This morning it rained just a bit. It will rain again tomorrow. The temperature is in the 60’s. The day is a bit ugly with cloudy skies and wind. I’m staying home today. My dance card is empty until Tuesday.

The visit with my friends was almost perfect. (The almost is explained below.) We laughed and remembered, and it felt as if I had just seen them. There is never a gap in our friendship over time. They came bearing gifts as they always do. Bill had made a planter for my deck which looks like a bear. They brought the pot to fit and the flowers for the pot. Peg also brought a beautiful pottery bowl, pot holders of perfect color for my kitchen, a boxer book mark and Peeps. Bill fixed the two things which had been driving me crazy: a kitchen drawer I had to whack every time I opened it so the sides would stay connected to the front and the paper towel dispenser which kept dropping the towels on the floor. Both had been the objects of unleashed cursing.

We had an excursion which took us all the way to Race Point, the end of the cape. We stopped at the Spice House where we did a bit of shopping. It was late afternoon when we got home.

We ate like royalty. I made an apple pie, my seafood casserole and roasted carrots. That was dinner the first night. Peg brought shrimp pesto pasta, kelewele, avocados and garlic bread, our second night dinner. She also brought lemon squares and blueberry muffins. My chicken salad with cranberries and sugared walnuts was a hit. My fridge groaned under the weight of all that tasty food.

I had two awful things happen. The first was the dogs. Nala brought in a dead baby which looked like a possum. We took it away, and she attacked Henry who was innocent. They really went at it. I broke them up but got bitten for my efforts. Finally I got Nala into the bathroom and shut the door. My finger had a long bite which sort of looks like a river on a map, long and snaky. It was and is still painful but looks better and feels a bit better. I had to soak the finger in salty, soapy water so I could get the band-aids off. Henry had a lot of blood around his neck, but I checked, and it was my blood. Five minutes later I opened the bathroom door, and they were fine.

The second thing happened when I was getting out of bed. I have a topper on my mattress. I must have been a restless sleeper as the topper extended beyond the mattress so I slid off the bed to the floor. Nala cried as she too slid. All 60 pounds of her landed on my right leg, on the shin which is now super swollen and black and blue. It hurts even more than my finger. Nala was fine.

Yesterday morning we had blueberry muffins with our coffee. Bill went out to have another but the muffins were gone. Bill had left them on the counter. Nala surfed the counter and found them. Peg checked the yard and found the plastic bag which had held the muffins, all six of them. That theft hurt almost as much as much as my injuries.

I miss my friends already. I’ll visit them in the fall, or rather we’ll visit them in the fall, the dogs and I. I hope the dogs will be better behaved.

I am in the middle of making an apple pie. I’ve already cooked the chicken for the chicken salad. My friends come today. I have a few more tasks on my list. My usual patter will take a break today. I’ll be back on Thursday!

Today is such a contrast to yesterday. We have jumped from summer back to spring. The sky is both grey and sunny, a wind is blowing and it is only 61˚. Where did I put that sweatshirt?

I have a list, a long list of groceries to buy. I also have a list of chores. I’m getting ready for company. Today I’m shopping, washing the paw prints off the kitchen floor, vacuuming the hall, the depository of dog fur, and just generally neatening up the house. I’ll be ready in time.

The other day I cut the skinny ends off one of my plants. They are rooting in a milk bottle. I also cut a few babies off my spider plant and put them in a different milk bottle to root. While I was doing that, I got to thinking about the spider plant. The original plant was a gift in 1977 when I bought my house. My friends Rick and Joan had come to dinner, my very first guests, just after I moved into the house. We sat on the living room floor to eat. I had no furniture. My aunt had given me a set of two pans and a frying pan, in avocado green, so I was able to cook our dinner, not a fancy dinner but a tasty one nonetheless. The spider plant was a gift, a hostess gift. Now, three spider plants still hang near the windows in my dining room. The last time these friends came to dinner Joan mentioned her spider plant had died. I gave her one of mine, a great, great, great granddaughter of the original.

Memories abound in this house. I have some things from my mother’s house including Belleek I bought her in Ireland one year. I have a wine glass with a tinge of color. My father brought that, and three others, home from Belgium during World War II. Each of my siblings has one of the glasses. On my fireplace screen are tassels from Morocco. I bought them for the Christmas tree. Pottery platters in two sizes are in my dining room on the side table. They came from Lisbon. My mother and I shopped on Easter Sunday and had the pottery sent. A giant pine cone is on a small shelf. It came from the Forum in Rome. A tiny, round, gaudy souvenir of Christ of Corcovado Mountain is hanging in the den. But most of my souvenirs, my memories, are from Ghana. I have baskets, a drum, cloth, wooden statues, metal figures, gourds, a huge painting, smaller paintings and one yellow beaded giraffe.

Friends have called my house a museum. I suppose it is in a way, but I think of it more as a repository of memories. I think of Rome and traveling with my mother, Rio, at the end of an eight week trip with a friend, living in and going back to Ghana, my solo trip to Morocco, trips to Europe and a trip to Iceland with my mother and my sister. This house is not a museum. It is a house filled with memories.

The morning is glorious. The air is fragrant. Everything shines in the bright sunlight. Patches of blue frame the tree branches in the backyard. When I went to get the paper, I watched a pair of cardinals chase each other. When I walked by my front garden, I was wonderfully surprised by the unexpected beauty I saw. Three hibiscus have bloomed, giant red hibiscus. How splendid.

The dogs have finished their usual morning routine. First, they took turns going out the dog door. Henry quickly ran to his tree while Nala ran to the backyard. Both came inside for their morning biscuits then they ran back outside. When they finally came back inside, they impatiently waited for their morning coffee, about a tablespoonful, and then we shared a banana. Now it is time for their morning naps.

When I was a kid, as May ended, school was winding down. We had end of the year exams. I especially remember one year. My sister had a habit of asking to go to the bathroom then leaving school and walking home. I was in the middle of my music exam and had reached the Gregorian chant part when I was called out of class. Mother Superior told me to walk home and fetch my sister. I said my exam wasn’t finished, and she told not to worry about it. I was elated. I got to leave school on a warm, sunny day, and I didn’t have to finish my exam. I walked slowly!!

I don’t remember my father doing much barbecuing when I was young, but after we moved to the cape, he was the designated grill cook. The window in the dining room facing the yard was always open in case he needed something. If I closed my eyes, I can still see him holding tongs and leaning into the kitchen saying, “Pop me.” My mother or one of us would pour him a pop, and he’d get back to the grill. Nobody grilled meat as perfectly as my father.

My friends Bill and Peg are coming on Tuesday. I can barely wait to see them. We met in 1969 at our Peace Corps staging in Philadelphia before we left for training in Ghana. In 2016 we traveled together back to Ghana. It was the most wonderful trip. We still share our immense love for Ghana, Ghanaians and Bolga where we lived. Bill and I also share a love for jollof rice which we ate every night in Bolga at the hotel restaurant. We laugh a lot when we are together. We have shared memories. We have inside jokes still funny after all these years. Did I mention I can hardly wait until Tuesday?

Today is dump day.

The morning is overcast and is still holding a bit of the evening damp. The fog hasn’t yet burned away. Heat will be here later. 77˚ is the predicted high. I have no real plans for the day. My laundry is finally done, but I haven’t yet gone to the dump. I’m saving that for later, maybe even tomorrow.

This summer I will be seventy-five, yup, you read that right, seventy-five, three quarters of a century. What I find strange is my mind doesn’t recognize seventy-five. I do forget things, but they somehow jump back into my head later. It is my body which reflects my age. I used to carry 50 pound bags of cat litter into the house and upstairs. Now I struggle with 12 pound bags of dog food. I drag the bags from the car into the kitchen. My back aches. I groan a lot.

When I was a kid, I couldn’t have dreamed this life I have been lucky enough to live. I always knew even back then I’d travel. The count is 32 countries. There is still travel in me. I want one more trip to Ghana. I just have to save all that money. Spam, here I come.

The two years I spent in the Peace Corps were more than I ever could have imagined. I loved every day. Africa is the most amazing place. Ghanaians are amazing people, warm and loving. My friend tells the story of one trip when his moto (motorcycle) quit working far from home. A truck driver stopped and offered to help. He loaded the moto on the truck and drove it and my friend home. Once, when I was market shopping, the rain started. I just kept shopping. When I finished, I went to where I had parked my moto, and it was gone. I could hear someone calling. I looked and it was one of the police guarding the bank. He was standing beside my moto. The police had carried it there so it wouldn’t get wet. Ghanaians are amazing people.

After Ghana, I worked in the same high school for 33 years, the one from which I graduated. I didn’t love my job every day, but I loved my kids, especially the ones who visited my office often. I wanted them to be the best they could become. They weren’t going to get away from me. I was like a dog holding on to pant legs. I favored my frequent fliers even to the point where I was criticized. I didn’t care. I knew these kids were so worth my time, attention and my love. When they graduated, I was proud for them, for what they had chosen to become.

I have been retired for almost eighteen years. I’m living the good life.

The morning is damp and cold. The house was only 64˚ when we all woke up, the dogs and I. The sun is supposed to appear later, but it will stay in the low 60’s. I have two errands, the dump and the store for cat food. I found a taste Jack likes. He empties his bowl. Unlike dogs, cats are picky. My dogs will eat anything. Each morning they get a biscuit and some banana. I just get the banana.

The air is sweet. When I walk outside, I can smell the flowers. My lilac tree is in bloom. Dark purple flowers are spread across the top. In the front garden, the white ground cover flowers have spread and bloomed. Here and there are a few pink flowers. My day lilies are tall. They border my lawn and the wild spot between my house and the next. Most of them are orange but a few yellow are intermingled. The forsythia tree has yellow buds. It is the oldest growing thing in my garden. The tree was a housewarming gift in 1977. I almost lost it one year, but it is full now. Lilies of the valley are all over the yard. They came from my mother’s house. I think of her every spring when the lilies bloom. I think it a joy to be remembered in flowers.

Every morning the dogs sense the change in my breathing and know I’m awake. They start whacking me so I have no choice but to get up. That seems to happen around 8:30 every day. I have become a creature of habit.

Last night I was patting Nala and found a tick on the inside of her floppy ear. It was tiny and hadn’t yet impeded. I flushed it. Now I’m paranoid about ticks. I checked Nala and found no more. I checked as much of Henry as he let me. He too was clean. Every day now they’ll be checked.

I sit with Jack every night, usually close to an hour. He gets treats, clean water, fresh wet food and more dry food. I clean his litter box. Jack sits behind me while I either pat or comb him. He is a huge, fluffy boy. I always find clumps. He purrs the entire time I clear the clumps. Every morning I go in and give Jack some treats and pat him and scratch his back. He always watches and waits for me. The dogs impatiently stand waiting outside the cat room gate. They want out.

The house is dark. Everything is quiet. The rain has stopped, and the wind is gone. Even the dogs have settled. I am content.

This morning I got rained on. The rain lasted as long as it took me to get the paper and yesterday’s mail, but since then, the rain has started again, and it is supposed to rain most of the day. Add 55˚to the mix, and it is an ugly day, a sweatshirt day, a good day to be home.

Yesterday I mortgaged my house to buy my dump sticker. Okay, I am exaggerating, but I did pay $190.00 for the privilege of dumping my own trash. That is on my dance card for tomorrow.

When I was a kid, my mother didn’t drive. She’d walk uptown pushing my sister in the baby carriage while my other sister walked beside her holding on to the carriage. My mother grocery shopped on Friday nights when my father could drive her to and from the store, but after we moved to the cape, my mother learned to drive as everything was too far way for walking. Later, when she had her own car, she had a sense of freedom she’d never had before. She grocery shopped any day she wanted.

I haven’t been back to my hometown in a long while. But when I go back, I always drive by the duplex on the hill where we lived for so long. Other than this house, it is where I’ve lived the longest. Even now, years and years away, I still close my eyes and pull from my memory drawer the inside of the house. I can see the green entry way where the desk stood. The living room had a couch and chair, a table by the picture window and the TV in the corner. There were two closets, one in the living room and one in the tiniest of halls, barely a hall at all. It stood opposite the door to the cellar. The kitchen too was small and the table and chairs were in the corner near the back door. Upstairs were three bedrooms and the bathroom. My bedroom was on the left, my parents’ room was on the right of the staircase and my brother’s room faced the hall. The bathroom was next to my room. We didn’t have a shower. I remember the hamper was in the hall across from the bathroom.

I am always astounded by what I find in my memory drawers. My childhood is there in the back drawers. All the places where we lived are there, even the one in South Boston where we lived until I was five. I find joy and sorrow in the drawers, in the memories. I am thankful for both.

My clean kitchen floor lasted less than one day. Last night it started raining around 10:30. The thunder followed. I expect there was lightning, but I didn’t see it. This morning is sunny and bright with a deep blue sky and not even a small breeze. The high today will be 69˚.

When I was a kid, we had a family doctor. He was such a big man he never could quite reach the top of his desk without stretching his arms. A full skeleton hanging from a hook was behind him. He wasn’t gentle or reassuring. My mother took me there after I had fallen down the stairs and had a big cut under my chin. He wiped the cut clean, and it hurt, a whole lot of hurt. He told me to sit still. I did. He scared me a bit.

I like cabbage but not Brussels sprouts. I like green beans but not beans. I love sweatshirts but only if they have pouches. Otherwise, where would I put my hands? I like flip flops but not sandal straps between my toes. I love ice cream but not any with nuts unless they are on the top. I love movies but not romantic movies. Give me a good monster, and I’m happy. I like a drink every now and then, but it can’t taste like alcohol. I prefer plain water. I like waffles but not pancakes. I never put ketchup on my hot dogs. That it is just so wrong. I love fried clams, but they must have bellies. I hate crooked pictures. They drive my sensibilities crazy. I don’t mind holes in my socks, even the toes. I just fold the tops over when I put on my shoes. I don’t drink milk unless I’m having cereal. I like jam but not jelly. I love pickles of all sorts but not olives. I’m a fruit lover, but I don’t like cherries or fruits with fur like peaches. Give me all sorts of berries but keep your raspberries. I don’t like Will Farrell, but I never miss Elf. Give me a cold day rather than a hot. I always contend you can get warm easily but not cold. I don’t drink hot tea, only ice tea.

It seems my life is built on contradictions.

The early morning was foggy. Yesterday’s clouds are still hanging around, but the sun should break through. It will be in the mid 60’s today. I have to go to Hyannis. I’ll pack later.

Nala trash picked again yesterday. I’ll have to take my prisoner’s stick into the backyard and do clean-up. Nala had chewed a hole in the trash bag and was running outside with her booty when I heard a can drop.

We always had Crayola crayons in the house. Every Christmas and sometimes at Easter we’d get a new pack. The Christmas pack was always the biggest. I remember the pack of 64 crayons. It had every color in the world, or at least I thought so. We seldom threw out any crayons. Pieces were kept in a cigar box. As the crayons got smaller, we’d tear off the papers, and the fancy color names were gone. All the crayons became simple colors like blue or green or red. We didn’t miss the nuances of the colors.

One time, when I was around twelve or thirteen, I was with my brother in a car. I was in the front seat. He was in the back. I don’t remember whose car it was. We passed a police car which was on the side of the road. My brother told me to bark out the window. That seemed silly but harmless enough. It wasn’t. The cop chased us and pulled us over. He was really angry. We got lectured. I found out later the cop had killed a dog. He didn’t appreciate the barking.

My second weird encounter with an officer of the law was once when I was coming home from Boston. I was in the back seat with a dog, a puppy of about six months. The driver got stopped for speeding by a state police officer. The officer came over to the car and started questioning all of us. He wanted to know if the dog had a license. I told him no as the dog was a puppy, and she didn’t need one. I also said she wasn’t driving, the wrong thing to say, but I was annoyed. He didn’t like my answer and wanted to know my name. I said Ryan why? He started lecturing me about respect and called me Miss Why during the entire lecture. Every time he did the two people in the front seat laughed so hard the seat shook. Finally we were allowed to keep driving. I wanted to go right to the police barracks to lodge a complaint. The dog questions were odd and a bit over the top, but I suppose I just should have been thankful the puppy didn’t get a ticket for riding without a license.

Today is cloudy and a bit cooler than it has been though the weather report says it will get warm. I have nowhere I need to be.

Around 12:30 the dogs went out for the last time before bed. When Henry came in, his coat was damp. I checked. A mist was falling gently as mists do. I shut the door, turned off the lights, and the three of us to bed. I was with Jack for a while then we went to bed, the dogs and I. They settled. I read. That’s when the rain started in earnest. I could hear the drops from the eaves and the roof. They lulled me to sleep.

In my mind’s eye, I can still see my father coming in the front door from work. He always wore a fedora. In the winter, he wore a top coat, a black top coat. In the summer, he wore a suit, a white shirt and a tie. He always tied a Windsor knot. My father wore ties his entire work life and on Sunday for Church. He loved new ties at Christmas so I used to buy him an expensive tie as one of his gifts. He always said he could tell the good ties from the cheap ties.

My mother wore slippers around the house. They were the ones with open toes and no backs. I always wondered how they kept her feet warm. My mother’s toe nails were always red.

I have never carried a pocketbook or a purse. I have always carried backpacks slung over one shoulder. My early ones were vinyl. I remember a mustard colored backpack I carried until it got so dirty it was almost embarrassing. I was carrying it when I went to Hyannis to shop for new leather clogs which I wore to work every day. While there, I noticed they sold leather backpacks made in Vermont. I bought a black one, and that is what I have a carried for years though I do have a vinyl backpack waiting in the wings should I need it. My mustard backpack was unceremoniously tossed into the trash. It has never been missed.