The morning is cloudy and rain is predicted. It is damp and chilly, in the 50’s. I have no plans for the day. Yesterday I did make it to the dump but first was a stop at the emergency vet. Nala had a hugely swollen ear flap which she didn’t have the day before. She was tilting her head and shaking it. Her ear was an ominous red. At first I thought I’d wait until today so I didn’t have to pay the walk-in amount of $240, but I decided she needed to be seen before it got worse. Nala couldn’t have been better. Everyone loved her and thought her beautiful. The doctor told me they were all smitten with her. Nala was diagnosed with an infection which I had already figured she had. They drained her ear and gave me drops and pills for her. Her ear already looks better.

When I was a kid, our boxer Duke got into a horrific fight with the dog down the street. His neck was gnawed open. My mother wanted to take him to the vets, but my father thought Duke would be fine on his own. My father was only home weekends back then as he had been transferred, and we were waiting to move after school was out. My mother took advantage of his absence and brought Duke to the vets. When my father got home, Duke was much better. “See,” he told my mother. She smiled and agreed.

My father used to say he wanted to come back in life as one of our pets, all of whom have been spoiled. He also said that when he died we should just wheel him down the street to the cemetery you could see from my parents’ house. We opted to go the more traditional way.

When my dad was a kid, he wore corduroy knickers. He hated the swishing sound the pants made when he walked. My dad was into being cozy. Around the house he always wore his boxer shorts so when he’d sit on the couch and watch TV, he’d wrap a blanket around himself. His snacks were always within arm reach. I gave him corduroy pants one Christmas. My mother thought he’d never wear them, but he did. The small wale of those corduroy pants had no swishing sound. He wore those pants until the wale pattern was gone. They had become his cozies. I bought him more pairs.

Today will be warm, close to perfect, maybe even 60˚. The sun is brilliant. The sky is a dark blue. The trees are still. The wind of yesterday is gone. The dogs appreciate the weather and have been in and out all morning. They wake me up every day far too early. Both of them sleep on the couch then follow me upstairs usually after one. I spend time with Jack and then read before turning out the light always after two and even closer to three. The dogs’ schedule has to change.

When I was a kid, I was up and about early even on weekends, especially on Saturdays. I didn’t want to waste a single minute of my favorite day. Sundays were different. The day was out of my hands. I had to go to mass. I hoped for mass downstairs where there was no sermon, and the mass went quickly. Sometimes it was so full I had to stand in the back. I didn’t mind as it meant I was among the first to leave. The downstairs was small and dark. The altar too was small.

The main church, upstairs, had long stain glass windows on each side. I used to read the names, the dedications. The sun sometimes poured through and lit the church. There were three altars, two small on each side and a large one in the middle. Pendant lights hung from the tall ceiling. Everywhere was wood.

In the winter I sat in the warm church toward the back. In the summer I stood if I could or even sat outside on the steps when the church was full. The priest always gave a sermon. We were his captive audience.

Sunday afternoons we often visited my grandparents. The house was filled with aunts, uncles and cousins. On the stove was the pan of pasta so we could help ourselves. Usually it was shells, my favorite. The sauce was already on the shells. The cheese and the grater were on the table. The women sat in the kitchen. The men usually watched football upstairs. In the summer we often went to the beach after mass and stayed all day. I loved those Sundays!

Today is dump day.

The morning is chilly. The sun though bright in the sky is merely an ornament. The breeze is every now and then. It will stay in the 50’s today. The dogs love this weather. They have been in and out most of the morning. They have a routine. They wait in a line of two until I first open the door then out they run. They are quickly back and stand by the cabinet door for their morning treats, dog biscuits, then out they go again. I shared my breakfast with them. Each got a spoonful of coffee and a piece of biscotti. They seem to be partial to the lemon biscotti.

Yesterday I was a woman of leisure. I finished one book and started another. Today I have a few things to do. I’m going to iron. Yup, I still have an iron, a steam iron. It was a house warming present in 1977. I can’t remember the last time I used it, but I need to iron some placemats which were washed and are quite wrinkled. Nala had stolen them from a basket and taken them to the backyard. Nothing is safe from Nala. I only wish she could iron. It would be a fitting punishment.

When I was a kid, my mother ironed all the time. The wringer was tough on clothes. I remember her sprinkling water on the clothes then folding them for a bit so they’d be damp. That made the ironing easier. She had a stand which could be folded and unfolded. It had a base and a rod. On the rod, she’d put the hangers with the newly ironed clothes on them. I once had a similar rod. I used to iron every week. I’d set up the ironing board and the rod in the den so I could watch TV. I used spray starch. I always thought the sleeves were the hardest parts to iron.

In Ghana, they still use charcoal irons. They are wedge shaped and made of cast iron. The top comes up so you can put in the charcoal. I was always glad I had someone to iron my clothes. I would have burned myself for sure.

My dogs have an apple basket filled with toys. Some are perfectly intact while others are missing parts. The worst are just empty shells of themselves. I’d stand on the deck and sometimes see the white stuffing sort of looking like snow and wonder which creature, which toy, had met its demise. Some I triage by sewing seams. Nala likes the rubber toys. I find them in the yard. One toy, once red, was Gracie’s favorite. It was in the yard a long while and lost its color, but Nala doesn’t mind. She carries it in her mouth and runs the yard. Better that toy than another possum or squirrel, toys to her and the prizes of keep away.

Today is yesterday, not a profound statement, just the weather report. The high will be in the 50’s and the low in the 40’s. The sun is bright, the sky is blue and a strong breeze is blowing. I have no plans for today so I’l be cozy on the couch reading my book and sharing space with the dogs.

Dinner was a huge success from the appies to dessert. I warmed the brie and served it with a caramelized onion jam and a fig and honey preserve. We also had some cheddar and different kinds of crackers. The fish chowder, course two, was delicious. The seafood casserole was so good my friends stopped talking so as not to interfere with their eating. The carrots I’ll make again and again. They were scrumptious. My friends cleaned up after dinner. I sat and supervised. I loved that they do that, and they always do.

When I was a kid, I don’t remember having worries. Life was easy. Every weekday was predictable. I got up, got dressed, ate breakfast and walked to school. My afternoons were free to do what I wanted. In the warmer weather I played outside. In the winter, I mostly stayed inside and read or watched TV. Saturdays were the most unpredictable except for Saturday mornings when I sat and watched all my favorite programs and ate cereal while sitting on the floor and for Saturday night dinners. During the rest of the day I did the matinee in winter or biked all over town. Sunday was always mass and family dinner.

My mother used to tell me not to frown. She said frowning caused worry lines. I used to check the mirror. I never saw any.

Today is Arbor Day. Elm trees were everywhere when I was kid. A chestnut tree was up the street, and I used to collect the chestnuts. Pear trees were in the yard in the house behind mine. We used to pick and eat them. I remember a lot of hard pears. Some crabapple trees weren’t too far from my house. We didn’t eat them but threw them at each other. They hurt when they connected. I love weeping willows. They are gracious trees. The most remarkable tree I have ever seen is the baobab. It grew in the region where I lived in Ghana and a huge one was in the middle of the school grounds. I saw my first palm tree in Ghana. I saw paw paw (papaya) trees and banana growing trees. Lining the road from my town were mahogany trees. I remember a tree with its gnarled branches growing in all directions and its roots above the soil looking like Medusa’s snakes.

My backyard has mostly scrub oak and scrub pine trees. They are ugly trees, but I have affection for them.

Spring mornings are lovely. Today’s sun is brilliant and is framed by the deepest blue sky. The morning breeze is strong enough to sway even the thick, high pine branches. It will only get to 51˚.

Friends are coming to dinner tonight. We will dine like royalty. I’m serving a seafood dinner starting with fish chowder followed by a seafood casserole accompanied by roasted butter glazed tri-color carrots. I bought haddock, shrimp and scallops. Apple pie will be dessert. I can’t remember the last time I had apple pie. Maybe I’ll put a bit of cheddar cheese on the table for the pie topping. That was my father’s favorite way to eat apple pie.

When I was a kid, dinner aways included a meat, a vegetable and potatoes, mashed potatoes. My mother was a ground beef maven. I loved her American chop suey which I always thought was Chinese given its exotic name. She did make another Chinese dinner she used to cook in her fry pan on the counter. It had ground beef of course, bean sprouts, water chestnuts, noodles and crunchy chow mein on the top. I loved that meal despite what I thought were odd ingredients. Those were her only forays into Chinese food. They were successes.

Her meatloaf was to die for either topped with mashed potatoes or ketchup and bacon. The only fish we ate were fish sticks on Fridays, an exception to the rule of ground beef because we couldn’t eat meat. My mother always served fish sticks with French fries and made her own tartar sauce.

While dusting behind the TV the other day, I found my cache of black and white science fiction films from the 50’s which I bought a couple of summers ago. I figure they are great fodder for movies on the deck this summer. My movie theater has been in hiatus because of the circumstances of the time. When it gets warmer, I’m thinking a red carpet grand opening event. Formal wear will not be required.

When I woke up, there was sun and a bit of blue. Since then, clouds have taken over the sky and the day has darkened. Rain is not predicted so the clouds serve no useful purpose. I do have a list today and an order of operations. Already I have added and removed books from my little library. I swept the kitchen floor while my coffee was perking, actually dripping but coffee should perk and be accompanied by music. I’m going to wash the kitchen floor today. As for that laundry, it is down the cellar, step two in the saga of laundry. The plants need to be watered. I dusted one this morning with my sweatshirt sleeve aka my handy dust cloth. I’ll probably find more to do as I walk around the house. Maybe I should close my eyes.

When I was a kid, I had no chores. My mother did everything except empty the kitchen basket. That was my brother’s job, but he had selective memory and had to be reminded all the time to empty it. He groused.

When I was growing up, I never learned to work the washing machine or later the dryer. I never cooked. I was inept when it came to household chores, but I didn’t care. I had my mother. When I was in college, I learned to do my laundry, but I was stymied when the washer stopped working and was accompanied by an annoying buzzer. I hand wrung my clothes. I called my mother later. She told me the load was uneven. That was laundry lesson one. Lesson two was to sort my clothes. I learned that when a shirt bled all over everything else. I still never cooked.

When I was in Ghana, I never did laundry. Everywhere I went during training, I paid someone to wash and iron my clothes. When I was finally living at my school, my houseboy Thomas washed and ironed my clothes, mostly dresses. I still didn’t cook. I had no stove, only a small charcoal burner. When it was burning, the wood charcoal aroma wafted through the air, and I could smell it everywhere in the mornings. That is still on my list of favorite smells. My breakfast and lunch were the same every day, eggs and toast in the morning and fruit for lunch. Dinner was mostly beef in a tomato sauce. It cooked a while to soften the meat so it didn’t take out fillings when I chewed. Chicken was another meat for dinner. I bought the chickens in the market and ate a few of my own. They weren’t pets. They were dirty and sometimes nasty, but personal habits aside, they tasted good.

In Ghana, the first thing I successfully made was sugar cookies for Christmas. I had bought gas for my stove from a station one hundred miles away so I could bake the cookies. I rolled the dough with a beer bottle and made trees, Santas and bells from the cookie cutters my mother had sent. I couldn’t believe how delicious they tasted despite my inexperience, my usual ineptitude, in the kitchen. Those cookies sparked my love of cooking and baking. I’m quite good at both. That is not a boast.

The weather seems to have settled a bit. Today is sunny and cloudy. The high will be 59˚, but there is no wind so its feels warmish. The dogs love this weather. I’m staying close to home today. I have the ever present laundry sitting in the hall. It is day three.

I find people generally kind. A while back, I tripped in the CVS parking lot. People rushed over and helped me up. I wasn’t hurt, but I felt sort of silly. They were concerned. People are always willing to help me carry heavy packages to my car. I used to say thank you anyway, but now I like the help. Through the eyes of passersby I have move into the category of old lady. On one of my trips to Ghana, I was walking on Main Street and stopping on the way to sit and rest my back. I sat next to a couple of men, one of whom asked me if I liked motos, motorcycles. I told him I used to have one. He offered to take me to where I was going, and I agreed. He ferried me all the way to my destination.

When I was a kid, my town was an easy place to live. We all knew the implicit rules. We didn’t dare disrespect the nuns or we would have faced the wrath of our parents. We were quiet in the library. The worst behavior was when kids threw candy in the movie theater. We were mostly polite.

If I were rich, I’d travel the world. I’d travel to whatever out of the way places are still left. I’d eat local foods and stay in small places. I’d wear casual, comfortable clothes. I’d go to bed early so I can meet the mornings wherever I am. Mornings are my favorites times of the day when I travel. That is when cities first come alive. I remember we were somewhere in Germany. I got up, got dressed and then went outside. It was a bit chilly as mornings sometimes are. Delivery trucks were parked on the street. I could see the exhaust from the backs of those trucks rising into the air. People on the sidewalks hurried. I didn’t. I filled my senses.

Spring is taking a brief hiatus. The morning is cold, only in the mid 40’s. The weather prediction is for partly cloudy, and every now and then the sky lightens behind the clouds, and I can see a bit of blue, but then the clouds return and the light disappears. I don’t mind today despite the chill and the clouds. It is the perfect day to stay home and be warm and cozy. The coffee is hot, and I have chocolate biscotti, perfect for dipping.

My father used to bring donuts home after Sunday mass. Though he never remembered my favorite, I found one or two I liked, lemon and glazed. His favorite was a plain donut. He always buttered it.

My father had quite the sweet tooth. He used to keep a bowl of Hershey miniatures beside him on the table. He hid chocolates under the couch, but we knew his hiding spot and helped ourselves. His favorite ice cream was vanilla drowned in Hershey’s chocolate syrup. When we were in Belgium, I found a wonderful chocolate shop across from our hotel. I bought a bag of chocolate truffles for the road. My father wasn’t enthused as he had never seen a truffle before. I made the mistake of giving him one. While I was driving, I could hear the rustling of the truffle bag. It wasn’t long before the bag was empty.

Every time my parents visited, I made my father a chocolate cream pie, his favorite. He never shared. We didn’t mind because I had made it for him.

My father loved mashed potatoes, creamed onions, cheddar cheese on his slice of apple pie, turkey legs, instant coffee, asparagus from a can, Milk Crackers and anything chocolate. He loved to snack.

We called my mother the seagull. I remember her having a cold hot dog sandwich with cucumbers for breakfast once. She never drank coffee or tea. She drank Diet Coke in the morning. When she visited, I used to give her some hot coffee and a few biscotti. She loved dipping the biscotti into the coffee. Every Christmas I made her orange cookies, her favorite. I remember one Christmas my sister and her family visited. My brother-in-law loved the orange cookies so my mother hid a few. She wasn’t a big sweet eater, but she loved those cookies.

My mother used to make peanut butter balls every Christmas. She used to freeze a few to surprise me long after Christmas. My sister makes them every year. They are one of my favorite Christmas from her. I freeze a few to savor long after Christmas.

The morning is a delight. Though there is a bit of a spring chill, the day is filled with sunshine. My yard is getting its spring clean-up. The air smells of dirt and dead leaves and flowers. Henry is barking constantly at the sound of the blower. I have shut both doors, but Henry still barks. Nala is having her morning nap. Nothing bothers her. Everything bothers Henry.

When I was a kid, my father did his yard work on Saturdays. He always used a hand mower. Every spring he’d have it sharpened. When he mowed the lawn, it had to be in certain pattern. I used to volunteer to mow his lawn, but he aways preferred to do it himself. I never got his pattern right. He was not a big flower man. He seemed to prefer pansies for the small front garden. I came to love pansies. They all have faces. Some wear hats. They have the brightest colors. I love the pinks and the purples. They fit perfectly in my front garden where they get the morning sun.

In my backyard, violets have spread. They came from my parents’ house. Every time I see them, I think of my mother and her little garden. It was in the corner of her backyard. Her little garden was filled with flowers. A statue of St. Francis held his arms and hands out, and my mother filled his hands with seeds. She also had bird feeders hung off the clothes lines. We used to joke because she mostly got pigeons. She used to call them her country pigeons.

Every year I buy more flowers for my front garden. Except for the pansies, I buy perennials. In the spring the bulb flowers bloom. When the other flowers start to poke their heads above the ground, I figure how where I might have room. Yellow is the color of most of the flowers. This year I’m adding reds and pinks.

The deck rails have clay pots on them filled with herbs along the side and flowers in the back. I use a mixture of annuals and perennials in the back. On the side, the lavender and the rosemary are my favorites. When I pass by them, I rub my hand up those two plants. They are a delight to my eyes, my nose and my taste buds.

Today is jaw-droppingly beautiful and warm. The clear blue sky extends from one horizon to the other. It is a cool blue, an azure blue. I don’t see a single cloud. The sun is so very bright it glints through the trees in the backyard and highlights the trunks and branches. Right now it is 62˚ and may even get to 65˚. I’m going out as a day like today shouldn’t be wasted inside the house. The dogs know that. They stay outside playing for a long time. They come back in panting and looking for water and a treat then go back out again. It is almost their morning nap time.

Today is Earth Day which I knew nothing about at first as I was in Ghana where, for Ghanaians, every day was Earth Day. They wasted nothing. Everything was used and reused. My sandals had soles cut from tires. I didn’t leave shoe prints. I left tread marks. Meat was wrapped in newspapers or leaves. Rice was sold in cones made of newspapers. Beer bottles were filled with palm or peanut oil. Small kiosks sold almost everything in cans including instant coffee, evaporated milk, mackerel, margarine and butter. The used cans scooped water from buckets or village water holes. Bread was sold without wrappings. Eggs were never in crates. They were sold one by one. I never saw plastic back then.

When I returned to Ghana, much had changed. The Ghanaians still reused what they could, but there was trash, stuff thrown everywhere on the ground. Most of the trash was empty plastic water sachets.

Ghanaians have never learned to recycle useless trash, and there are no barrels to collect it, but that is beginning to change. Organizations and groups have begun finding ways to recycle even the plastic water sachets. My shower curtain was made in Ghana. Its back is a sheet of water sachets which makes crinkling noises when I get out of the shower. A Peace Corps volunteer fashioned soccer nets from those sachets. Small boys collect them from the streets and the markets and are paid per sachet. Ghana is taking its first steps to conserve, to finding ways to eliminate the trash. I’m thinking they just need to return to the old ways which are now the new ways to save our Earth.