Yesterday was miserable. It was hot and humid, an August day, not a June day. I didn’t post as I had a concert smack dab during my usual posting time. Thankfully, today’s weather is better. A slight breeze is coming through the window behind me, a north facing window. The high today will only be 81° while the low will be in the high 60’s tonight, perfect for sleeping.

As I age, I have had to accept so many changes. Getting down is easy but getting up requires a boost from burly men or grabbing something so I can hoist my body upward. I can’t carry anything beyond 10 pounds in weight. I used to carry in 50 pounds of cat litter. Now I drag dog food bags and use my feet to push boxes cross the floor. I no longer carry my uke stuff. I use a basket I can push. My storm door windows will sit against the cellar door a while. I need to brave myself to take them down to the cellar one at a time, one step at a time. I used to be steady on my feet. I could walk on rail tracks (okay I was really young then), go upstairs without tripping and could go downstairs using both feet. Now I have to plan my route so there is something to grab onto in case I need it. If I ever get stopped on suspicion of drunk driving (not a possibility), I’d get arrested because I can’t stand on one leg. I had no wounds. Now I have cuts and bruises from hitting something. I even hit my head on the freezer door because I bent over and forgot it was open. I never walk fast. It takes too much energy, besides I might trip. I wonder how I have lived this long.

When I was in Ghana, I read all the time. One of my Peace Corps friends said one of the things she loved the most about being in Ghana was the unfettered time for reading. My town even had a library, the Bolgatanga Library built by American architect J Max Bond Jr. I had a book locker made of cardboard and once given out by Peace Corps. A volunteer who was leaving gifted it to me. It was a treasure. In it was The Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings trilogy. I devoured those books. I even read the trilogy twice, once each year. I read every night. It was always quiet. I found Ngaio Marsh in the library. I read every mystery they had and any books by African writers. I remember the library wasn’t loud but there was a murmur of voices. It was a warming sound. I visited that library often. I felt blessed to have it.

I’m thinking I want to sit and read the day away except I still need to wash that pesky kitchen floor.

This entry was posted on June 13, 2026 at 12:32 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.