generously given us another summer’s day. It is already 75° with a bright sun and a few light clouds. We have a breeze. The weatherman says rain tonight.

When I was in the first grade, I had a stern nun, Sister Redempta. She scared all of us not only by her manner but also by her habit, all that black. On the Lone Ranger, bad guys wore black hats. We could see only her face and hands. She wore a rosary around her waist which made noise when she walked. When she spoke, we listened. None of us dared to speak out of turn. She’d have us fold our hands together in the middle of the desk. That was like calling us to attention. We used to have to stand up to talk, to answer questions. It was always, “Yes, sister. No, sister.” I think army basic training must be similar. We even wore uniforms though ours in the first grade were a bit different. Our skirts had over the shoulder straps. I still have my first grade school picture. I’m smiling. What is striking about it are my teeth. The two front teeth go in different directions. I’d get braces in second grade and in that school picture I’m not smiling. I’m hiding my braces. They weren’t so common back then. Luckily, metal mouth hadn’t yet hit playground taunting.

When I was a kid, I never liked tomatoes. I liked tomato soup and spaghetti sauce but not raw tomatoes, especially the hard ones from the grocery store. In Ghana onions and tomatoes were plentiful in the market. I didn’t eat them raw then either. They were sauce, almost a stew, in which the tough beef cooked for a long time to soften. I never ate a tomato in a sandwich. My subs were tomato less, lots of onions and hot peppers, but no tomatoes. I’d take them out of a burger from Carroll’s. I don’t know when my tastes changed. I’d add them to sandwiches and stopped picking them out of salads. Homegrown tomatoes are the stuff of legends. Small tables in front of houses by August are filled with tomatoes for sale. I keep small bills and change in the car so I can stop and buy them. A BLT toasted and slathered with mayo is a taste of heaven.

The morning is fairly quiet. Only Henry is noisy. He’s been barking. I have stopped checking why. Nala is spread out on the couch beside me. I do hear birds and occasionally a car. I have a concert this afternoon. I also need bread and cat food. I’ll join the world for just a little while.