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.

Today is another pretty day with lots of sun and blue sky, but it is only 52˚ and won’t get much higher, perfect weather for errands, and I have three.

When I was a kid, I learned truths from my mother. She told me I had to wait an hour after eating before going back into the water. If I went in any earlier, I was courting disaster: cramps and drowning. I remember sitting on the sand impatiently waiting for sixty whole minutes. I wondered about 40 minutes or 50 minutes, but my mother wouldn’t budge.

I never swallowed watermelon seeds. I didn’t want a garden growing in my stomach. Actually, I was okay with this as we spit out the watermelon seeds in contests of distance. I was never a good spitter.

Okay, I admit I was obedient in the days before Christmas. I didn’t want to get on Santa’s naughty list. If I crossed the line, my mother always reminded me Santa was watching. I never questioned how. I figured if Santa could fly around the world in a sleigh pulled by reindeer, he could watch me.

My tongue turned black when I lied. If I checked in the mirror, my tongue was always the right color. My mother explained only mothers could see black tongues. Later I realized that covering my mouth with my hand was a dead giveaway. My mother did not have magical powers.

Carrots gave me better eyesight which was great because sitting too close to the TV would make me go blind as would reading in a dark room by flashlight.

We were warned about swallowing gum. It would stay in our stomachs for years. Seven years seemed to be the norm.

I never believed that holding toads would give me warts. That brown cows were the ones who gave chocolate milk made sense to me. I never believed spinach would make me strong despite Popeye’s endorsement. I always thought my mother was being a bit sneaky and trying to get me to eat spinach. Even now I am not a spinach fan though I’ll tolerate some in a salad.

I didn’t cross my eyes or make horrible faces. I didn’t want my face to freeze. When I was in the eighth grade, my nun told us somewhat the same thing. She told a story of girls who weren’t Catholic who stuck out their tongues at the altar in church. Their faces stayed that way until they converted.

I never went blind, no watermelon garden or a giant rubbery ball of gum grew in my stomach. I didn’t drown if went swimming right away after I ate. Thanks to my mother, I avoided the perils and pitfalls of childhood.

The wind started around two am. It was fierce. The rain came with the wind. It pounded the windows, but I fell asleep anyway as did the dogs. When we woke up, everything was still wet, but the rain had stopped. It will be cloudy and in the 50’s today. The wind is still fierce and still blowing the pine branches, even the tallest and the thickest pine branches.

When I was a kid, this was spring vacation week. We never went anywhere because my father worked every day. I entertained myself by bike riding, picking out books at the library and spending time with friends. April weather is iffy here. Some vacations had warm weather while others still had a bit of winter about them. I didn’t usually care. It was vacation after all.

When I was a teacher and later an administrator, my parents and I started traveling during my April vacation. We’d choose one country, rent a car and tour all over. I was the driver. My parents paid for the car.

My favorite country was Portugal. We saw Iron Age and Roman ruins. My mother and I climbed a hill to see those Iron Age ruins. My father waved from below. We went way up country to Miranda do Douro, my favorite spot of all. I remember the wisteria was in bloom. It hung from trees and covered fences. We roamed the town, visited the cathedral and castle and the ruins around it. We stayed at Pousada Santa Catarina. One night we ate dinner in the hotel. The meal was extraordinary.

We loved our stay in Miranda do Douro, but after a few days, we had to leave to go south. A couple we had met during our stay left a while before us. They took the main road. I took a dirt road we happened upon which seemed to be headed in the right direction. It was scary as it was steep and winding, and I had to go slowly. At one spot my front wheels went off the road a bit and hovered over the side, but they were easily turned back to the road. My parents didn’t notice, but it scared the heck out of me. At the end of the dirt road we joined the main road. Later, we saw the couple was behind us. I’m sure when they saw us they wondered how we got ahead of them. I would have told them a death defying road.

The morning is a delight, a bit chilly, but it is April after all, early spring here on Cape Cod. The sky is brilliantly blue. Yesterday’s clouds have disappeared. Nothing is moving though there had been a wind warning earlier. The sun is shining so brightly I could barely see when I went to get the paper. It is one of my favorite sorts of mornings.

Some days are exciting by their very natures. Today is a holiday in Massachusetts, a big day around here, an amazing day filled with tradition. First and foremost it is Patriot’s Day which commemorates the battles of Lexington and Concord, fought near Boston in 1775. The festivities of the day started with a reenactment of the battle. We love and celebrate our history here. It is also Marathon Monday. The race has already started. The male wheel chair athletes were first. The winner has already crossed the finish line. The Red Sox start at eleven, an odd time, but scheduled so the fans can walk to the finish line of the marathon after the game to cheer on the runners. Today is a wonderful day to be in Boston.

When I was a kid, I loved the parades, the ones on special days. My town had one on Memorial Day. I was so excited to march in my first one when I was seven. I marched with my brownie troop and in my brownie uniform. When I was older, I marched with the drill team. We usually had a barbecue, the first of the season, after the parade. I still go to watch my local Memorial Day parade.

I think birthdays are sacrosanct. We get to celebrate our own special days. This summer I will invite my friends to celebrate with me at a barbecue. It is a special birthday, a milestone birthday. I won’t have a cake. I’ll have a lemon meringue pie. It is tradition for me.