The morning is cold. I wanted to stay bundled under the covers, but it was time for Gwen’s shot, and the dogs wanted out. The heat was on the night setting so I turned it up to warm the house. It feels cozy now.

Henry came in the dog door four times yesterday. He banged the door for me to let him inside three times. This morning it’s one and one. I think I’m being used.

When I was a kid, I liked Sunday the least. My bike stayed in the cellar. I had to go to church. Wandering was limited to the fields below my house and the backyard because I needed to be around for dinner, but I didn’t mind too much as Sunday dinner was the nicest meal of the week, and the only meal we called dinner, a fancy name for a fancy meal. The crowning glory of Sunday dinner was the roast. If it was chicken, my mother stuffed it with her sage dressing. If it was roast beef, my mother put cut onions on the top for flavor. I used to try to steal the onions. We always had mashed potatoes and gravy and a couple of vegetables including peas, my favorite. The whole family was always together for dinner.

When I was in Ghana, Sunday dinner was unusual. It was the only day of the week we ate food sent from home. I remember beef stroganoff kits and macaroni and cheese. Other times we’d ride our motos into town and buy dinner from the aunties along the road or from chop bars in the lorry park. From the aunties, we’d buy fried yams and kelewele or fried plantain and whatever meat we’d find. In the lorry park, we’d buy fufu and soup or stew. I remember light soup and okra stew, my two favorites. We’d bring our own pots, fill them with dinner then bungee them to the backs of our motos. We were careful riding home.

Sunday at school was also special. A service was held in the morning. The girls wore their church dresses, three pieces of traditional cloth: a top, a dress skirt and a cloth around the skirt. Each class had its own cloth design. In the afternoons, the girls wore their own fancy dresses. The upper classes could walk to town. Photographers often came in the afternoon so the girls could have their pictures taken. I have a few of those pictures given to mw by the students. They were always in black and white.

Today I am going to the dump. My car is nearly filled with bags and boxes. I might even stop to buy dinner. It is Sunday after all.

Yesterday came the deluge. Today is bright sun and a blue sky. Last night was cold. Today could reach 60˚. The weather is confusing.

A few trees in my backyard still have yellow leaves. The rest of the leaves are brown and shriveled. The sun is diffused through bare branches. The air is still, quite a contrast from the winds of last night. The dogs are outside enjoying the day. Nala perches on the top step, her paws one step below, and watches the yard.

Nothing is on my dance card today. The dump, as always, is on my list, but I’m saving it for tomorrow. I have no need to do the laundry, plenty of clothes left. I vacuumed the hall yesterday. The tumbling tumbleweeds had risen in the air when I walked. They’re back today. The kitchen floor is all dog paw prints as everything is still wet in the yard. Gwen had her morning insulin. The dogs had treats, and I had a chocolate biscotti with my coffee. All’s right with the world.

This morning I have been watching old serials and movies on TCM. I am ten again and eating my Rice Krispies while sitting on the floor watching TV. The first serial was called Travel Talks, The Voice of the Globe. We went to Guatemala. I learned the Guatemalans are inherently Pagan. They cover their babies’ heads to protect them from white men. A ring is the first step toward marriage. The second step is when the hopeful groom drops a pile of wood in front of the home of his intended. If her father takes the wood, the marriage proposal is accepted. Next, I watched Batman and Robin from the late 40’s. Batman’s hood went over his nose so he had to look up to see through the eyeholes. A convertible, top up, was the batmobile of the day. Records of criminals and past cases were kept in a metal file cabinet. Today’s chapter ended with Batman and the woman he rescued from the bad guys in the water off the dock surrounded by flames. Right now I’m watching Torchy Blane in Panama from 1938. She is a reporter who parachuted out of a plane to catch up with a ship. She had on a small backpack. So far she has worn an evening dress, a couple of day dresses with matching hats, gloves and purses, a sort of pants suit and pajamas.

I am immersed in the book State of Terror by Hillary Rodham Clinton and Louise Penny. Last night I read in bed until 1:30 then reluctantly turned off the light. I figure on spending a good part of the today reading. I wish I had bon bons.

The early morning was dark, but the sky is a bit lighter now. It has been raining on and off. The wind gusts are sometimes so strong the oak tree by the deck sways and bends, the trunk in one direction, the limbs in another. The dogs are out and back quickly. Henry even used to dog door. It is already 58˚. The high will be in the 60’s, but the rain will get heavy and hang around all day into the night. I am going nowhere today. My dance card is empty until next week.

When I was a kid, classrooms in the old school, built in 1910, had cloakrooms right outside the door of each room. Hooks in two rows, one above the other, lined the wooden walls, but there were never enough hooks. There were too many of us, 45 or more in each room. We’d hang out coats two to a hook or just stuff our coats between other coats where they’d stay. I remember there was almost no room to walk in the cloakroom with all the coats hanging one way or the other. In the afternoons, just before dismissal, the nuns had us go out row by row to get our coats. A stampede would have ensued otherwise. We’d get our coats and go back to sit down at our desks so other rows could go. We’d stay there until the bell rang. The youngest kids were on the first floor giving them a greater chance of survival when the stampede ensued. I used to go out the side, rarely used door, which gave me an edge.

When I was growing up, I had favorite places in my hometown. I loved the railroad tracks. One route brought me to the old station and the end of the tracks while on the other route, the tracks kept going, and I never got to the end. I loved the zoo. Sometimes I’d walk there and take the bus back if my mother had the money. I always brought a lunch. The town barn where the horses were kept was behind the town hall. I’d watch the horses in their stalls from the doorway. Right around the corner, was the rag man’s house. When I was really young, he had a horse and wagon and would wander the town looking for newspapers even though he was called the rag man. I loved uptown, the square. It had the best stores, all of which are gone now. I still miss Woolworth’s.

The mornings are chilly, but the days gets warmer. It’s flannel shirt weather. I was out yesterday doing errands. Today I’ll be out again. This has been a busy week.

When I was ten, I got a new bicycle as a Christmas present. I remember going down the stairs, peeking over the bannister and seeing my bike beside the tree. I ran down the rest of the stairs. I couldn’t wait to try on my new blue bike. It fit perfectly. Later, after I got dressed, my mother had me take my bike outside where I stood at the top of the steps while she took pictures. I am smiling in everyone of them. My bike had a front wire basket. If I carried anything, whatever it was would bounce when I went over a bump. One time I had to stop to retrieve a loaf of bread which had bounced all the way out of the basket. It was dented just a bit. White bread did that back then. I loved riding that bike, and I remember finally learning to ride with no hands. I was so proud. I’d pedal with my hands folded on my chest and hoped the world would see me. I think I even waved a couple of times, sort of like the Queen’s wave.

I loved my mother’s brownies. They were pure chocolate. She’d frost them with chocolate frosting then sprinkle them with jimmies. I remember she baked her brownies in a square metal pan. I always liked the edges.

My socks often slid into my shoes. I’d still walk anyway though there was a bit of a lump. When it finally got annoying enough, I’d pull the socks up by the tops. Old socks never stayed up. I still have a sock problem, but it has to do with holes. I hate to throw socks away especially if they look intact. The holes in my socks are hidden by my shoes. My toes hang out so I have to double over the tops of the socks. I get a socks’ lump.

In Ghana, I always wore sandals. At first, because of the dryness, the heels of my feet cracked which hurt so much I had to walk on tiptoes. I wondered if my students, many of whom hadn’t been so close to a white lady before, thought the walk was the way all white ladies walked. My ballerina days finally ended when my heels hardened. They were thick and ugly. I was glad.

Today is a delight. My sweatshirt is gone, replaced by my flannel shirt. It will be in the 60’s. Nala returned the lost garden glove from the yard. I found it on the floor this morning. She has already been a busy girl. I missed Gwen this morning. I didn’t go in when I saw her as it was too early for her shot. I was hoping she’d still be out when it was shot time, but I had to hunt for her under the beds. She was in front of one heating vent. I gave her a few treats and her insulin. I figure she and Jack are now under the beds for their morning naps. The dogs are out in the yard. All’s right with the world.

Yesterday Nala was glued to the front door. She wasn’t moving and was intently looking outside. I went to check. She was watching a spawn of Satan dine on one of my pumpkins. The insides of the pumpkin and some seeds were strewn on the walk. That spawn ignored the two of us and just kept eating. Cheeky beastie!

When I was a kid, there was no leash law. Dogs roamed. Duke, our boxer, was all over town. My favorite Duke story is the time he recognized my grandmother, who was shopping uptown, and followed her. He had stayed at her house a couple of times so he knew her. Duke followed my grandmother into Woolworth’s. He lifted his leg on the comic book display. The manager asked my grandmother if Duke was her dog. She said no, which was technically true, but then she lied and said she didn’t know him. The manager was skeptical as Duke was still there sitting beside her. She wasn’t called out on it even when he followed her out of the store and down the sidewalk. My grandmother said she was thoroughly embarrassed being questioned about Duke after his comic book escapade. I still laugh about this story.

When I think about comfort food, I think about my mother. Because my father was a meat and potato guy, we always expected mashed potatoes. I remember making a well in the middle of my potatoes, adding gravy and trying not to let the gravy overflow, just because it was challenging. My favorite mashed potatoes were the ones my mother used to frost her meatloaf, the king of comfort foods. Tomato soup with a grilled cheese sandwich is one of my favorite comfort combinations. My mother’s grilled cheese sandwiches were epic. I remember the browned bread from the cast iron skillet oozing with melted Velveeta. I’d dip it into my soup and be careful not to let it slop. I remember going inside after sledding and being warmed by thick tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich. I yummed my way through the entire meal.

Huzzah!! Huzzah!! I’m celebrating an accomplishment. Yesterday I did three loads of laundry. The last load, sheets, is still in the dryer, but everything else is put away upstairs. I even changed my bed. This morning I have already had my annual eye doctor’s exam, an 8:30 appointment. I don’t know what I was thinking. I set my alarm, my Alexa, but woke up before she said good morning.

When I went to get the papers, I was surprised how warm it is. Right now it is already 55˚, and without a wind, it feels almost tropical, only maybe not tropical, but it is warm.

When I was a kid, I would have rushed home on a day like today to play outside for awhile. Darkness came early this time of year, and we could only play outside until the street lights came on. I remember playing Red Rover. We’d call to the other team, and our voices sounded loud and seemed to echo in the twilight. Every kid got picked for a team. The strategy was, once called over, to run through the smallest kids as fast and as hard as you could. If you broke through that was how you added to your team. If you didn’t break through, you were now on the other team. The games was over when one team was down to its last man.

Red light, green light was another game we played. It was always controversial. When the caller yelled, “Green light,” we could move toward the caller, but if the caller yelled, “Red light,” we had to stop immediately. Whoever didn’t was out. That where the controversies took place. Kids would yell they hadn’t been moving, and both sides would argue. A lot of times, someone would get really mad and go off in huff. That’s when the game ended.

We had to stay close to home on those afternoons, within hearing distance. The mothers seemed to have plotted together or maybe there were rules only mothers knew because, at about the same time, all the mothers yelled out their front doors for us to come home. It was the front doors because we played in the street on those afternoons. Our back yards were too small. Back then we lived on a cul-de-sac with a tiny rotary. A fence ran around all the backyards so we preferred the street. My neighborhood was filled with kids so we always had somebody to play with every afternoon. I remember all of us running in different directions home. I also remember how warm the house felt and how wonderful supper smelled.

The morning is pretty. The sun is bright. The sky is a muted blue. Even the smallest branch sits still. The leaves have no flutter. It is 41˚, chilly but not cold. The day will get warmer, as high as 54˚. I have a few chores. My little library needs tending. The dreaded laundry is piled high and it too needs tending. My plants are gasping and need water. I might even make my bed, but that might be over the line.

The dogs are enjoying the morning. They were chasing each other in the yard, but Nala got distracted. She found the last Chinese lantern on the deck. It had been on a tree limb overhanging the deck. She is now tearing the lantern apart. Yesterday I cleared the remnants of the purple lantern. This one is aqua.

This morning I had a small animal hunt. Gwen had gone to ground. I checked under both beds but couldn’t see her. She is, after all, black, a perfect color to hide under the beds. I moved the lamp to the floor and found her way back under one bed. I got her shot ready, but she was gone from that spot. I brought the lamp to the floor again and found her only because her eyes lit up in the light. This time I was ready. I had the needle all set, and she got her morning dose and a few treats. When I got up, I knocked over the water dish. It was not at all fun for either of us.

I have three lamps I love. All are from a local potter. One is tall and decorative. It is in the living room on the first piece of furniture I ever bought for this house, an old kitchen table with a leaf and two drawers. The other two have African accents. Both are here in the den. The lamp on the table has an African face, exaggerated a bit, on both sides. I had commissioned it. The potter made a couple of different lamps. I took both of them. The other is black and adobe colored. It looks like a decorative African compound like the ones in villages near where I lived, like the compounds in Sirigu.

My rooms in Ghana each had one hanging lamp. They reminded me of a bedroom in a cheap hotel. I made a basket lamp shade for the living room light. It fancied the bulb. I left the rest naked.

Last night was cold, down to the 30’s. I burrowed under the down comforter, slept longer than I have lately, woke up to let the dogs out then went back to bed. I slept another hour with the dogs joining me. The house was cold when I finally woke up so I turned up the heat. I’m comfortable now.

The weather is lovely. It will reach the 50’s and be sunny most of the day. Both doors are opened. The dogs love to look out the front door to see what’s happening in the neighborhood. They alert me when anyone goes by the house whether on foot or in a car.

Gwen had more testing all day yesterday. The vet called and said her numbers were still high, but she had gained more weight, a good sign. Her insulin stays the same, and she doesn’t need to go back for two weeks and even then only for a single test. She looks alert, moves around a bit more and the litter box stays dry far longer, more good signs. I just hope her count lowers.

Henry comes in the dog door at least once a day. It has only taken four years and Nala to prod him. I was shocked the first couple of times. Now I’m beginning to raise my expectations.

When I was a kid, this was my favorite day of the week. I didn’t have any have-to-dos. From the time I woke up until I sat down to hot dogs, beans and brown bread for supper, the whole day was mine. In the winter, it was matinee movie day. In the fall, it was mostly a ride my bike day. I used to ride to different parts of my town and sometimes to the next town for a change of scenery. I’d try to take different routes to the same places. One town over had railroad tracks, an old station and daily trains. I used to sit on a bench in front of the station and wait for the train. I always wanted to be on that train.

My brother used to ride his bike to Horn Pond, in a different town over, to go fishing. Sometimes I’d ride with him, and we’d both fish. I remember catfish on the hook. We always released. We never ate catfish. My father used to say they were bottom feeders as if that were such a bad thing. He did eat other bottom feeding fish like haddock and cod and for reasons unknown only reserved his disdain for the catfish. It took me a while before I’d eat catfish. I remember I had catfish nuggets as an appetizer, my first time tasting them. It was not my last.

Earlier, in the chilliest part of the morning, Gwen and I went to the vets. She’ll be there all day for her glucose panels and such. On the way home from the vets I even went to the dump, an impromptu decision. It was cold there with the wind whipping across the open sand. Only a few other people had bravely faced the elements.

When I went out, the sun was bright, but since then clouds have taken over the sky for the meantime. It will be the same all day, sun and clouds. The breeze is constant and strong enough to whip the highest branches of the pine trees left and right. My yard is cleared of flower stems, branches and shriveled brown leaves just in time for more leaves to take their places. The oak tree is almost bare.

My dance card is empty until Monday. I have decided to spend a decadent weekend eating bon bons while wearing my comfiest clothes and lounging on the chaise. I just need the chaise lounge and the bon bons. I am awash with comfy clothes.

When I was in the sixth grade, I vowed I’d travel. I wanted to visit everywhere. My first trip was with the family to Canada and the falls. I remember we did the walk behind the falls with all of us wearing unfashionable yellow slickers with hoods. My father, when he was young, had made the same trip. The two family pictures with all of us wearing those slickers were almost the same except we had one more kid. I gave my sisters framed copies of the photos as one of their Christmas presents. My sister Moe wanted to know who the pioneers were. We both laughed when I told her it was our family.

I saw my first palm tree in Ghana, and it was also where I saw pineapples growing and almost ripe hanging bananas. They were signs I was somewhere exotic, at least to me, because I lived in the land of apples and pears. Nothing I read from Peace Corps prepared me for the sights, sounds and smells of Ghana. Every day I saw something extraordinary. Every day for those two years I etched Ghana into my memory drawers. I saved the sights of women in colorful cloths with babies on their backs and of markets filled with stalls. I remembered the sounds of languages I didn’t understand except to say hello. I kept all of Ghana close. I fulfilled my sixth grade vow.

The morning is cold. Last night was even colder, an under the down comforter and thanks for the warm dogs cold. Today’s high will only be 51˚, and it will be mostly cloudy. The only to do list item is the laundry, but I find that easy to ignore.

When I went outside to get the papers yesterday, I opened the door and was taken aback by the turkeys in the front yard. There were about eight of them. A couple were really plump and as pretty as turkeys can get.

My yard was totally cleaned yesterday afternoon. There were guys with leaf blowers in the front and back. Henry barked at each of them from the front and back doors. Another guy was cutting the dead perennials to the ground. My front fence is again standing upright, but my mailbox still leans.

Last night I actually cooked dinner. It was pork and a roasted honeynut squash. I had never tasted honeynut squash before last night. If ever a vegetable can be called cute, it is the honeynut squash, a sort of little sister to butternut squash. I just sprinkled it with salt and pepper and put it in the oven.

When I was a kid, the trash truck came once a week. In the early morning of trash day, even before I left for school, gray metal barrels, mostly dented metal barrels, were on the sidewalks in front of each house in a random line as if in a sort of display. My father put his barrels out just before he left for work and took them in when he got home. They were kept in the cellar. When we moved to the cape, the barrels came with us. I remember them in the backyard next to the house, some with covers which were too dented to fit anymore. Every weekend my father loaded the barrels in the trunk and went to the dump as there was no trash pickup. He loved going to the dump. Back then the dump had huge heaps of trash and loud, noisy seagulls on the ground and in the air circling the heaps. When I would go home for the weekend from school, my father always invited me to go to the dump with him. It was a grand invitation.

I have a couple of barrels stored under the deck. One is metal and the other plastic. The metal one has weathered well over the years. The plastic one is split in places. Both are filled with yard trash, mostly small limbs and branches. I haven’t ever emptied them or taken them to the dump. They just sit there. I always think of them as waiting for my father.