Oh the horror! Yesterday was a strange day. I never wrote Coffee; instead, I ignore my sloth, poor baby. First, I washed the kitchen floor twice. The second time it was wash and wax. I just couldn’t take the dirty floor any longer. I also washed and waxed the hall and the stairs. I polished the dining room furniture and dusted everything else. During all of this, I could hear the cries of my sloth. As for today, a friend is taking me to do a couple of errands. Yesterday, another friend took my trash. I am lucky in my friends.

Today is another lovely day, the sort of day where outside is wonderfully warm while inside is still holding the night and is chilly. I’m wearing a sweatshirt.

When I was a kid, the arrival of June meant summer was close. The last day of school was nearing, and the nearer we got, the more my attention drifted. My eyes would glaze, and I’d daydream. I’d look out the window and wish I was outside far away from school. The nun’s voice became an incoherent background hum. I was through with school, but I just had to be patient until it was through with me.

My house is mostly quiet. Henry barks when he’s looking out the front door and sees movement, but the rest of the time he’s quiet. Nala whines and talks back. She whacks me with her paw if I don’t pay attention. I have lived alone in this house since the day I bought it. I sometimes am lonely for conversation, but mostly I love the solitude and the freedom to do what I want. I live in my cozies, eat when I’m hungry and sleep when I’m tired, usually in the wee hours.

The first time I lived alone was in Ghana, on one side of a duplex on school grounds. It was difficult at first. I was homesick and unhappy. I didn’t write about it in letters as I didn’t want my parents to worry. Every day I checked for mail, for my connection to home. Finally, I decided if things didn’t change I’d leave before Christmas. Happily for me things changed. Ghana became home. I loved my life there. Teaching was a joy every day. My students understood me, and they learned. I kept busy even outside the classroom. I loved going to town. I loved the market and my market ladies. I had plenty of books, and my town had a library. In one box from home was an origami book with diagrams and colored paper. Nothing I folded looked familiar, looked the same as the illustrations, but I had fun. I still can’t do origami.

This entry was posted on June 2, 2025 at 12:20 pm and is filed under Musings. You can subscribe via RSS 2.0 feed to this post's comments. Both comments and pings are currently closed.