The morning is dreary, but the sort of dreariness chased away by a few lit lamps. I always feel a sense of comfort from the lights.

Today I have no to do list. I have done the last few days. I have a back ache and a groaning body from the lifting and moving. Today being Sunday is a day of rest actually and metaphorically.

My dance card this week is uke heavy. Besides the usual practice and lesson I have three concerts. They begin the summer of concerts.

Yesterday I switched from winter to summer. I replaced the door storms with screens. It was a project. The storms were so heavy I couldn’t easily lift them so I catty-corner moved them side to side. I held my breath for so long going down the cellar stairs with them I skirted passing out. I couldn’t reach the top of the storms to loosen the screws so I grabbed my step ladder, also heavy, also needing to be moved side to side. The screens went in easily. Last night I could feel the breeze from the back door.

My lack of strength was evident when I moved the glass to the cellar yesterday. I used to be able to carry 50 pounds of cat litter into the house and up the stairs. Now, I strain. Now I am old. People usually contradict me when I say that, and I look at them quizzingly. I will be 78 in August. The bloom has long been off the rose.

When I was a kid, we lived in a duplex in the project. It was always called the project. For us it was just a neighborhood. I remember when my friend from New Jersey came with me to my hometown. I gave her a tour including a stop at the project. She couldn’t believe we called it a project. She said she expected huge brick buildings with apartments and some clothes lines crisscrossing concrete yards in the back. We had a few brick buildings I explained, but they were town buildings and banks. This was our project.

This entry was posted on June 22, 2025 at 11:59 am 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.