We, the three of us, are back on the deck. The air is warmer than yesterday, and the breeze is slighter. The sky is partly cloudy. In the background, Alexa is playing folk music from the 60’s. I’m quite content.

Last night I went to the Playhouse for the second to last play, Murder on the Orient Express. It was excellent. When I got home and opened the door, I saw paper all over the floor then I saw the batteries, the AAA batteries I had bought last week. Nala had found the package in a basket I thought was out of her reach, but I am finding nowhere is out of her reach. She chewed open the package and the batteries scattered, rolled all around. I found them under furniture, down the hall and in the kitchen. I was on my hands and knees and collected what I hope is all of them. What Nala finds continue to amaze me.

Yesterday I watched a video of Bolga, my Ghanaian home. It made me sad that I wasn’t there and haven’t been in a long while. I miss it and my students.

In Bolga every third day was market day. From the back of my house, I could see women from nearby compounds carrying filled baskets on their heads as they walked to market. I loved to roam on market day. I’d carry my shepherd’s bag, a woven bag which stretched, on my shoulder and head to my favorite aunties. Most of the sellers were women. My first stop was the tomato lady. She stood behind her table on which were several bunches of tomatoes. I’d buy one bunch, and she often dashed me a second bunch. The onion lady was the same. Men sold eggs. I had my favorite as he never sold me a bad egg. What’s funny is my father used to describe people as good eggs. I understood the metaphor completely when I cracked a bad egg. Anyway, I’d get meat at the butcher shop where I ignored the flies and the dried blood and such. I always bought what we call a beef tenderloin. The butcher wrapped it in leaves. Into the bag it went. Sometimes I’d buy plantain, garden eggs, which are really small eggplants, and fruit. I ate a fruit salad every day for lunch. My bag would fill and stretch so far I could barely carry it. I’d head up the hill to my school, but I always got a ride. Most of the people in town knew me. I was the white lady who taught at the school. After I got my motorcycle, I always rode to town and to the market.

Today is a quiet day. Xfinity is coming to fix my phone line. My phone has no dial tone. I could do wash, but I won’t. I could go to the dump, but I’m saving that for tomorrow, something to look forward to.

This morning is one of those perfect moments when the heavens align. I am sitting on the deck being cooled by a breeze which ruffles all the oak leaves. I can hear them as they spin. The crows are raucous. Alexa is playing classic folk. My coffee is delicious, Honduran coffee. I just shared my cranberry-orange scone with the dogs. I bought some yesterday at the farmer’s market in Harwich where we gave a uke concert. The dogs have settled down for their morning naps. I’m wonderfully comfortable under the umbrella, the red umbrella, keeping the sun at bay. Times like this remind how wonderful it is to be alive and to live on Cape Cod.

I have little to do today, mostly deck stuff. I have to fill feeders and change the water in the hanging bird bath. The deck herbs and plants need watering. Two lanterns have to be hung, but I’m not sure where.

Today will be hot, in the low 80’s. Tonight will cool a bit and be in the high 60’s. Summer is getting its last licks.

When I was a kid, I never really worried about anything. I lived life day to day. During the school year, every day was the same. I wore a uniform so no hunting an outfit for the day. I walked to and from school. I sat through the same subjects every day. I had a sandwich for lunch and something for dessert. I ran around at recess releasing the demons, the restlessness from sitting at my desk most of the day. When I got home, I had to change from my school clothes to my play clothes. I was outside until the street lights went on. I always said we were cheated in the winter when darkness came so early. My mother didn’t buy it.

I never noticed those days were routine. I thought they were filled with surprises like the beautiful red leaves in the fall, the brown leaves in the gutters waiting to be kicked, the snow piled high on the sidewalks, the buds and then the tiny leaves still furled on the branches, spring rain, puddles for splashing, the days of finally shedding winter for spring, and, best of all, the warmer days heralding the coming of summer.

I have time again to notice my small part of the world, to see the every day changes and the miracles in the flower garden, to hear the insects and the birds, to watch the dogs chase each other in the yard and to sit quietly to take in the smells and sounds all around me. Life can’t get more interesting than this.

The sky hasn’t a cloud. The sun is bright and warm, but a breeze is helping to keep the air cool. The high will be 79° and the low will be 64° tonight. I am listening to the best of Gordon Lightfoot. The dogs are sleeping, each at one end of the couch. I am still lazing in my cozies. This morning is just about perfect.

When I was a kid during the summer, my days were mostly spent outside. I remember picking blueberries but eating more than I saved. My fingers and my tongue got blue. I loved to explore, sometimes walking, sometimes riding. My bike took me far and wide. I pedaled to the towns around my own. One of them had a train station so I used to sit on a bench and wait to see the train. I rode by the golf course and usually found golf balls, errant flyers on the opposite side of the street. I put them in my pockets to take home. In another town, I rode around the lake and wished I lived in one of the beautiful houses across the street from the lake. I’d sometimes stop and sit a while taking in everything around me. I’d watch the birds. Back then I didn’t know the names of the birds. I loved the smallest birds. They were the swiftest flyers. I’d ride from near the zoo around Spot Pond to where the pool was then I’d head up the big hill, usually walking my bike, but at the top I’d ride downhill with my feet off the pedals. I remember the feelings of speed and freedom as I rode down that hill. At the bottom, I’d pedal toward the square then head home.

If I were walking, I’d explore my town. I remember checking out the train cars on the track in front of the old town station. Across the street from the station was the end of the tracks where trains were once turned around to head back from where they came. If I were rich, with a nickel or a dime, I’d stop at the red store and sometimes buy candy. Other times I’d buy Hostess cupcakes, the one with three cupcakes, a deal I thought. I’d take my favorite route by the horse barn. I’d go by the rag and paper man’s house. I was always amazed at the towering stacks of paper and magazines everywhere. His porch was so full it sagged under the weight. I’d head home, tired from my travels.

Even now, if I go to my town, I take familiar routes. I go pass the train station no longer fronted by tracks and no longer a train station. The red store is long gone. The horse barn holds tractors and such owned by the town. The rag man’s house is gone. I always wonder if it collapsed. Probably not. As I drive, I remember what used to be where. I drive by the duplex, my home for over ten years. It looks the same except for the bushes. They are tall into the sky. I slow down as I pass the house. I give my memories time to jump out of the drawers. They always make me smile.

The morning is lovely. A wonderful breeze cools the warm air. It is 77°, just about today’s high. I’ll be on the deck should you need me!

The two days off were crazy. I was exhausted. First, I removed the dead 100 light strand from the fence to replace it. In some places I had to stand on my tiptoes to get at the lights. The strand got entangled a few times so I had to stop to untangle. When I finally got all the lights down, I brought them inside to check. They lit. I cursed. Come to find out it was the timer. I went outside and strung the lights again, on my tiptoes. Sweat rolled down my cheeks. It wasn’t pretty. I strung the new set at the other end of the deck. I next planted flowers in the pot in the front and watered all the pots on the deck rail. I hauled chairs out of the cellar. I swept dirt off the deck. I collapsed.

Yesterday I had company for lunch. I spent the early morning preparing the food. We had a charcuterie board. When I was finished, I thought it looked like a work of art. Later, I realized I had forgotten to add the meat, three kinds of meat. Lunch was feta shrimp linguini. It was scrumptious, little was left. Dessert was coconut ice cream with caramel sauce. My company was one of the sailing families I follow on YouTube. Even though we’d just met, it was as if we had known other for years. We told stories about our travels. We laughed. We got to know each other. We became friends.

Every summer when I was in college, I worked in the post office in Hyannis. I sorted mail. I sat on an uncomfortable slanted stool so I could sort of sit and still reach the cubbyholes. I worked on what were called boards. I worked on Massachusetts, Illinois and Ohio, and the Boston stations, cities and towns around Boston. It was an easy job but a boring job. Sometimes I’d work the automatic postmark machine. Letters went through one at a time while postcards went through in bunches. I’d sort the bunches. If I found a postcard with no address, I’d address it to friends. There were a lot of those. There were also a lot of confused friends.

My dance card is filled this week. I have no free days. Mostly I have uke shows and practices. Friday, though, is play night. I’m going to need naps!!

The house is cool in the morning. It keeps the night air. Outside is already getting hot. The high today will be 78°. That’s deck weather.

I have decided to take a hiatus of just a couple of days. I have a list, a long list. Most of it is for outside. The deck and yard need tending. I have to fill all of Nala’s holes as I know I’ll end up tripping into one and probably breaking an ankle. Such is my fate. I have new lights to replace the ones chewed by the spawn. The deck is covered in acorns. I walked out barefoot and stepped on a few. I could wear shoes and leave then there, but I can’t. I’m thinking of the dogs, especially Nala who chews on the acorns. Those chores are just the highlights of my list.

Enjoy the next couple of days. I’ll be back on Tuesday!!

The early morning was chilly, but the air is getting warmer. The high will be in the low 70’s, almost winter weather compared with the scorching highs of last week. The sky is partly sunny. I can see blue toward the west. The trees are quiet in the still air.

I have a couple of errands today, mostly Agway errands. The gate keeping Nala out of Jack’s room was pushed inward by Miss Nala who then sneaked inside and stole all the cat treats and everything in the bowls, twice. Foolishly, I thought I had secured the gate after the first theft. I was wrong. I forgot I was dealing with Nala, stealthy Nala. She made off with her bounty, I didn’t even know until I went on the deck and saw the yard littered with pet food papers. Nala was running around with a big bag of Temptations. I knew not to chase her and just waited. Finally, seeing my disinterest, she dropped the bag and I saved what was left. Later I grabbed my prisoner stick and cleaned the yard.

I liked school. I loved to learn. It never really bothered me when school started. By then, I had filled the summer.

When I was a kid, clothes didn’t really matter. I wore shorts, a blouse and sneakers all summer. I just grabbed what was in my bureau drawers. I never gave matching a thought until I was older. Comfort was the overriding reason for my choices. I have come full circle. Comfort again rules my choice of clothing, but at least now the colors match.

My mother would have been 95 today. She was my first thought when I woke up. I still miss her and sometimes forget she is gone when I think to call her about something or another. Then I remember, and the sadness comes.

The day is ugly. The sky is filled with clouds. Showers are predicted.

Yesterday it rained for a few hours. I sat under the deck umbrella staying dry and watching the rain. I was delighted. After the rain, the day was quite cool but horribly humid. This morning, everything is still wet, and it spat rain for a while, an intermittent windshield wiper rain. I went out for coffee, and it was 66° then. It felt chilly. Hurrah! for chilly.

This morning, a couple of my mother’s sayings jumped out of my memory drawers. I was thinking of her because tomorrow would have been her 95th birthday. Anyway, if she caught any of us picking our noses she would ask, “Are you mining for gold?” If you whined and felt the world was against you, she would describe you as a sorrowful mystery, a bit of rosary trivia. That one is still used in my family though I suspect its religious origin might be hazy. It was from my mother is what we mostly remember.

My dance card is empty until Monday’s concert, songs of the 70’s. After that we have only one more Monday concert in the park. The summer is winding down at a quick pace. I almost feel the urge to buy school clothes.

My first grade teacher was Sister Redempta. She scared the heck out of me. If you did something wrong, she’d run down the aisle, her habit blowing behind her and let you have it. She’d yell right to your face. I remember kids crying after her onslaught.

My favorite teacher in elementary school was my sixth grade teacher Miss Quilter. I remember she wore thick glasses and appropriately modest dresses. She woke in me a love of learning. I will always be grateful to her.

I’m still binging on black and white movies from the 50’s. I’m now watching Attack of the Crab Monsters. It is wonderfully bad. The crab has eyes which don’t move, and it appears to be on a track as it has only forward mobility. The Professor is one of the actors. He is a radio operator. The only woman wears sweaters, as tight as the 50’s will allow, and what looks like capri pants. She makes all the meals, but she did scuba dive looking for the crab and followed the men into the cave on a rescue mission which failed. She ran fast out of that cave. The weirdest thing is the crab talks in the voices of its victims. At the end, the Professor sacrificed himself to kill the crab. Only one man and the woman in the sweater survived. I love this movie.

The morning is dark and damp. You can feel the moisture in the air. The temperature is in the low 70’s. Today’s weather report says rain, but I am skeptical about the forecast. We don’t get rain. We get menacing clouds.

When I was a kid, rain in the summer mostly halted outside fun. The park and the pool were closed. I could ride my bike but only if the rain wasn’t heavy. Spitting rain was fine. I’d get wet but not drenched. Sometimes I rode to the library. I’d sit at the wooden tables and browse books. I’d stay a while. If we had a summer storm, I’d stay home, sequester myself in my bedroom and read. I always had books.

Yesterday I planted the flowers I had bought to replace the ones stolen from their pots, and I added two smaller pots filled with lavender. As I was planting the second pot, I heard a noise in the yard. I looked down off the deck and saw Nala playing with the flowers I had just potted. I had finally caught the thief in action. I’m going to try to keep her out of the pots. I have some wire which I’ll twist into a cover for the flowers and hope it works, but she is quite adept at thievery.

I have been watching my favorite science fictions movies, the black and white ones from the 50’s. Now it is The Giant Behemoth, a redundant title or maybe one just for emphasis. The beast is plying English waters. It burns victims with radiation and reduces them to ashes. Of course it does.

Today is dump day. I am reminded of my father who loved going to the dump. In the old days the dumps were tall heaps of trash with screeching seagulls circling. When I was home for the weekend from college, my father always invited me to go with him or he invited my friends who had come down for the weekend. I told them it was a privilege to be asked so they always went with him. My father loved it.

I am alive and somewhat well. The last couple of days had me imagining I was crawling across the sands of the Sahara, my clothes frayed and my arm outstretched in supplication hoping for water. On Saturday, I bought the rest of the plants needed to replace the ones stolen by the plant marauder, Nala. No one from Agway was outside in the plant area. They were the smart people. I wandered around the aisles pushing my cart and looking for lavender and three annuals. I got dizzy from the heat and went inside for a while. After I had finished, I drove home and collapsed in the AC.

On Saturday night I didn’t asleep a wink. I’d turn out the light and hope for the best, but wishin’ and hopin’ didn’t work so I’d turn the light back on and read some more until I tried again. The dogs slept through it all and looked a bit annoyed at the light going on and off. Finally, at 5:30, I gave up the ghost and went down stairs. I was glad I did. The morning was lovely and even felt coolish. I stayed outside and read the paper, coffee in hand. I didn’t write Coffee because my brain refused to cooperator. My world was hazy from the heat and words escaped me.

Yesterday too was hellish. I went to the concert which started at 5:30. Our seats were in the sun. It was back to the Sahara but with a soundtrack. I did wear a hat which prevented drops of sweat from rolling down my cheeks while the visor kept the sun at bay so I could read my music. Regardless, it was awful. My hair got soaked, and I was the poster child for an un-lady-like appearance, Victorian age appearance. I imagined a fan and someone to fan me. We played for over an hour after which I ran to the car and turned up the AC as high as it could go. I was a mess.

Last night I turned out the light at 12:30 and slept until nearly 10:30 which brings me to now. The house is wonderfully cool. Outside is 89° but with the humidity it feels like 101° according to My Google. The welcomed breeze from the south is strong. Everything is blowing. The leaves are jumping round. The branches are swaying propelled by those leaves. I’m thinking of sitting under the umbrella and planting the pots of flowers I bought but that just might be a crazy idea born from hyperthermia.

Okay, I just wrote 400 and 52 words, complaining words about the heat. Next thing you know I’ll be asking people, “Is it hot enough for you?” I have become cliché.

The AC is on high with the outside temperature already in the high 80’s, and when you add the humidity, the low 90’s. We are under a heat emergency while north of us has an official heat wave. I have a list for today, my first list in a while. It is a long one with more than a couple of stops. The dump is on the list, but I’m moving that to tomorrow as that’s when my cleaning lady comes. Laundry is not on the list. I have no dirty laundry. I’ll repeat that last one: I have no dirty laundry, literally or proverbially.

We didn’t have air conditioning or even fans when I was a kid. My mother kept the house almost as dark as a cave. All the shades were down to keep out the heat. I remember being restless in bed on hot nights. I remember throwing off my sheet and being impatient for the Sandman and the dreams he’d bring. But finally, the bike riding, the games at the park, the walking to the pool or the zoo caught up with me and I’d fall asleep.

In Ghana, during the dry season, every day was close to or over a hundred. I didn’t have a fan then either. I’d go about my day regardless of the heat. I’d teach my T2 classes, the second years, every day. Often, when my work day was over, I’d even take a nap. Everything in town shut down for a couple of hours each day. Later in the afternoon, I’d sometimes go to town. I’d walk but not very far. Someone always stopped to give me a ride. They knew the white lady walking down the road was a teacher at the training college. It worked the same way for my walk home. I was one of few whites in town and the only one at my school until my second year when Bill and Peg joined me so most people knew who I was. They aways greeted me as madame. Every night I took my cold shower. I hurried doing my hair as the first water out of the pipe had been warmed by the sun. I rinsed with the cold. During the dry season I never toweled dry. I’d put on my robe while I was still wet, hurry inside and go to sleep as the air dried me. That always worked.