The morning is lending itself to leisure. I’ve done all the newspaper puzzles, had a couple of cups of coffee and two pieces of toast, the heels from my last loaf. I then read the mail from the last couple of days and turned on a movie, 1956’s Indestructible Man. It is so bad it is good.

Earlier was cloudy, but now we have a combo of clouds, the sun and some blue sky. Last night was cold, but the morning is warmer, in the low 40’s. Tonight will get cold again.

The other day I replaced the finished toilet paper roll in the upstairs bathroom. That gave rise to the oft debated question of toilet paper, over or under. I prefer over. My mind then looped and didn’t stop there. It jumped to another question. I wondered about paper towel rolls. They go over, always over. Why is there no controversy?

When I was a kid, my father always went crazy if one of us left a dirty glass on the counter or an empty roll of toilet paper in the bathroom. He used to yell and call the perpetrator lazy for not washing out the glass and putting it in the sink. The toilet paper was stored in the linen closet. That was the excuse. He was right about lazy.

This is spring break week. We never went anywhere as my father worked. His vacation was always in the summer. We had to entertain ourselves. Every day was like a Saturday. We rode bikes. I usually went to the library at least once. I sometimes stayed home and read or watched TV. I don’t remember being bored.

In Ghana I lived alone on the school grounds on one side of a brand new duplex. At first it was difficult. I was homesick, my students didn’t understand my English and I was lonely. I had no one to talk to about how I felt. I wrote letters, not the newsy life in Ghana letters but ones where I poured out my feelings, my sadness, my loneliness. After I’d finished the letter, I’d tear it up. I never send a single one. I didn’t want my parents to know what was happening. I just needed to write those feelings down. After a few months, I didn’t need to write those letters any more. I only wrote newsy letters. I felt connected. I felt at home.

My dance card has only uke events this week, practice, my lesson and two concerts. We are still working on The Beatles book and also now on Jimmy Buffett.

(Side Note: Just in case you run into him, the Indestructible Man can be killed with a bazooka and a flame thrower. Arm yourself accordingly.)

My heat came on this morning. Last night got down to the mid 30’s. Right now it is in the mid-40’s. This same weather pattern is predicted for the next few days.

It is a pretty morning. The sun is bright and glints through the trees. The sky is deep blue. The air is still. The only clouds are puffy and white. What I find surprising is the prediction for this afternoon, rain. I expect more clouds, grey clouds.

I have favorites memories. Some of them date back to when I was a kid. I think of winter and flying down the snowy hill on my sled and of summer and flying down that same hill but on my bike. I loved all the Christmas preparations, the Advent calendar, the tree in the corner ready to be decorated, sugar cookies, the Sears wish book and the house windows with lit candles breaking through the winter darkness. I loved summer and a Sunday at the beach where my mother’s peppers and eggs were my favorite beach food.

I remember my very first plane ride. It was Hyannis to Boston on an old prop plane. It was a gift in my Easter basket. On the plane, you could see the pilots and the walkway to the seats went up hill. We flew over the coast and the ocean. It was a spectacular ride.

In Ghana, I made a memory every day. Every morning felt new. I woke up to the crowing of roosters. I loved my students and my school. I ate food I’d never of before Ghana. I traveled West Africa and felt comfortable. I remember my friends and I landed at the airport in Ouagadougou very late at night, no taxis available. We slept on benches. In the morning when I woke up, I saw the cleaners waiting with their mops and brooms until we woke up. They didn’t want to disturb us. My favorite memory is of the night soil man. I was sitting in the outhouse when I heard a noise below me. I stood up. A face appeared in the hole. He greeted me, “Hello, madam,” then grabbed the bucket to empty it.

I’ve ridden in a glider, a hot air balloon, a helicopter, a mammy lorry, a train in the Andes, a boat across Lake Titicaca and another boat on a three day trip on the Paraná River where only one other person spoke English. I stood on the Equator. I saw a cathedral in a salt mine. I rode a camel in the Sahara. One of my funniest memories was in Niamey, Niger. My friends and I got separated. I found a hotel. It turned out to be a brothel. I heard footsteps all night and knocking on doors. I didn’t sleep at all.

I have more memories, but this musing is long enough.