The morning is lovely, sunny, bright and warm, 65° warm. My neighborhood is quiet, odd for a Saturday, but I’m thinking the Saturday work on the yard and mow the lawn rituals have passed. We are between the seasons of mowing and raking. Few of the leaves have turned color. Summer hangs on.

When I was a kid, I never hung around the house on a Saturday unless it was pouring rain. I explored or went to the movies or the library. If it rained, I’d stay upstairs in my room and read. I always had books. I still always have books. I’d get comfy under the covers with my pillow propped behind me and lose myself in the pages of my book. My mother used to think I ignored her when she called, but I just didn’t hear her. The world outside my room had disappeared.

I always had dreams of what I’d be or where I’d go. I knew I’d travel. That was a promise I made to myself when I was eleven. I didn’t know anyone who traveled, but that didn’t matter. It was my dream, a dream I never shared with anyone. I’d go through the pages of my atlas and read National Geographic at the library. I’d plan my trip. When I was in the eighth grade, John Kennedy, in a campaign speech, asked students at the University of Michigan if they would be willing to serve their country and the cause of peace by living and working in countries like Ghana. I knew I would. I never told anyone about that either. It is serendipitous that President Kennedy chose Ghana.

I have had favorite experiences. One was a balloon ride. My sister and I stood in the balloon’s basket as we floated in the air. The only sounds were the wind and the now and then whoosh of gas to keep the balloon inflated. I saw people in bathrobes hurry out of their houses to see the balloons as there were many of us on this perfect day for flight. On the way to Ghana the plane flew over the Sahara Desert. We all rushed to a window to see it. That was when the realization that I was starting an amazing adventure became real. My ride in the desert on the runaway camel is on the list of unexpected experiences. I came really close to face planting myself in the sands of the Sahara. Taking a horse and carriage ride in Marrakech, Morocco was stepping back in time. We rode among the old houses and the warrens of small streets not open to cars.

I have been so very lucky in this adventure of my life.

Today is a rest day. I again woke up quite late, let the dogs out, brewed a pot of coffee, had a couple of cups, read the newspaper and finished all the puzzles. By then it was close to 1:30. I decided not to write today as I have some things needing doing, but I figured I’d at least give you an update.

First, my leg is a bit better. I slept through the night and through the morning without waking up. I can walk pretty well, but I can’t bend over on my right side without some pain. It took a while to get my sock on my right foot. When I sit for a while, my leg does hurt when I get up, but all in all, it is better. This is week four of the three to five weeks the doctor told me it would take to heal. My nephew and my friend, both into sports medicine, gave me the same time line.

The floors of my house have dog hair everywhere, Henry hair, piles of it. They move when I walk by them. They need to be swept or vacuumed, but I’ll wait another couple of days. I admit I am being driven crazy by all that fur, but I’ll just have to dredge up some patience.

Today I am a sloth for all the right reasons.

Last night it rained. Around three the thunder started. It was short-lived. I went back to sleep. It was a good sleep, a long sleep. It was nearly afternoon when I finally got out of bed. I don’t know when the rain stopped, but everything is still wet.

In grammar school, my favorite classroom was when I was in the fourth grade. It was on the top floor of the old school. We were on double sessions waiting for the new school to be built. The afternoon session was my favorite.

The windows in that room started close to the ceiling. They went more than halfway down the wall and were on two sides, one facing the school yard and the other facing the walkway outside the little used side door. The windows opened and closed using a pole with a hook at the top. I loved that room on a rainy day. The drops hit the windows and slowly dripped down until they disappeared. I watched them get smaller and smaller. I was easily distracted by the rain. The lights hung down from the ceiling. They were glass balls, old time lights. The room was always a bit dark on a rainy day despite those lights. The darkness and the rain somehow subdued us. The only sounds were rustling papers and turning pages. The rain was too loud for lessons.

Our desks were old. The opening for the books was below the top. I used to have to turn sideways to look inside the space for my books and my papers. On the top of the desk was a slot for pencils and pens. I used to put my lunchbox beside the metal legs of my desk. The only blackboard was at the front of the room. The teacher’s desk was in front of the blackboard. My desk that year was at the end of the first row. The windows were right behind me. I had a view of the entire room. I can still close my eyes and see that room. In my memory drawers are images of other classroom, but none are as complete and as vivid as that fourth grade room. I don’t know why.

Today is just one of those days. I woke up tired. My great day yesterday was followed by a not so great night. I do remember waking myself up a few times moaning. My bed is a mess, the best indicator of restlessness. I’m going to take it easy today. I’m getting good at that. I’m going to eat a Butterfinger. I am also good at that.

Today is partially cloudy and in the high 60’s. The house still holds a chill from last night. It must be great for sleeping as both dogs are napping. Henry is upstairs on my bed. He doesn’t mind the disarray.

When I was in Peace Corps training in Ghana, we had a large group meeting centered around diseases. The diseases were color coded on the map. Where I was headed had the most color, but I figured I was safe as Peace Corps is big on preventive medicine. We got so many shots one day they ran out of places to put them, but they must have worked. I never did get sick. I did get a burn on my leg from a goat. I was stopped and holding my motorcycle to let a herd of goats go by me when the herd turned and ran into my bike. I dropped it and got burned by the exhaust. I had a scar for a long time. I also had a story.

The only other medical issue I had was an infected mosquito bite. It happened when I was in Accra. The itching from the bite drove me crazy. I scratched too much and opened the bite. As I wore sandals, the open bite became home to who knows what. Once I realized it was infected, I headed to the Peace Corps doctor. He gave me two options. He could drain it or he could just treat it with an antibiotic. He told me that last option would take a while to heal while the draining would be quick to heal. I went with the draining. After the doctor had finished, he told me it would take a while to heal. That was not what he had told me. He agreed and said he’d lied.

I have uke practice tonight. I figure if I laze around all day I’ll be fine. The Butterfinger was delicious!

The morning is lovely. It is 72° and sunny. A few oak leaves ruffle in the bit of a breeze. The dogs are out enjoying the day.

I slept well last night. My leg feels a bit better today. This is the start of week 4 so I am hopeful. I didn’t go out yesterday, but I did have the few groceries I needed delivered. My larder is filled.

Today I am going to water my house plants. That is the only item on my dance card. I do have uke events during the week and I hope to last for all of them.

I have favorite sounds. The rain is probably my favorite. I love it falling on the roof and windows. If I were building my house, I’d put on a metal roof so I’d be surrounded by the sound. The sweet ring of the chimes in my backyard makes the wind welcomed. The chimes hang low from a tree branch. I can see them from the house. In Ghana, I loved the morning crows of my rooster greeting the day. I’d listen then fall back to sleep. When I made my first trip back, a rooster crowed outside my hotel room window to welcome me back. It was like a trip back in time. During Peace Corps training, I stayed with a Ghanaian family. My room was in the back of the house facing a dirt street. A small mosque with green painted walls was on that street. I could hear the calls to prayer. The first call by the muezzin was before dawn. It reached me in that hazy place between awake and asleep. I would listen every morning then fall back to sleep. When I went to Morocco, I could hear the familiar calls from the top floor of my riad. Those calls were made through speakers, amplified for all to hear the prayers.

When I was in college and home for the weekend, my father always invited me on his Sunday dump run. If a friend came home with me, my friend was the invitee. My father loved the dump and loved to share those trips. Back then the dump was filled with huge, tall piles of trash. Gulls flew in circles round the trash piles, and the air was filled with their squawking caws. I always think of seagulls as home, as one of the cape’s loudest bird choristers. I love the late night. I love the sounds of night, of the birds and insects who share the wee hours with me, but I also love the first stirrings of the day, the time just before dawn when the birds sing a welcome to the awakening of the morning.

My favorite season is fall on Cape Cod. This week it will be in the 70’s every day. The nights are perfect, wonderful for sleeping, down to the 50’s and 60’s. Earlier we had sun, but now we have clouds. I’m hoping for more sun.

The house is quiet. The street is quiet. I don’t even hear a car. The Sundays of my childhood were quiet. I’d walk to mass. It didn’t matter the weather. Once in a while I’d go with my father to the early mass where he was an usher. I always sat on his side of the church so I could my dime into his basket. He used to shake it a little in front of me, a hello. Back then, both the upstairs and the downstairs of the church were filled with people. I liked the downstairs better, no sermon. The mass there finished quickly.

I never went bike riding or wandering on a Sunday. It was a family day. I loved Sunday dinners. They were special. We usually had a roast of beef or chicken. We always had mashed potatoes and gravy. I was a potato sculptor along the lines of Richard Dreyfuss in Close Encounters. I used to make a well in the middle of my potatoes, and that’s where I’d put the gravy. The contest was to keep the gravy from spilling over the side of the potatoes.

When I was a kid, I didn’t eat many vegetables. My mother picked her battles and served only the ones we’d eat. She’d serve corn on the cob in the summer and niblet corn or creamed corn in the winter. I liked the taste of creamed corn, but I hated it spreading into my potatoes. Baby peas were and still are my favorite. She’d sometimes serve green beans or yellow beans or French green beans. I’d eat a few. My father liked asparagus right from the can. If you held one spear up on your fork, it drooped at the middle.

I was never good at spitting watermelon seeds or cherry pits. We’d have contests, and I’d lose every time. Mostly I just spit and dribbled on my chin. The seeds fell to the ground. I had a friend who was the best seed spitter. Those seeds flew. I always envied him. I never did figure out the technique.

I have to go out today. I’d much prefer staying home in my cozies, but I need Tylenol. I also need bread and cream, my staples. I’m also thinking treats, biscuits for the dogs and Snickers for me.

Today is the epitome of a fall day. It is sunny and 70°. The sky is a lovely blue. Every now and then the leaves blow, gently. Today is one of the reasons I love this time of year.

Yesterday I thought I’d turned a corner. My leg mostly hurt only when I sat down or got up. I walked the best I have of late. Last night, though, was pure misery. My feet were freezing. I couldn’t fall sleep so I got up to put on a pair of heavy duty socks, but my right leg hurt so much I could only get the sock on half way, but I figured that was enough. I got into bed but still couldn’t fall asleep. I twisted and turned so much both dogs got off. I don’t even know what time I fell asleep, but I know it was noon before I woke up. The dogs had returned.

When I was a kid, life was immediate. The most I thought ahead was the week-end. Sometimes I went to the movies. In the winter I ice skated. I went to the library as I always needed new books to read. I was never bored.

On school nights, we watched TV before bed. Those were the days of the westerns. I remember Sugarfoot, Cheyenne, Maverick, Have Gun Will Travel, Wyatt Earp and so many more. The kid shows I watched were The Lone Ranger, Roy Rogers, Rin Tin Tin and Zorro, a different sort of western. I seldom missed those shows.

When I was twelve or so we had pajama parties, usually for someone’s birthday. We’d arrive in pajamas, and each of us would bring a pillow and a blanket. Early in the evening we’d have the party. We’d play records and dance and eat. There was always plenty of food. At some point, we had to settle down. It took us a while. We’d laugh and giggle. Usually it was well after midnight before we all fell asleep. In the morning, we’d eat breakfast, usually cereal, then head home. I remember getting home and taking a nap.

I have no plans until Tuesday, my next uke practice. My friend Elaine just brought me clams for steaming and plenty of food. She makes the best food. I am in heaven.

Today is a delight. It is warm at 71° and sunny. Last night had a bit of a chill and was perfect for sleeping. Our morning routine is always the same so this morning was no different. The dogs ran out to the yard, did a bit of business then ran back in for biscuits. I readied my coffee. The dogs waited for their second treat then both ran back outside to the yard. Nala came back in while Henry cried for me to let him in. I did. I don’t know why Henry won’t come in the dog door. That drives me crazy.

I loved walking to school in the fall. It was a bit chilly as the morning sun was less warm, sharper as it dappled through he curved leaves. The walk kept me warm. My route was mostly on one long street leading to the front of my school. I always walked on the side of the street bordered by houses and trees. Half-way down the street were the tracks and a station house. I never saw a train. The tracks ended not too far away. My school was old, a brick building with a statue of an angel in front. On each side of the school was a walkway to the school yard, but we only walked on one side, the side next to the rectory. I don’t know why. We stood in groups talking until the bell. The nun used to stand on the outside steps to ring it. We all then moved in tandem into the building. School had officially begun.

My reentry into the world was on Tuesday night. I went to my ukulele practice. I didn’t last the whole time as I got tired, and my leg started to hurt. On Wednesday morning I went to my uke lesson. I lasted the whole time. The hardest part of my reemergence was getting dressed. My leg hurts when I lift it. Try getting into pants and a sock without raising one leg. It wasn’t easy, but I did figure it out.

I have an empty dance card until Tuesday. That gives me more time to heal, more time to be a sloth. I’m happy.

The day feels like fall with a temperature of 68°. It is mostly cloudy. The leaves are barely moving on the oak trees. The dogs are having their morning naps. All is right with my world.

I am hoping to reenter the world today. My leg still hurts, and I still limp enough for sympathy, but, regardless, I need to get out of the house. I need to see people.

When I was a kid, I used to make adventure books. Once, when we were visiting my grandparents in East Boston, my uncle, only two years older than I, took my brother and me to Logan Airport. Because it was a far away walk, we didn’t tell my mother. We just went. Back then Logan was mostly one story buildings. The viewing spots were on the roofs. We watched the planes coming and going. They were props. We wandered inside the terminal. It was, at least I think I remember it was, one long building with a counter for each airline. Pamphlets were on metal spinning racks all around the terminal. I collected as many as I could carry. Some were for airlines, others for hotels and many for tourist spots in Boston. When we got back to my grandparents’ house, my mother was not at all happy. I really didn’t figure she would be.

Later in the week, I made my travel journal. I took all the pamphlets and cut out the pictures I wanted for my trip. I glued the pictures into my scrap book. On my journey, I took airplanes, stayed in hotels and visited historic spots. I wrote my own travel log. It wasn’t very sophisticated. I was young, but I was proud of that journal. It was, in its way, a prediction. I always knew I would travel the world. This first trip was pretend, but later in my life all the travels were real.

The morning is chilly, only 65°. It is cloudy and damp, and the weather for today won’t get much better. I’m a bit cold. Only a couple of days ago I was sweating. September is an odd month. It is both summer and fall a day or two apart.

Nala has been stealing trash again. I noticed an empty dog biscuit box outside, but I left it there. No way was I venturing down the stairs to the backyard. She must have known how much I hate outside trash as she brought it back into the house. Yesterday I saw an empty coffee bean bag on the deck. It was raining so I left it there. Nala was kind enough to bring it back into the house. She also brought in a stick, and she and Henry took turns chewing it. I’ve been picking up bits of bark.

When I was growing up, my mother didn’t work outside the house. She didn’t even drive back then. She was always there for us. She’d make us breakfast in the morning before school. My favorite was boiled eggs in an egg cup. She’d cut the toast into strips and put the strips on a plate around the egg cups. I loved dipping the toast into the egg. The egg cups were yellow chickens and hens from Fanny Farmer. I have a couple she gave me when I brought my house. In the winter she’d make us oatmeal. I’d add milk and cover it in sugar. I always had cocoa in the morning while my brother had tea. My school lunches were so good one of my friends who had the same lunch box kept trying to sneak and switch so she could have my lunch.

All of my life I have divided my clothes into school clothes and play clothes. Because I wore a uniform, I had to change as soon as I got home from school. Even when I was an adult, I’d change my clothes as soon as I got home from school, from work. The only time I didn’t change was when I lived in Ghana. I wore dresses there all the time as that was the custom for women. Sometimes, though, I’d change into shorts or something comfortable, but I never left the house unless I wore a dress. Now, I only wear play clothes.

I’m still limping, but my leg is getting a bit better. I don’t moan or groan as much. I do get annoyed at Henry as he won’t come in the dog door. I leave him outside, but then he starts crying so I have to go let him inside. He knows how to work me. I limp down the hall muttering.