The sun is on hiatus. We have clouds, and rain is expected this afternoon. It is warmish, in the high 50’s, where it will stay, even tonight. Nothing is moving in the still air. It is Sunday quiet.

I’m considering tours to my upstairs. I washed and waxed the bathroom floor, the hall and down the stairs. Everything is shiny bright. I don’t know how all of that started. All of a sudden I was sweeping the floors, washing the floors then spreading floor wax. Today I wanted to continue with my mad behavior on the floors down here, but the rain is a perfect reason to let my sloth hold sway.

When I was growing up, my favorite Sunday dinner was roast beef. We didn’t have it often so it felt special. My mother cooked it medium well but there was always a hint of red in the middle. She covered the top with onions slices which browned in the oven and were always coveted. Roast beef demanded mashed potatoes slathered in gravy. My mother made great gravy, always smooth and thick. I remember it pouring out of the gravy boat. We had a couple of vegetables, often peas and corn, niblet corn. For dinner, we sat at the table together, my father at the head. My mother sat but more often hovered.

I carried the Sunday dinner ritual with me to Ghana. It was special. We ate local food bought from a chop bar in the lorry park. The chop bars were lined up on one side of the lorry park. They were small buildings with inside, uneven tables or two which tottered and with mismatched chairs or benches. The cooking was done in the back. We always did take-out. We’d bring two pots, one for the fufu and the other for the soup, and carefully bungee them to the backs of our motos. We had learned to eat Ghanaian food with our fingers, our right handed fingers. The technique was to pull off a piece of fufu then drag it through the soup. My favorite was okro soup, as they call it in Ghana. I didn’t even know okra existed until Ghana. Often we would buy a Cadbury chocolate bar and a Coke to make Sunday even more special. The DPW had a store around the corner where we bought our goodies.

Now, I sometimes cook dinner for myself but mostly I scavenge from what is in the fridge. Today I have some sliced ham and in the counter basket, a sweet potato. I also have some peas. Sounds like dinner to me.

It is a bright, sunny day. Fall warmth will continue today. The high should be 68°. That means deck weather with a good book and a cup of coffee. The dogs stay out longer in this weather. Nala lies in the sun while Henry sniffs and wanders the yard.

Saturday has always been my favorite day of the week. When I was a kid, it was my day to wander, to bike ride even as far as the zoo, to see a movie or ice skate. When I was older, my friends and I usually spent the evening together. We’d bowl, or sit around and play board games, go miniature golfing and sometimes even go to a nighttime movie. When we became mobile, we go to the drive-in or drag our toboggan to go sledding. In Ghana, I’d go to town where I’d shop at the market hoping for some finds or to buy cloth. I’d stop for lunch at the Hotel d’Bull, the hot spot in town. Kebabs were cheap, and the hotel always had cold Coke, a rarity. When I was teaching, I never did school work on a Saturday. I didn’t correct papers or prepare lessons. It was my official day off. Sometimes my friends and I would get together for dinner or games or just to spend time with each other. Since I’ve been retired, I always say every day is Saturday.

I finally got my Oreos. I decided to forego the traditional, was brave and went with the Halloween orange cream. The package glows in the dark. I mean, really, who can pass up a glow in the dark Oreo package?

I went to St. Patrick’s Grammar School from grade one to grade eight. I never went to kindergarten. No one I knew did. Almost everyone in my neighborhood went to St. Pat’s. The East School was the nearest public school, but I never expected to go there. St. Pat’s was an old brick building. It had opened in 1910. The Sisters of Providence started teaching there at the start and were still there when I went into first grade. I found the nuns intimidating. I think it was their black habits which covered everything except their faces and hands. They didn’t seem like regular people. They were nuns, their own category.

Last night my neighbor’s back light was on but not their house lights. My lights were all on, the string of white lights on the deck rail and the lights in my house. All the other houses were dark. I stood on the deck for a bit when the dogs last went out. The night wasn’t quiet. I could hear crickets. There was a bit of a chill in the air but my sweatshirt was enough. It got colder by the time I went to bed. Each day has been similar, warm during the day and chilly at night. Soon enough chilly will be the weather every day.