I’m sitting here looking out the window at a pretty day. The sun is bright, glaringly bright, at least for the meantime as clouds are waiting, biding their time. The wind is blowing even the biggest branches. Yellow and brown pine needles cover the already fallen leaves. Even the driveway has disappeared. Outside, the dogs crouched when the wind was the strongest. Now it is their nap time.

Last night I trapped two more mice. They are small. I don’t know how long they were in the mouse hotel, but they ate the bait. I let them go. I’m thinking under that bed in Jack’s room is like a clown car only with mice instead of clowns.

My dance card is empty. I already had my uke practice and lesson so now I’ll stay home to rest my leg. It is so much better, finally. I wish I knew what I did to injure it so I won’t do it again. There are a few oddities in my life. I love red licorice, Twizzlers, but not black licorice except for Good and Plenty, black jelly beans and black Chuckles. I do love the taste of anise, especially Italian anise cookies. My uncle used to make the best anise cookies. He always saved some for me at Christmas. I’m not one into schmaltz, but I do love Hallmark movies. I like that each movie ends happily. I’m a sucker for Christmas movies. I love music, but there are singers I’ve never liked, no complaints about my list please. I have never liked Elvis, Neil Diamond or Barry Manilow. Others are on the list but none are as prominent.

I am a purist when it comes to coffee. I drink coffee from all over the world. I love the different nuances. Ghana was a glaring exception. It is a tea drinking country, a former British colony. I had to drink instant coffee with canned milk, an abomination, but I had no choice. After a while my taste buds went numb, and I didn’t notice. When I went back, it was still the same. Everywhere I stayed served instant coffee in little packets with packets of sugar and canned Carnation milk. It is still an abomination but being without coffee is worse. My taste buds knew what to do. They went numb.

Today is another lovely day. We are in the mid-50’s. We have a strong breeze. The sun is sharp, glaringly bright, the way it is this time of year. Many branches are bare while some just have hanging dead leaves. Fall is becoming a memory.

My friend was older than I by a decade. She was a bit stubborn and used to do things by herself which she shouldn’t have. Her son would have done whatever she needed, but she didn’t ask. I’d be after her to have the heavy stuff done by me or him. She ignored me. I get it now. To do it yourself is a form of independence, of still hanging on to the reins. Yesterday I put in the other storm door. I carried it up the stairs from the cellar, through the living room then lifted it into the front door. It went so easily into the door I had to save my curses for another day.

During the fall, my father did all the getting ready for winter chores. Every Saturday he’d rake. He used a green metal rake. A few of the teeth were bent. I remember the sound of that rake, the sort of grating swish. My father would rake over and across and build a giant leaf pile as he raked. The pile would be raked down the small hill, the same hill we rode our bicycles down, across the sidewalk and into the gutter. He’d set fire to the leaves and stand and watch as they burned. The smell of burning leaves is one of my fondest memories. My jacket would hold the aroma.

The small front garden was cleared of the remains of summer flowers. Only the dirt was left. It was bare and drab, but I knew Christmas lights would be soon be on the bushes and brighten the garden for a little while longer.

Next, the storm windows replaced the screens which were then stored in the cellar where the storms had been. First, my father washed the dusty windows, he was big on clean windows, then while carrying a storm, he’d climb the ladder. That was always suspenseful. Would he make it? Would the window make it intact? The hard part, the scariest part, was when he’d reach the window frame on the house and had to use both hands to angle the top of the storm onto the hooks at the top of the frame. It took a few attempts. I know from whom I learned my cursing.

My dance card is fairly empty this week with just the usual uke events. On the mice front, I forgot to report the other night. There were two. Last night there was only one. That brings the total to 10. I didn’t set the traps last night. This mighty hunter needs a break.

Today is still. Today is also dark. My house is quiet. The dogs are having their morning naps each on one side of me on the couch. Nothing is moving outside. Even the leaves are still. Last night was downright cold, but the morning is in the 50’s, typical for November here on the cape. The paper says rain for later.

When I was a kid, the weather was never really important to me except for snow and the possibility of a snow day. When it rained, I’d get wet on the walk to school. There was no way around it. I’d dry during the day but get wet again on the walk home. On cold days we’d be bundled. My mother always made sure we were in layers. I’d wear my mittens but balk at a hat. My mother always insisted so I’d wear it until I was out of sight. We used to pretend to be smoking when steam came out of our mouths on the coldest days. We’d hold something between our fingers as if it were a cigarette. It always made us seem elegant, not a word we knew but a feeling we had.

On one trip to Europe, my sister joined my mother, father and me. We flew into Brussels. We picked up our rental car and drove into the city to try and find our hotel. My father drove. I gave him directions. He was nervous and kept questioning me. I knew the hotel was in the center of the city so I had him follow the centro signs. He wasn’t happy. It was serendipity when he took a suggested turn, and there it was, the Hotel Amigo, within sight of the Grand Place. It was a beautiful hotel, the sort where they fold your pajamas and put them on the pillow next to the nightly chocolates. Our rooms were huge. The bar was perfect for a drink after a day of wandering.

After we left the city, we rode around and happened to find WWII sites. My father, a WWII vet, was delighted by our travels through history. He gave us a commentary. I remember all the Malmedy signs. Each time we saw one my father mentioned the massacre there during the Battle of the Bulge. We saw tank traps looking like teeth in the Ardennes forest. We were the only car on the road. My mother said we could be in Twilight Zone episode with Germans attacking. My dad asked for a picture of the tank traps. I went into the forest. I didn’t realize the ground was thick with mud. It sucked up both my shoes. I pulled them out and carried them on my walk back to the car. My socks later got tossed into the trash. My father loved the picture and laughed at the story behind it.

The morning is just so pretty. The sun is bright. It is fall sharp. Everything seems to pop in the light. It is in the high 50’s, and the strong wind is finally gone, but an every now and then wind still blows. The world is awash with leaves and pine needles. They cover everything. Even my driveway has disappeared. Some fallen branches and limbs are strewn about the yard. Leaves still hang from branches but most are brown. I have no plans for today. I do have a list of things to be done, but there is no timetable. I may vacuum Henry hair. It is back.

The mouse count is now 6. Only one of the mouse hotels was occupied last night. The mice are all small. I’m thinking a family, and the first mouse I saw, bigger than all the others, might be the patriarch.

Last night I had maybe twenty trick or treaters. The first group was the largest, 6 boys around 11 or 12. Each of them wore a costume. Every one of them was polite and said thank you. I heard them talking as they leaving, marveling at getting big bars. I know that feeling. Little kids were next. Their parents hovered around near the car. One little girl had a cascade of lights hanging behind her. She was a dancer. A parent yelled and said this was the best house on the street. She had seen the Hershey bar in her daughter’s bag.

When I was a kid, we always had the day after Halloween off. It is a holy day of obligation, All Saints Day. I had to go to mass or suffer the pains of hell. I used to go early to get it over with. I sometimes saw the public school kids walking to school. They didn’t get to stay home, watch TV and eat candy.

I always thought of fall as my favorite time of year even back then, but for different reasons than I do now. They were kid reasons. First came Halloween. Everything was good about it, and we got the next day off. Thanksgiving was close. We got to have turkey. When I was young, we only had it for Thanksgiving and Christmas so it was special. After Thanksgiving, all my thoughts were of Christmas. It took so much planning. It was the best day of the whole entire year.

Last night the wind howled. The windows shook, branches bent sideways and the leaves and pine needles fell like rain. Oh yeah, about that rain! It poured. It beat against the windows. The dogs took one look and backed into the kitchen. Later, though, the rain stopped but not the wind. The dogs got brave and went into the yard. Henry was alert. He watched the trees. He jumped a few times.

The clouds are hanging around, but the sun is making an appearance. It is relatively warm at 58°, but the wind is still strong. It is a day best seen through the windows.

The mouse count is now 5.

On Halloween, the school day seemed endless. At recess we all talked about our costumes. Most, like mine, were homemade. We talked about witches, ghosts and goblins haunting the night. None of us admitted to being afraid. We scoffed at the thought. We were too old and sophisticated to believe in scary creatures, but at night, it was different. I remember walking home in the dark. Most house lights were off letting us know their Halloween was over. The sidewalks were dark. There were still streetlights and below them on the road were circles of light. We talked loudly as we walked. We were sometimes the only kids still out. We’d eat a piece of candy or two on the way home to keep us fortified. We were always glad to get home.

My mother would give each of us our own bowl for our candy. I remember the bowls with tulips on them. We’d empty our bags into the bowls and then the negotiations would begin. We’d swap candy giving up sometime we didn’t really want for something we did. We’d munch on our candy as we watched scary movies on TV. They were the black and white movies like Dracula, Frankenstein, The Werewolf and The Mummy. I still love those movies and am watching The Invisible Man on TCM right now as sort of inspiration. I’ll be watching TCM all day. They are showing the classics.

Happy Halloween! Keep an eye out, be alert. You never know what might be lurking in the night.

The day is ugly, dark and damp. It rained during the night. The high for today will be 57° but with the dampness it feels colder, chillier. I will hunker down today. I have a couple of house chores.

When I was a kid, Halloween planning started early. The big dilemma was what to wear. Some kids wore costumes from Woolworth’s. They were one piece with a tie on the top back. On the front was an imprinted creature like a skeleton. They came with a plastic mask which had an elastic to go around your head. The elastic broke easily and wearing one got your face really hot and sweaty. We never had bought costumes, only sometimes bought masks. My mother created our costumes from stuff around the house. Hobos were easy. A pair of jeans and a flannel shirt were perfect. Carrying a stick with a bindle (not a bundle) at the end was the big prop. My mother blacked our faces so we looked as if we needed a shave. We each carried a bucket for the goods. A ghost was just a sheet with eye holes. A cowboy hat and a neckerchief went with that flannel shirt and jeans and presto you were a cowboy. My sister sometimes wore her dance costumes.

We wanted to start trick or treating early, but my mother had us wait until she saw the first trick or treater. My sisters, being younger, stayed around the neighborhood. My brother and I ranged far. We knew the best houses, the ones which handed out nickel bars. The houses handing out apples and popcorn balls were ignore. Many houses handed out pieces of candy in little bundles of Halloween paper twisted at the top.

Halloween night always seemed a bit eerie. I was out in the dark, an odd occurrence for me. There were streetlights and house lights but they made for shadows. As we walked, we all talked in whispers. The night seemed to demand it. At each house, we held out our bags and said trick or treat. We always got treats.

The mouse count is now three. One was added last night.

The day is cloudy, just your usual every day no rain clouds, but rain is predicted for the next three days. It is in the low 50’s. The dogs were in and out quickly and are now napping from their strenuous morning.

A few weeks back, I was sitting with Jack in his room, his very own room where his litter box and food are. I keep a gate across the room’s threshold to protect Jack’s food from a marauder, from a large dog in the guise of a boxer, but I missed something, a few somethings. One night as I was sitting with Jack a mouse came out from under the bed. That mouse was either brazen or stupid. Jack jumped off the bed and the mouse fled. The next day I bought four traps called mouse hotels. They are simple and easy to use. A couple of nights ago I put bait in two of the traps. Last night I found a mouse in each trap. I took the traps outside and released the mice. I washed both traps then baited the other two. I’ll keep a running tally.

When I was a kid, I don’t remember seeing all too many animals in the wild. I do remember one Sunday ride when I saw a couple of deer munching on grass near the side of the road. I screamed, “Deer! Deer!” so excitedly you’d think I’d seen a dinosaur. Even seeing cows grazing was exciting. I fed the spawns in the Public Garden. They came right up to take the peanuts from my hand. Amazing! I think I even giggled. I once saw a chipmunk and a baby rabbit, the rarest ones I remember seeing.

In Ghana I saw a snake which had eaten a chicken, a baby chick yet to be crushed and digested. I saw a few baboons ahead of me on the road. I held the tail of the sacred crocodile in Paga. He also had eaten a chicken. I saw vultures close up. They were walking around my Ghanaian family compound. I was the only one watching. In Mole National Park I saw elephants so close up I could have shaken hands or rather shaken a hand and a trunk. I saw many other animals on safaris.

I have seen the most animals here on the cape. Wild turkeys are everywhere. Sometimes the flock is two or three, but mostly there are many turkeys traveling together and walking on the street just to be annoying. I have seen coyotes. One used to use my yard as a short cut. Possums seem to love my yard. Nala loves possums. I’ve seen foxes and watched baby foxes gambol around the beach. One deer almost got hit by my car. Luckily I stopped on time. That was the first I saw a deer in the headlights. I’ve also seen bats. One got into my house a long time back before the dogs. He flew out the front door.

I still get excited seeing animals.

Today is a lovely day with bright sunlight, fall sunlight, slanted light, and a mostly blue sky. The breeze is strong and teeters on being a wind. It is raining leaves. It is 51°, the predicted high for the day. I have no errands, no reason to leave the house so I’ll do a bit of cleaning. I’m thinking vacuuming.

I’m watching The Black Scorpion, a 1957 black and white creature movie, a 1950’s B-movie. Geologists are checking out an erupting volcano in Mexico, but all the characters speak English, not Spanish. The backgrounds are painted stills. The jeep bounces on a fake road you don’t see. A film behind it provides the background and a sense of movement. The best scenes are in the village with crowds of extras. They are dressed in traditional clothes. The scenes would have been beautiful in color. The special effects of the giant scorpion are reminiscent of Harry Harryhausen, but the close ups of the scorpion’s face are silly. Only the mouth moves, and it drools. The scorpions have come out of the volcano and are ravaging the towns and eating the people and cattle. I am enjoying this movie maybe because of its flaws. My mother would have said it is right up my alley.

When I lived in Africa, my students would often visit in the early evenings. They would knock on the screen door and say caw caw or something similar. They’d leave their sandals outside. We’d sit and chat a while. One night, a student asked for my sandal. I passed it over to her. She whacked the floor. She killed a scorpion. It was my first scorpion. During training I saw my first army ants. They were mesmerizing. They traveled in a long, thick line and never stopped. I was late to class that day. I also saw centipedes near my house. I was disappointed they didn’t have 100 legs. As for common insects, during the day there were the flies while during the night, in the rainy season, there were the mosquitos, buzzing, annoying, blood sucking mosquitos.

My dance card is fairly empty this week. I have my usual uke practice and lesson but only one concert. I’m happy with a quiet week.

Today is yesterday, cloudy and chilly, but the weather report is a mix, a sort of a peek a boo game between the sun and the clouds. The high today will be 53°. That’s jacket weather.

When I was a kid, Sunday was a different sort of a day. I had to get dressed early to go to mass. I wore my Sunday church clothes, not to be confused with my school clothes or my play clothes. Most Sundays I walked to church, a short walk, as it was right beside my school. I preferred the downstairs for mass, no sermon there. I was never fond of sermons, most were dull. A bit of humor would have helped, but I guess sin and eternal flames are never funny. I always sat in the back, the best spot for a quick getaway.

My father always bought the Sunday paper. He read the Boston American. I remember he sat in the chair by the picture window to read it. He never read the funnies so I’d grab them. I’d lie on the floor to read. I remember the print would sometimes smear, and ink would get on my fingertips. The television was usually on showing the Sunday Cinema. The only movie I remember was Lassie Come Home, an old black and white film.

Sunday dinner was the special meal of the week. On the menu were always mashed potatoes and a couple of vegetables, canned vegetables. The roast varied. Sometimes it was a whole chicken, other times roast beef. We’d sit at the table. My mother, though, would often stand and eat at the counter.

Some Sundays we went to East Boston to visit my grandparents, my mother’s parents. My mother had seven siblings. She was the third born. My mother’s sisters were usually there on Sundays with their kids, the cousins. The women, including my grandmother, sat in the kitchen. The men sat upstairs watching football. On the stove was always spaghetti, enough to feed everybody. I loved that the cheese was in a chunk and had to be grated over the spaghetti.

It was dark when my father drove us home. I would sometimes fall asleep leaning against the backseat door. I do remember a white house with an oxen yoke, minus the oxen of course, over the garage. That was the sign we were almost home.

My leg is the best it has been. I believe my sloth days are the reasons. Now I need the energy to clean or blinders to ignore the dirt.