Last night it rained. The morning is cloudy and damp. More rain is expected. It could reach 60˚. Today’s low will be in the 40’s, the high temperature of not so long ago. Maybe spring is making its mark, defining the weather and pushing through the dampness, the browns and the grey. I do see more flowers every morning. It was two hyacinths today, both of them a deep rose. The mornings are noisy now, filled with the songs of birds. When I got the paper, I saw a cardinal couple probably looking for the perfect tree. The red was bright against the wild rose bush just beginning to get buds. There is just something so wonderful about the spring.

Yesterday I got bought a pineapple. It is still a bit unripe. When I was a kid, I never saw a pineapple outside of a can where it came in slices with a sugary syrup. In Ghana, a bowl of cut fruit was my lunch every day. I ate bananas, oranges, mangos, pineapples and pawpaw (papaya here) when it was in season. On the road, I often bought oranges. The aunties selling the fruit always cut off the top of the peel with a razor blade. I’d suck out all the juices then turn the orange inside out to eat the pulp. I remember those oranges were the sweetest I’d ever tasted. They were green. I often wondered why they were still called oranges.

The first time I saw a Guinea fowl I didn’t know what it was. I wasn’t quite sure if it was beautiful or ugly. They have small heads and big bodies. Their feathers are spotted. My first thought was Guinea fowl are off-beat relatives of a chicken. I was wrong. They are singular birds, and they can really fly. They wandered all around the school compound eating bugs. They have a funny run and are quick, hard to catch. I never saw a baby Guinea fowl. Sometimes I bought Guinea eggs. They were hard to break.

Okra and garden eggs were two vegetables I hadn’t ever seen. I liked okra except it was slimy. I only had it in stews. Since then, I’ve found out to de-slime. Cooking them with tomatoes is an easy way. Garden eggs, nyadua in Twi, were white though some had green stripes. They were baby eggplants. I also ate them in stews. One of my friends grows them in her garden.

If I cooked a Ghanaian meal here, it would have kelewele, jollof rice, chicken, a light soup and a green sauce I never learned how to make. I’d eat dinner with my right hand, the Ghanaian way.

Today is a pretty day with a bright squint your eyes sun and the deepest blue, cloudless sky. It is chilly, only in the mid 40’s, but it will get warmer as the day settles. I’m going to water my plants, trash pick my yard and organize my closet. I can barely wait. The excitement is building.

I seldom plan a meal. I have plenty of groceries, but I don’t usually cook. In the mornings I have a couple of cups of coffee and sometimes a banana. The dogs wait impatiently for their teaspoon of coffee and a bit of my banana then they join me on the couch for their morning naps. Jack has breakfast then sleeps curled in a ball in his cat house. The cat house looks like a camping tent. My father used to say he wanted to come back as a pet in any of our houses.

In my town, when I was a kid, was a pet store right beside Santoro’s subs. I bought a chameleon there. When I got home, I put it in a small glass aquarium with leaves and sticks as cover. I used to sit and watch the chameleon change color from the brown of the branches and the green of the leaves. Even though I knew why, it was no less miraculous.

My favorite aunt lived about three blocks from my house. I often visited. She had Sam, my dog Duke’s son. It was my aunt who had given us Duke. I used to take a short cut home from her house. It meant climbing a chainlink fence. One time I was nearing the fence when I saw a half dollar on the path. I thought it was strange, even eerie. I had been wishing I had some money not long before I found it. I couldn’t imagine how a half dollar got to be on that overgrown path where I had to dodge bushes and weeds. I thought it had to be a miracle.

I was at a Christmas event where there were prizes. I was standing with a friend when I told her I was going to win the next prize. I had a weird feeling about it. The prize was a Christmas Buche d’ Noel. They called my name. My friend was a bit freaked.

I suppose I could say it was just serendipity, but how did I guess ahead of time the prize was mine and how was the half dollar right in front of me on that seldom used path just after I had thought about it. I didn’t have an answer back then, but I thought maybe there was a bit of of the divine about them. Now, I just chalk it up to karma. I wish it worked on guessing lottery numbers.

Mother Nature was a tease yesterday. The temperature got to 59˚. I wanted 60˚, a small hope, a single degree hope. I did get sun and some blue sky so I suppose I ought not to complain. I’ll have to remember that today as we will have the same weather as yesterday. Right now it is 47˚, spring morning cold. It will be in the mid 50’s later, shorts and tank top weather for sure.

When I was growing up, I was a busy kid. I was a Girl Scout. I started in the second grade as a brownie. We met every week. The best part was I could wear my brownie uniform to school. I had everything a brownie wore: the uniform, the beanie with the girl scout symbol in an orangey gold on the front and the change purse also with the brownie symbol. It hung from the belt. I was really proud when I wore my uniform. A few years later I flew up to girl scout. That’s what they call it, flying up. My uniform was a white blouse, a green skirt, a girl scout hat with the trefoil symbol on the front and a sash which became covered in badges. I was a Girl Scout for ten years. It was a big ceremony when some of us got our ten year pins. Both my parents were there.

I joined St. Patrick’s drill team when I was ten. We had practice every Saturday at the armory where we learned the basics of marching. I had fun though sometimes we weren’t supposed to. At one point our instructor, John Kelly, told us we were ready to join the senior drill team. We had practice once a week in winter and twice a week in summer, sometimes even Sunday mornings before a competition. We had competition all summer, some Friday nights but mostly Sunday afternoons. It was huge commitment, but I loved being part of the drill team and still have friends dating from those long ago days.

I had other loves as I grew older. I loved acting, and we did one act plays at my school. We even competed. Though we never won anything, I did get a jar with a preserved embryo of a pig, a gift from a science teacher.

I’ve been the president of the library board. That lasted years. I took tap dancing lessons. I knew all the steps but that barely translated from my head to my feet. Now I’m still learning the uke which I love playing. I have little or no musical ability. I know all the chords now, but my head doesn’t always translate well to my fingers. Today I have another concert.

When I woke up this morning, the blue had only a small piece of the sky. Clouds covered the rest. The forecast is for clouds and a high of 55˚, but that little glimpse of blue made me hopeful. The sun popped out for a bit then disappeared only to reappear a little while later. I hope the sun wins despite the forecast.

My memory drawers are overflowing. I make new memories all the time while the old memories are still there vying for space. I can recall exact moments. If I close my eyes, I can see those moments as if they are newsreels of my life.

My mother told me about an encounter when I was about three. We were on the elevator in the Sears building near Kenmore when a Black lady entered. That was the first time I ever saw a Black person. I asked my mother what was wrong with her. The woman started a tirade and called us racists and other choice names all peppered with swears. I didn’t remember the encounter, but my mother told me we, the three of us, were the only people on the elevator. She said I was scared and so was she. The woman kept screaming at me and my mother. When the elevator stopped so people could get on, my mother hustled me off so quickly I almost couldn’t keep up. We left the building.

I do remember one encounter. My uncle, only a couple of years older than I, and my brother were at the subway station waiting for the train. We were going to the pool near Storrow Drive. My brother and uncle were a bit away from me on the platform. A man approached me. I remember he had rotten teeth and a straw hat. He asked me if I wanted gum. I said yes so he told me to go with him, and he’d give me my gum. All those warnings my mother used to give jumped into my head, and I bolted away from him. When I told my uncle, he didn’t believe me. I never told my mother.

Last night the wind was the proverbial freight train. The rain was blown sideways and was hitting my bedroom window, but the best had yet to come. I don’t know what time it was, but I woke up to a rumbling of thunder. Shortly after, the biggest clap of thunder I have ever heard broke over my house. The dogs and I sat up. Henry, who hasn’t ever minded thunder, shook. Nala looked up at the ceiling. Henry was going to jump off the bed, probably to go hide, but I stopped him and hugged him while I patted Nala. It took a little time, but we they settled dow and we all fell back to sleep.

Today will be in the high 50’s with drizzle. The wind is slight. The sky is a light grey.

Spring has come to Cape Cod. The gardens are filled with color. My forsythia has bloomed. My hyacinths are open. They are purple and mauve. My day lilies are all above ground. The other day, while I was out and about, I saw a yard filled with dafs. I stopped to look drawn by the field of yellow. It was eye popping.

When I was a kid, I pushed spring. I wanted out of winter and heavy winter clothes. I had a spring jacket I loved. It was blue and had a zipper. It also had no lining. I used to beg my mother to let me wear it. I wore her down, but she was right. In early spring it was still cold. On the walk to school it was really cold just wearing that jacket, but I would never admit it to my mother even if I had icicles hanging from my nose.

I bought some Peeps yesterday, yellow and pink Peeps. When I got home, I opened the packages and put them high up on my kitchen bookcase, higher than Nala can reach. I won’t eat them until they are rock hard, the only way I like them. I’ve told you before I know, but I’m going tell you again the history of hard Peeps. When I was in Ghana, my mother sent me packages for most holidays. Food and treats were the most welcome parts of those packages. She’d send kits like for Mac and Cheese and pasta with Alfredo. They were my Sunday dinners. She send candy which didn’t melt, including the Peeps. Packages took at least a couple of months as they came by sea so by the time they got to me, the Peeps were rock hard despite still being in their packages. Since then, I wait, impatiently, for the Peeps to get hard. Quite chewy is the best description.

Today baseball begins for my Red Sox. They are playing the Yankees at Yankee Stadium. I’m going to tape the game as it is a ukulele day.

Today is warm at 54˚. Despite the clouds, rain is not predicted until tomorrow. Everything is still. Everything is quiet. I have a couple of things to do today and a couple of stops to make. I’m taking Nala. She loves the car, Henry not so much.

I went out yesterday and was gone a little over three hours. Miss Nala got bored. I found the remnants of a pencil and a pen. She loved the pencil more and chewed it into four or five pieces. Later, I caught her trying to steal a pillow from the den. She was thwarted.

When I was a kid, I never ate Jello. To me, its consistency was gross, and I was never charmed by the jiggling. I preferred chocolate pudding. I still do.

My favorite potatoes are mashed, but I’ll eat almost any potato dish including sweet potatoes. Those usually get baked. I have a couple I’m thinking of baking for tonight. They are my only menu item for dinner so far.

My mother used to make the most delicious fish casserole. It had a white fish of sorts and some shrimp. The top was Ritz, buttered Ritz. I can’t remember the last time I made it. I’m thinking it’s pass time.

Lately I have been binge watching movies. Everyone has been in black and white and most are science fiction. Right now I’m watching It came from Hell, a 1957 movie. The antagonist is a tree monster. The setting is a tiny atoll. A native prince was accused of killing his father. He was innocent but was found guilty. He was executed when a knife was driven into his heart. He was buried upright in a hollow tree trunk. Years earlier, according to legend, an island chief returned from the dead in the form of a vengeful tree monster called Tabanga. The legend, come to find out, was a true story. The prince morphed into a tree monster who walked and killed those who had wronged him, including his wife. The tree had feet instead of roots. The feet wore shoes.

My house is quiet. The dogs are asleep on the couch. Nala is using Henry as a pillow. Jack too is quiet. I greeted him this morning. He meowed.

Today is the sort of morning which comes so often in the early spring. It is a bit chilly, but the air gives hint of a warmer day. The birds are lively. The dogs stay outside running the yard. Nala usually has a stick in her mouth or something she’s stolen from the house. Yesterday it was a plastic water bottle now crushed and lying flattened in the yard. It is the only debris.

When I was in elementary school, I did well, mostly A’s, except for a few subjects, not unexpected subjects. In the fourth grade, I got B’s in art except for one term when I got a C. In music, I got B’s except for one A. My penmanship too was worthy of only B’s. The worst I did was in conduct. I had mostly C’s, but it seems I did better by the end of the year when I got a B. My poor showing in art and music has been lifelong. I have an appreciate for both but no talent in either.

When I was a kid, I always looked for the man in the moon and his gigantic smile. I never believed the moon was made out of green cheese. I loved Hey, Diddle Diddle. It made no sense which was great fun. I got to imagine the cow jumping over the moon, the little dog barking and the dish running away with the spoon. I have always wished on the first star I see, “Star light, star bright, The first star I see tonight; I wish I may, I wish I might, Have the wish I wish tonight.” I know my wishes didn’t often come true, but that has never stopped me from wishing. I remember I used to lie on the grass and watch the sky. I hoped for a falling star and sometimes saw one, but it took time and patience. Now, when we have meteor showers, I still watch the sky. I sit outside even in winter. I ooh and ah out loud, but my neighbors are usually asleep, their houses dark. I am tempted to run up and down the street to tell my neighbors to come outside and be astounded.

When I lived in Ghana, the night sky was jaw dropping amazing. It was filled with stars, more than I had ever seen or have seen since. I could actually see the Milky Way’s span across the sky. I saw falling stars every night, sometimes even a couple. The only place here which comes close is at the beach on a clear night. The sky is ablaze with so many stars. I sit on the cold sand and watch and wait for a falling star. I usually see one. I ooh and ah out loud. I am still thrilled to see a falling star.

Today is a pretty day with lots of sun. It is warmish at 44˚. My plans for today are simple: change my bed and take a shower then maybe nap from the exertion. I don’t even have a full load of laundry yet. Yesterday I took down ornaments from the tree near the driveway, unplugged all the extension cords and then put everything down cellar, but the lights themselves are still on the fence and deck. I am saving them for another day. Wow, something to look forward to say I sarcastically.

My house is being cleaned. Nala is barking and trying to eat the vacuum. Henry barked like a crazy dog when my cleaning lady rang the bell but has since settled on the couch. His work is done until the mailman stops his truck at my mailbox. That will send Henry into a frenzy.

When I was a kid, my mother always prepared breakfast for us so we would be fortified for the walk to school. I remember the oatmeal, the lumpy oatmeal, on winter mornings. Sometimes I added sugar and milk while other times it was maple syrup. I also loved cinnamon toast. When it was a cereal morning, a box of Rice Krispies and a box of Cheerios were on the table. I never chose the Cheerios.

My father joined the navy during World War II the day he turned 17. He had already graduated from high school. His mother had sent him to school at 4 just to get him out of the house. My father was a signalman. I don’t remember how old I was, but he taught my brother and me Morse code. We used to darken the upstairs. My brother and I were in one room while my father was in another. Using his flashlight, he’d send us messages in Morse code. We’d answer him with our flashlight. I don’t remember Morse code except SOS and the four opening notes of the movie The Longest Day which were the opening bars of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony and Morse code for victory, dot-dot-dot-dash, or three short clicks and one long. It was played on kettle drums which was the dramatic opening of that movie. V for victory became the leitmotif for the Western Allies (I had to look up leitmotif, a new word for me).

For a long time, I knew I wanted to join the Peace Corps. When the recruiter came on campus my junior year of college, I was front and center to listen. His description of his experiences cemented my Peace Corps wish. I applied in October of my senior year then I suffered through the waiting game. In real time it wasn’t a long wait, but for me, it felt like an eternity. I received a special delivery letter in January inviting me to accept an invitation to the Peace Corps. I accepted immediately. I was going to Africa. I was over the moon.

The sun is shining in a sky of blue. It is a bit chilly, only 48˚. The forecast is for rain but not until after five. Yesterday I cleaned the papers and cans in the yard, Nala’s mess. While I was cleaning, she tried to eat the convict pick up stick. I use stop instead of no, but it doesn’t matter. Nala ignores me either way, but she comes in when I call. I’m good with that.

When I was a kid, my dog Duke, another boxer, ignored everybody. That used to drive my father insane. He was known to chase Duke in the car when the dog ignored him and still ran off to follow kids to school. My mother tried a different tactic to get him into the house. She bribed him with bologna, but he could snatch a slice from her hand and leave her only with the corner of the meat she was holding. If Duke was out, he’d follow us to our school. The nuns had me walk him home. I didn’t mind the walk, and I loved missing school with permission. I took my time.

I had all the regular subjects in elementary school and only one nun every year who taught them all. We didn’t have art or music every day which was fine with me. I can’t sing and I draw stick figures. We were taught a few weird subjects. I can translate Roman numerals, and I can read and transcribe Gregorian chant music. Mighty skills, useless skills!

I am watching Unknown World from 1951. It has a woman scientist who is described as an ardent feminist. She is in charge of the diet and the animals. The other day I watched a video about a moose. The narrator described it as a quiet Gentile. I wondered. Are all moose Gentiles? I have no idea what the program was, but I loved the description of the main character as a plucky underdog. At one of my high school’s graduations, a speaker, the head of the school committee, made a speech. He wanted to share with the graduates an antidote.

The English language and mathematics are strangely similar. There is one answer to a math problem and only one correct grammatical structure. I find the sounds of incorrect grammar grating. I reject the argument that only being understood matters. That is like telling a musician that singing on-key isn’t important. Just belt out that song. Only the singing matters, not the tone or the key or the notes. My third grade teacher, Sister Eileen Marie, told me just to mouth the words to the May procession songs. I still remember exactly where I was standing when she had me sing to her. She then embarrassed me in front of the whole class when she told me to mouth the words. I was eight. That is when I stopped singing when anyone could hear me.

Today is spring, a pretty day sandwiched in between two rainy days. The sky is a spectacular blue. The slight breeze stirs only the ends of the smallest branches. My dafs have bloomed. Their yellow is striking. They are the brightest spot in the whole garden though the hyacinths are close behind and the forsythia has buds. That forsythia is as old as the house. It was a housewarming gift from my brother and his then girlfriend. When it was planted, it was alone in the garden. Now the garden blooms in so many colors from all the flowers, but the forsythia is front and center.

The dogs love this weather and are out for the longest time. This morning Nala came in first, usually Henry does. She was hoping for her morning treat so I went on the deck to look for Henry. He was in the lower 40, against the back fence. Henry is easy to spot with his white fur. He heard the word treat and came running. They both got a biscuit, a peanut butter biscuit, finished it then went back outside. They’ll be in for their spoonful of coffee.

When I was a kid, I’d ride my bike on a day like today. I lived on a hill. Riding down that hill and gathering speed made me almost giddy. It was a windy ride without the wind. I could feel the cold air up my sleeves. They billowed. I can still remember the joy of riding down that hill.

I lived in the project on one side of a duplex. It was a small project with maybe a dozen duplexes up the hill and around a small rotary in the cul-de-sac. Each side of the duplex mirrored the other side. It was a good place to live.

Most of my exploring was done alone. I’d jump on my bike, head down the hill and then decide my route. I had special places. One was the zoo. I’d walk my bike around all the cages and check out the animals. The elephant was my favorite.

Another route took me uptown. I’d walk my bike again, this time on the sidewalk while I checked out the windows. I watched the lobsters swimming in their tank at the fish market. That they were someone’s dinner never occurred to me. At Hank’s, the bakery, I’d wish I had money to buy even just one cookie. The ones in the window were sugar cookies, some frosted while other had sprinkles, the multi-colored ones. At Kennedy’s it was the cheese. A huge block of cheddar was by the door and another was in the window. I just wanted a chunk to eat on the way.

Another route took me by the golf course where I searched for balls. I always found at least one. From there I’d take a different route, a longer ride, to go home.

I’d be gone most of the day. Only the chill of the late afternoon had me heading for home. It was hot dogs, beans and brown bread night. It was bath night. After that, it was westerns on TV and staying up a bit later.

It was the most satisfying day.