The morning is cloudy and damp. Light rain is predicted for most of the day though the sun seems to belie that. It broke through a short while ago. It is 53°. Yesterday I got registered for the dump. Give me an amen!! I went there and emptied my car of boxes and papers. Today I’ll load the car with trash bags and make another dump run. It will take more than a few trips to get rid of all the bags especially the really heavy bags I can’t lift. Those I’ll drag, a technique I’ve used often.

When I was a kid, I never cooked or baked. My mother did it all. I made sandwiches, my culinary delights. My favorite sandwiches were bologna sandwiches. My mother bought bologna in a roll which had to be cut into slices. My knife skills weren’t so great so my slices were odd, thin at one end and thick at the other. Luckily, the white bread was so pliable it molded itself around each end. I added mustard, plain old yellow mustard. My second favorite sandwich was a flutternutter. I made it with smooth peanut butter and Marshmallow Fluff. The brand of peanut butter didn’t matter. The Marshmallow Fluff did. It could only be fluff, never Marshmallow Cream. The difficult part of eating that sandwich was it oozed out of the sides. I never did find the perfect proportions.

My grandfather always ate his toast burned on purpose. I later found out the reason. My grandfather’s family had little money. His father had been murdered. His mother had to work. He and his sisters used to walk the train tracks to collect coal pieces which had fallen off the train. One of his sisters took care of them while his mother worked. There were no pop up toasters. On the toasters back then, the bread was loaded on two sides of the toaster where the coils were. Once one side was browned, you had to turn the bread to toast the other side. If you didn’t watch it for even the shortest time, the bread burned on one side. For my grandfather it was his usual breakfast, burned toast. It became comfort food.

Every morning in Ghana, I had the same breakfast, two eggs, coffee and toast. The food was cooked on a charcoal burner. My stove had no gas. The burner resembled a hibachi. A lot of fan action was necessary to get the coal burning exactly right. The eggs were cooked in peanut oil. They were delicious. The bread was toasted by putting it on the sides of the burner. You had to remember to turn the bread or it burned. My grandfather would have been delighted.

Spring has taken hold. It is already 61°. Outside my window, I can see the blue sky, the clouds and that beautiful sun. The air is still. I can hear the birds and their songs. My house is quiet. The dogs are napping. Nala is on the couch, and Henry is on my bed. I found a couple of branches in the living room. Last night Nala was on the couch chewing on a big pine cone. She was not pleased when I took it away, but she’ll forget soon enough.

The spring weather has changed my mood. I’ve stopped dragging my feet. I’m off the couch. I am getting chores done, stuff I’ve ignored for a while. Yesterday I picked up my laundry. Today I’ll put it away. I’m going to get my dump permit. There are bags of trash sitting on the deck and in the front. My car is filled with boxes and bags of newspapers. I’ll get rid of them today and starting tomorrow I’ll do a daily dump run. I’m also going to get those pansies.

Where I lived when I was a growing up was in what we called the project. It had duplexes on the hill and around the small rotary. Every house had kids, some older than I was but more younger. We used to roller skate on the sidewalks and on the always empty parking area at the top of the hill. We rode bikes down the hill. It was where I perfected biking with no hands. In winter, the hill was perfect for sledding. The swamp in the woods was where we often ice skated. I remember there were small channels of water leading to the big part of the swamp. When the water froze, we could follow the channels through the woods. What I remember is how clear the water was. I could see grass and small plants under the ice. The field below the houses was for summer, for grasshopper and firefly hunting, catch and release. The swamp was on the other side of it. Blueberry bushes were along one side the field. We’d pick them, not to save but to eat. I always thought the swamp, the field and the trees were magical.

Already I have had my uke practice, my lesson and one concert this week. The music book for the month is The Beatles. The concerts are fun to play.