Last night was cold, down to 40°. This morning the house was really cold, 62°. I figured I had somehow gone back in time to early spring so I checked the calendar. It said June 2nd but sitting here in my sweatshirt with socks on my feet has made me skeptical.

My dance card has only two entries, my uke practice and lesson, no concerts. It will be a week of doing a few chores, really only a few, reading and finishing my jigsaw puzzle. I like lazy weeks.

My neighborhood is quiet. The kids are older now. The only sound I usually hear is the kid down the street shooting hoops and the sound of his basketball bouncing on the street and then hitting the rim. Henry is the loudest dog. He barks at every person who dares walk on his street or every truck which stops. Amazon, UPS and the mailman’s truck are, to Henry, the worst offenders. He barks constantly at them and scares most delivery persons trying to drop off a package at my house. The mornings are delightfully noisy with the songs of birds while, at night, insects rule the air. They are a welcome break to the silence.

When I was growing up, I lived in a noisy neighborhood. It was filled with kids. Most families had multiple kids. Summer was the loudest season. Doors slammed, kids played outside all day, dogs barked and mothers yelled out back doors. I was five when we moved to that neighborhood. Back then, our playgrounds were the field, the swamp and the woods on two sides of the field. The grass in the field was high, green in the spring, but it turned brown quickly under the summer sun. We hunted grasshoppers. We played tag and ran through the field chasing each other. We walked to the swamp. In the spring there were water lilies and tadpoles. In the summer dragon flies skimmed the top of the green water. Frogs jumped from half submerged tree branches into the water. We tried to catch the ones closest to the edge of the water, but they were too quick. We just got wet. A water tower was up a small hill close to the swamp. We always wished we could climb it so we could see the world from the top. It was probably a good thing we couldn’t. On the street behind the water tower was a field with a red barn and two grazing horses. We tried to catch them so we could ride. It was probably a good thing we couldn’t. Growing up, I never realized I lived in paradise.

After the last couple of days of rain, today is a welcomed change. The sun has decided to reappear and brought with it a blue sky, but it is only 55°. I’m wearing my hoodie.

This is not one of my better days. I feel logy despite my sloth days. I envision another day of reading, doing my puzzle and filling in my crossword book except I really need to water plants and vacuum the hall. This morning I bent over to pick up a dust ball with my coffee cup in hand. When I bent over, I tipped the cup and spilled the little coffee which was left. That is how the morning started.

My dance card is empty except for uke practice and my lesson. We are starting a new book, Across America, for the first two weeks of the month then we move on to John Denver. We are getting ready for our weekly concerts on the green starting the end of the month when we do a new book every week.

There is a picture of me from when I was about three years old. It was taken in my grandparents’ back yard. I am sitting in a fire engine which belonged to my brother. It seems to be still but my hands are on the steering wheel. What I like best about this picture is I am wearing a frilly dress, The frilliest parts are hanging outside the wagon. Those were my girly days.

When I was in college, my friends and I met every morning at the same table in the canteen. We had coffee together. We also did the crossword puzzle in the newspapers we had bought from the kiosk. It was a race. We’d go to classes but return to that table all day. We were merciless to each other in a fun way. If somebody talked on, we’d turn our backs or we’d pretend to fall asleep. We were close. When I was in Ghana, we wrote at first, but the letters got fewer and fewer. They were moving on while I was living a different life. We lost track of each other. I saw them only a couple of times after I got home and not again. It has been over 50 years since those canteen days. I wonder about them now. Where are they? How were their lives? Are they happy? I still drink my coffee and do the crossword puzzle every day. I have found that pieces of my life through time stay with me. They are a part of who I have become.