I have been absent the last couple of days, Sunday to see a play and yesterday because my iPad would not charge. Overnight it did charge so here I am.

Yesterday was the most amazing day. It was spring with everything spring brings. It was warm, dare I say hot. The sun was bright and shined on everything. The sky was an extraordinary color of blue. The dogs and I were energized. They zoomed the yard then Nala just sat on the deck taking in the sun. Henry roamed the yard. He never zooms. I finished tasks. It was a wonderful day.

The dogs are having their morning naps. Henry is right beside Nala with his head resting on her back. She doesn’t care. She is sound asleep. These dogs feel entitled, my fault. Nala rings doggie bells to go out. Henry keeps whacking the dog door to come in. They follow me to the kitchen. They sleep on my bed, keep in mind both dogs are over 65 pounds, and I have a double bed, an old double bed. Nala watches the microwave. They watch me eat hoping for a tidbit. I am a sucker for these dogs.

When I was a kid, Duke, our boxer, was not allowed on the furniture. He slept on the floor, usually on a rug. To get away from the no furniture rule, he’d stand on his back feet and stretch the rest of him across the bed or couch. He slept on the couch at night but jumped off before he’d get caught. We could hear him, but he was too quick. Some mornings he’d follow kids to school despite my father calling him over and over. He’d turn and look at my father then take off in the opposite direction. That infuriated my father who’d jump into his car and give chase. We rooted for Duke.

Today is another spring-like day. It is 50°. My yard needs heavy duty spring cleaning. Both the front and back yards are still filled with fallen limbs and branches. The snow is mostly gone except for small piles under the backyard trees and along the plow route. Nala is a happy dog. She brings in small branches and carries them about the house as if they are trophies. I’m forever stepping on small pieces of chewed branches that blend with the rug. She also brings in pine cones. I step on those too.

My dance card is sort of empty for the week. I saw my friend in a play on Sunday, zoomed uke practice last night, and I have my lesson and only concert for the week tomorrow. It is a quiet week.

When I first let the dogs out, it was foggy. I love fog. It always looks and feels eerie as if creatures are hiding and roaming unseen. I can imagine the sound of the shuffle of their feet as they walk.

Today will be cloudy but warm with a high of 47°. A few tall branches are swaying a bit but the rest of the trees are quiet, still. I don’t hear birds or cars or people. The dogs are napping on the couch. Jack is quiet. He likes to nap in front of the register in the guest room. I put an afghan down so he’d be comfortable. When I go up stairs, Jack comes out for some loving. His fur is usually warm. Cats know how to live.

I don’t drink just milk. I use it for cereal, for milk shakes, for recipes, for coffee and for dunking biscotti and cookies. I drank it when I was a kid. I don’t remember when I stopped drinking it, in Ghana I think. When I was in college, the milkman delivered to my apartment. My father arranged it. He worked for HP Hood, a dairy company. I’d sometimes add bread to the delivery. In Ghana, we were told not to drink milk. The cows could be tuberculin. We could drink Fan milk and Fan ice cream, It was sold on the streets by boys on bicycles. Attached to the handlebars of each bike was a cooler of sorts. Fan milk was sold in small triangular packets making it a perfect street food.

When I was a kid, we had both chocolate and white milk delivered. We never drank the chocolate milk straight. We always combined it with the white as the chocolate was a bit thick and mixing it made it last longer. My father loved Hershey’s syrup. Adding a couple of spoonfuls to white milk replaced the chocolate milk delivery. He lavishly poured the syrup on his ice cream, his vanilla ice cream. My mother made sure there was always a can of Hershey’s syrup. My father did love his treats.

I still love Oreo cookies and would probably dunk them if I had milk. The universal way to eat an Oreo is common knowledge, maybe even a birthright. The cookie is split in two. The plain side is eaten first eat then the side with the cream. Double stuffed Oreos are a gift from the Gods. I usually buy traditional Oreos with white cream, but I also love golden Oreos and chocolate covered Oreos. If I buy Oreos, they go quickly so I restrain myself, but I do buy them if I really need a boost, a little bit of sweetness. I still eat them in the traditional way. To eat them whole is a fall from greatness, a stepping off of the traditional path. It is the way of the adult.