The rain is gone. It is almost 70° but still cloudy though the sky is light from the sun hiding behind the clouds. The weather is fall perfect with warm days and nights in the 50’s. The leaves in my backyard have started to change. The prettiest yellowish red leaves are on one of the bushes over the deck. In the front yard, a few leaves have turned yellow. Yesterday the turkeys were out, and one mother had more already feathered babies than I have ever seen. Further down the road was a much smaller flock of full grown birds. They were all munching.

My family just left, my two sisters and my wonderful brother-in-law, Rod, the other half of the Colorado couple. They were not here for long, but it was the best visit. They got to see a uke concert. Rod loved it. They sang along with the Billy Joel, Elton John and Loggins and Messina music. We went out for a late lunch/early dinner then they hung around for a while here. We just came back from a late breakfast. They are now on their way north to Stoneham. The dogs were behaved well for company. Nala jumped a bit then calmed down. Henry allowed pats and lovings.

When I was a kid, I remember on the walk to school I could watch the leaves gently fall one by one to the sidewalk. They took their time fluttering to the ground. Always, the colored leaves fell first. I remember the sidewalk was strewn with yellow leaves, with piles for kicking into the air. I hated when the leaves got wet. They were soggy and turned brown. The school yard had lots of sand, left over from last winter’s yard clearing. It was never swept clean by the town trucks which swept the roads. I remember the truck’s giant brushes and the noise as the sand was pushed to the gutters. We had to be careful running on sand or we’d skid. Band-aid covered knees were common.

Fall suppers were always the same, potatoes, a vegetable and meat, often hamburger. We had Salisbury steak, hamburger dressed in gravy. I thought it was special. I loved mashed potatoes the most. We didn’t have French fries often in fall or winter. They seemed to go with summer, with burgers or hot dogs, except for Friday nights. We often had fish sticks with fries, the best meal out of the freezer.

My dance card is empty for the rest of the week. I do need to shop for a few items to hold me over until the big shopping. My list is complete. I think I just need to add Oreos, flavor yet to be decided.

Gee, just what we want, another cloudy, damp day. It is 61°, but I feel chilly. It is definitely inside sweatshirt weather, and I think I might need socks. The dogs are napping on the couch, Henry to my left and Nala behind me. She is keeping my backside warm. I’m going to get another cup of coffee.

When I was a kid, I thought my parents were sort of old, being parents and all. Actually, they were just about the youngest of all my friends’ parents. It was my grandparents who defined for me what old was. They set the standard. They looked old, walked old and dressed old. One grandmother even sounded old. I never thought about how it felt to be old. I was a kid. I just didn’t think about stuff like growing old, but now I know. What I leaned through time and find amazing is your inside belies your outside. When I look in the mirror, I see an old lady. I don’t need platitudes here about how I don’t look my age. My face is wrinkled. Those are not laugh lines. They have been etched by time. Through, my eyes, though, my view has not changed. It doesn’t age. It still gives me the same joy it did when I was young. I see bright color and dazzling light. I see the changes in seasons. I sit in the living room just to look at my Christmas tree all lit. What I see is what I have always seen. For that I am thankful.

I have never been one for dressing up, for fancy or frilly clothes. Besides, I have seldom gone anywhere where there is even an unspoken dress code. When I was a kid, I wore dungarees in winter and blouses all year long. I wore skirts and blouses to church. When I was a bit older, my dungarees gave way to pants. That was dressy to me. In Ghana I had to wear a dress every day. All women did. What made it easier was I had dresses made from colorful, beautiful Ghanaian cloth. Those I exclusively wore after my first 6 months or so. I loved shopping in the cloth market and the cloth stalls. In Lomé, Togo, I shopped at the Grand Marche for cloth. I remember I had to climb to the top floor, but the climb was worth it as the cloth was so different from Ghana’s. That was the only time in my life when I cared beyond what my clothes looked like. I chose so carefully the cloth they were made from.

I have my usual uke events but I have something exciting. My sister and brother-in-law from Colorado and my sister from Stoneham are coming tomorrow through Thursday. I can barely wait.