My life, of late, has been mostly routine. The weather hasn’t changed in the last few days. We still have sun and a blue sky. It is 50° and will stay 50° all day. I have been a sloth wearing my cozies most days, reading and eating bonbons, but yesterday I did a few chores. My sloth screamed. I started putting my winter clothes away. My bedroom is in disarray. Folded winter clothes destined for bins are on chairs. I just have to substitute winter for summer in the bins. Today I started cleaning my dining room. I’ll finish that and the living room. I’ll also water the plants. I’m thinking I already need a nap.

My dance card for the week is uke heavy. Today is practice, tomorrow is my lesson and a concert and another concert on Thursday. The big concert is Saturday at Margaritaville in Hyannis for the Parrot Head Convention. I’ll use my Hawaiian uke and wear my favorite Hawaiian shirt.

I am a collector. I define that as three or more similar items. I have lanterns, baskets, decorations, glassware, special Christmas ornaments, commemorative tee-shirts, cake decorations and, one of my favorites, cook books with recipes from literature. I have too much from Ghana to list, but I think of them as memories, treasures.

When I bought my house, my parents came down to see it. My mother brought some of my childhood memories with her. One is a wooden chair. My grandmother’s brother made it for me when I was around three. It has been painted white. It has survived all of us. Yellow ceramic chickens from Fannie Farmer always held soft boiled eggs. My mother would cook the eggs, put them in egg cups and slice off the tops of the eggs. She’d served them with toast cut to fit the eggs. It was one of my favorite breakfasts. She brought down a few of the chicken and rooster cups. A couple have no beaks. They are on the window sill in the kitchen. I still use them. My mother brought my childhood books. Many were gifts while others I bought with my fifty cent allowance, leaving me a penny. Those were mostly girl detective books like Trixie Belden and Donna Parker. The classics too were in the pile, books like Heidi, Treasure Island, Black Beauty and Zorro. I bought a bookcase just for those books.

One of my siblings, who shall remain unnamed, lacks sentiment. The treasures my mother brought down were junk. I didn’t bother to explain. They are way beyond my sibling’s ken.

This entry was posted on April 28, 2026 at 1:30 pm and is filed under Musings. You can subscribe via RSS 2.0 feed to this post's comments. You can comment below, or link to this permanent URL from your own site.