Today is Mother Nature’s thanks for abiding yesterday’s ugly day. It is sunny and warm, 74°. The humidity is just about gone. A light breeze is coming in through the window behind me, a north window. The day is wonderfully lovely.

I was lying in bed this morning trying to decide whether I would go back to sleep or get up when memories of my senior prom popped into my head. I thought it a strange memory to surface as it has been sitting way back in my memory drawers gathering dust, sixty-one years of dust. I have no idea what prompted it.

My mother and I shopped for my dress but didn’t find one I liked so she offered to make one for me. Though my mother had never sewn anything like a prom dress, I trusted her.

We went to Hyannis, to Buttrick’s, to find a pattern. I always thought of Buttriick’s as an old lady’s store. The window had mannequins wearing aprons and house dresses. I remember one section of the store had full and half slips and support hose. Anyway, we found the perfect dress pattern, a two piece dress with a straight bottom half. Next was the fabric store in South Yarmouth. The material I chose was lilac colored with brocade for the top and plain lilac for the bottom.

My mother sat on the living room floor to cut out the paper pattern pieces then she pinned the pieces to the dress material and cut around the pattern. The living room rug was covered in the pinned pieces. She sewed for days. The finished dress was gorgeous.

I invited a friend to be my prom date. We had been friends and co-conspirators since the eighth grade. He sent measurements, and my father reserved a tux locally for him, a white tux. My mother ordered the flowers. The day of the event I went to the beauty shop to have my hair done. Every chair in the shop was taken by one of my classmates. My hair was the style of the day. It was puffy on top with the little flip-ups on the bottom.

Getting dressed was almost a solemn occasion. I got into my dress then put on my tiara, my elbow length white gloves and my rabbit fur stole, also white. My mother took pictures. I have one of us standing in front of the fireplace. I remember the rain. My mother and father held a sheet over the two of us as we ran to the car, no limos in those days. We doubled with friends of mine. Our prom was at the Chatham Bars Inn, ritzy even back then but now a 5 star resort. The closest door was through the kitchen. The kitchen staff stopped to watch us as we walked through. The prom was perfect.

After the prom, we changed then went to a house party. The highlight of the party was a scavenger hunt. I remember two of the stops, one was at a cemetery where there was a clue at a certain gravestone. The other was at the principal’s house where we had to find out his middle name. It was Adolph.

It was so exciting being out late. Cars on the road were sparse. Houses were dark. I got home in the wee hours.

The humidity is oppressive. The air is so damp every surface feels a bit wet. A slight breeze just pushes around the thick air. The house is dark. Unsurprisingly, rain is predicted. It is 74° making the air feel a bit chilly. Tonight will again go down into the 60’s. June’s weather is quirky.

The dogs and I have a morning ritual. When I stir, they greet me with kisses. They get pats and scratches then leave to wait for me on the stairs. If I don’t come, they return to bed. If I do, we all go downstairs where they wait at the door for me to open it. I put the coffee on and get the newspaper. Yes, I still read the newspaper. I love reading it and doing all the word puzzles. When they are done outside, Henry waits at the door for me to open it, and Nala strolls in on her own. They get treats, a dog biscuit each and one other small treat. I take my coffee to the den and read the paper. The dogs nap. There is comfort in rituals.

I found The Mona Lisa disappointing. She was dark and tiny. David was impressive, every part of him. I was amazed to walk inside Notre Dame, but I was dazzled by the walls of stained glass windows in Sainte-Chapelle. They were jaw dropping. I had dinner at the Eiffel Tower. The views of the city from every window were amazing. Though the show was all in French, I enjoyed the music. It was winter when I arrived in Rio. Copacabana Beach was desolate. I took two cable cars to the summit of Sugarloaf Mountain in Brazil. From the top I could see the city and beyond. I remember seeing a submarine heading toward the harbor. Christ the Redeemer on Corcovado Mountain was exactly as I had hoped. It was the picture in my geography book of the back of the statue with its arms extended. The statue stood at the top of a tall mountain from which you could see Sugarloaf and the city spread below.

Africa never disappointed me. I think it was because I didn’t know what to expect, and everything I saw was like nothing I had ever seen before. The first morning after my arrival I stood outside my room on the second floor and could see the ocean, palm trees and family compounds with rusted metal roofs and smoke rising above them. I heard sounds I couldn’t identify. I could smell the thick greenery. Everything felt unreal, almost dreamlike. I stood there for a while taking in the first of what would be the most amazing experiences in my life.