The morning is cloudy and damp. No rain is predicted, but the clouds are staying around all day. It will be in the mid-60’s. I have an empty dance card. Going out to do anything would take far too much energy, energy I’m saving to walk to the kitchen. Getting out of bed is still painful. Once the blood hits the leg, I started the ow, ow, ows. The dogs watch in amazement. When I can move, I go downstairs to let the beasties outside, make coffee, get the paper then collapse on the couch, already exhausted though the morning has barely begun. I need a nap.

My neighbor made my day yesterday. She brought a basket filled with surprises. There was a lovely card and beautiful flowers. Cans of Coke were there to replace the ones which burst in my fridge. A chicken parm dinner from Nata’s noodles was also in the basket. There were chocolate bars. I can’t think of too many things as therapeutic as chocolate except maybe the chocolate chips cookies also in the basket. Last night I ate one of the Hershey bars. I swear the pain disappeared.

Bad things come in threes. I’ve got a refrigerator freezing everything, a foot and leg in massive pain and now a broken faucet. The hot water side of the kitchen faucet broke off last night. I tried super glue but all it did was stick to my fingers. Now I have to add a plumber to my doctors and to the repairman coming Monday for the fridge. I’m crossing my fingers that nothing else will go wrong, but now I’m thinking maybe those fingers might be in jeopardy. They are now uncrossed. You can never be too careful.

This morning I watched Marjorie Taylor Greene for the laughs. She didn’t disappoint. She said that Bill Gates has developed fake meat in a peach tree dish. That goes with her Nancy Pelosi’s gazpacho police comment.

The house is quiet. Both dogs are sleeping beside me on the couch. This room is dark. I didn’t turn on the light. The darkness is comforting in a strange way. I have my leg elevated on the table. Everything I need is in arm’s reach. I’m thinking it is a great time for an old movie. I need to be entertained.

Another day of an ugly, painful leg and foot though my foot is getting better, losing all its black and blues. This morning after I was awake for a bit I still hadn’t ventured out of bed. I knew that once the blood flowed to the leg I would be in yelping out loud pain. Finally I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed. The pain came. I wailed a bit. The dogs stood and watched and wondered. I made it downstairs without mishap. For that, I am thankful.

When I was a kid, I broke my wrist when I was three or four. I lived in a project in South Boston then. Our yard was a mass of metal fences around clotheslines. each clothesline was for an individual apartment. I jumped off the fence gates for fun. I even jumped off backwards. The one time I asked my mother to watch from the apartment, I landed poorly and put my hand down to the pavement to keep me from falling. I complained my arm hurt but still kept jumping. My mother told me she called my grandfather and asked him for advice. He told her to move the wrist back and forth. She did it while I was sleeping, and I didn’t have a reaction, but my grandfather told her to get me to the hospital to check. They found the break and put a cast on. I was quite proud of that cast!

I broke my cheekbone by falling down the stairs. Nothing could be done. It just had to heal. It did, but sometimes I get a pain in my cheek just before a big storm.

That’s it, my list of broken bones. For someone who falls, it is a short list. I did fall down the stairs when I was ten but only needed stitches on my chin so it doesn’t count.

I am tired. It takes a lot of energy to deal with this leg. I even take a nap every day, but I still go to bed early for me. Last night it was just after the news at 11:30. I woke up at 4 in wicked pain because I had neglected to take the pain pill. I couldn’t hobble downstairs because of the pain so I moved my foot around until it hurt less. I fell back to sleep until 8:30.

For many things, I am impatient. This leg is one of them. I do what I’ve been told, but I hate it. It was a week ago Wednesday that this whole thing started. In my opinion, that’s plenty of time to heal, but no, I’m still waiting. I’m thinking enough is enough.

Okay, it is Thursday, but I missed Tuesday so here I am coming to you from home after a two day hospital stay. That infamous leg got far worse so I went to Urgent Care which sent me to the emergency room. I had a lovely room with a view of the ocean. The food was good. The nurses and doctors were amazing.

On night one, I was in the ER until 3 am when a bed became available. From my new room, I was admitted officially after I answered the questions, had my leg looked at and changed into a stylish Johnnie. I hadn’t eaten since the morning when I shared a banana with the dogs so I was given a couple of tasty chicken salad sandwiches and a ginger ale. I thought the ginger ale the perfect drink under the circumstances as my mother always gave us ginger ale when we were sick. I was made to keep my leg elevated and was given a pain pill for the leg and an antibiotic for the finger dog bite. Everything was okay until I had to go to the bathroom. That was a process each time and it hurt, pained my leg and foot. I yelped each time.

My two days were spent in bed with my leg elevated, my vitals checked and visits from my nurse, the nurse practitioner and a doctor. The hematoma was so huge they did not feel comfortable sending me home after the first day so I stayed another day which was the same as the first day except for meals. I got to choose, and the meals were delicious. On morning two, I woke up at 4 with a variety of pains from my back, my shin and my foot. I got a magic pill.

It was decided I could leave but not until the pill was out of my system as I was driving myself. After medical instructions, I was allowed to leave. They gave me a walker as well as a wedge to help keep my leg elevated. A stop at the pharmacy was last. I was wheeled to my car.

Henry barked at me, not the grand homecoming I was expecting. I let them out and patted them until they were content. I was to supposed to have a Chewy deliver but not in time for the dogs to be fed. I gave them some sausage and Spam with their dry food. Just after they inhaled their dinners, the Chewy box arrived.

My friends Jay and Claire and Nancy took care of the animals for me. Nancy even cut up apples for the dogs to have with bananas for morning treats. Jack got clean food and lots of treats. Nancy went over a couple of times a day and Jay and Claire took care of the nights. I don’t know what I would have done without my friends. I can’t thank them enough. To add to that, Nancy brought coke and half and half this morning. Two coke cans had burst in my fridge and the cream was unusable.

My fridge freezes everything. The ice maker has died. I went on line to Sears home warranty this morning but didn’t remember my password. I had to ask twice and neither time did I get a reset e-mail. I called. Twice the call was dropped. I tried again and was lucky enough to get a person who stayed on the line, but the wait to get him was about 20 minutes. I was frustrated to tears. I ended up with an appointment on Monday.

Everything in my fridge is frozen. I will defrost meat which is supposed to be frozen. That’s it for meals until Monday except for toast. I have bread. These last few days need to be erased from my memory drawers.

Memorial Day is a day for reflection and a day to give thanks. It is a day for honoring the men and women who died while serving in the U.S. military, those who gave, as President Lincoln once said, their “last full measure of devotion.” This is my annual tribute. 

Memorial Day, originally called Decoration Day, is a day of remembrance for those who have died in our nation’s service. It originated during the American Civi War when citizens placed flowers on the graves of those who had been killed in battle. There are many stories as to its actual beginnings, with over two dozen cities and towns laying claim to being the birthplace of Memorial Day. There is also evidence that organized women’s groups in the South were decorating graves before the end of the Civil War: a hymn published in 1867, “Kneel Where Our Loves are Sleeping” by Nella L. Sweet carried the dedication “To The Ladies of the South who are Decorating the Graves of the Confederate Dead.” While Waterloo N.Y. was officially declared the birthplace of Memorial Day by President Lyndon Johnson in May 1966, it’s difficult to prove conclusively the origins of the day. It is more likely that it had many separate beginnings; each of those towns and every planned or spontaneous gathering of people to honor the war dead in the 1860′s tapped into the general human need to honor our dead, each contributed honorably to the growing movement that culminated in Gen Logan giving his official proclamation in 1868. It is not important who was the very first, what is important is that Memorial Day was established. Memorial Day is not about division. It is about reconciliation; it is about coming together to honor those who gave their all.

Today is brilliant. It is the best of late spring. The sun is squint your eyes bright. The sky is the perfect blue, an iris blue. The wind is slight. The air is redolent of the flowers booming in the front gardens. Birds are still greeting the morning and flitting from bush to bush. The dogs are staying outside in the sun, lying on the deck for maximum exposure.

An injury update: my finger is swollen mostly from the knuckle down. I can bend it only a little, but that’s an improvement. It doesn’t hurt unless I use it without thinking. My leg, though, is worse. It is not a pretty sight. The inside of my foot and all my toes are black and blue. The shin hurts when I move and when I don’t move. Nala has no injuries.

When I ponder my past, I remember amazing places. The first one, way way back, is when we went to Niagara Falls. It was the first time we stayed in a motel, and we ate out every meal. After we parked and settled in, we walked to the falls. The roar of the water was all around us. Rainbows were reflected off the bottom of the falls, off the mist. We watched for a while then moved on. Our next stop was a locker room where we donned ugly yellow slickers and walked under the falls. We were surrounded by water so loud we couldn’t be heard. My favorite story of the trip involved my father. We went into Madame Tussaud’s Wax Museum. He went up to the cashier’s window and asked for 4 adults and 2 children. He got no response so he asked again. A couple of old ladies were sitting on a bench near the cashier’s window, and they were laughing. My father asked one more time, louder and brusquely. That was when he noticed the old ladies laughing. He looked at the cashier and found out she was wax.

Other amazing places included being at the equator and standing on a dirt spot with a line, straddling that line and standing in two hemispheres at the same time. Macchu Pichu was magnificent. Christ of Corcovado Mountain was massive. His arms stretch almost a hundred feet. From that mountain all of Rio stretches out below including Sugar Loaf and the two beaches, Copacabana and Ipanema. I felt small standing there.

I loved the train ride across the canal. The railroad bridge was lowered over the water. I tried to look at both sides of the bridge at the same time. I was struck by the water, the shoreline and that bridge.

The trains in South America are highlights in my memory drawer of amazing rides. Taking the train to Guayaquil took my breath away. The highlight was the switchback. In Peru, the Cusco to Puno ride was spectacular. It was an every day rail service back then, no luxury train. The ride took about 10 hours. We stopped for a couple of nights in Puno then took a hovercraft across Lake Titicaca to the altiplano of Bolivia.

I took the train in Ghana every chance I got. We whizzed passed small villages, people walking along the sides of the tracks and goats, always goats, just lying by the tracks. At every stop, women offered food for sale at the windows. I always bought fresh bread and bush meat.

I have only the dump on my dance card for today so I’m thinking a deck day with a cold drink, a good book and my two dogs.

The morning is rainy and dark. The wind is strong enough to blow even the heaviest limbs. It is the sort of day to stay close to hearth and home. It is a cozies and slippers sort of day.

Last night the storm woke me. I could hear the wind blowing and the rain on the roof. I listened for a little while then fell back to sleep.

I remember when a Carroll’s opened up in my hometown. Fifteen cent burgers were revolutionary. The parking lot became a Saturday hang-out spot. Kids were all over the place. Cars filled all the spaces.

On school nights, the hang out spot was the library. All the tables and chairs were filled with kids pretending they were there to do homework. The librarians were on alert. They threatened to make even the whisperers leave.

My town had both a Grant’s and a Woolworth’s. I liked the Woolworth’s more. It had a candy section, balsa airplanes, Golden books, comic books and inexpensive toys. I wandered the aisles feeing rich with my fifty cents allowance.

Santoro’s subs were just down the street from my elementary school. About once a month my mother would give us enough money to buy a sub, chips and a small drink. I remember how the shop smelled of onions and tomatoes. The menu was huge and was hung on the wall, but I didn’t need it. On Fridays, meatless days, I’d order a tuna sub with pickles and hot peppers. On other days, it was an Italian sub, also with pickles and hot peppers. If it was a nice day, I’d walk to the town hall, sit on a bench and eat my lunch. If it was cold or rainy, I’d stand at the lunch counter and eat. I loved the subs, but the best part of it all was leaving school for just a little while.

I had a diary, a Christmas present one year. The cover was pink plastic with an illustration of a teen age girl talking on the phone on the front cover. It also had a lock and key. I’d write just about every day and lock it when I was done. I hid the key. Looking back on this, I chuckle a little. I was ten or eleven. Nothing in my life needed hiding behind a lock and key. Little has changed since then.

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.