I have no excuse for the lateness of Coffee today. It was close to afternoon when I woke up. I took my time reading the Globe and savoring my two cups of coffee. I totally finished the crossword puzzle. I ate a really tasty banana and shared it with the dogs. I think banana is their favorite fruit. I still have the Cape Times to read.

Today is amazing. It is 79˚, today’s high. The low will be 58˚. I’m going to have to find a blanket just in case, but two dogs do keep me warm. An every now and then slight breeze cools the air. I don’t hear a sound. It is such a quiet day. I have the light on here in the den. It is dark for paper reading. The sun won’t appear until afternoon. The den windows face the north and west.

I chose home today. The dust is back, and the kitchen floor is disgustingly filled with paw prints. I held off washing it as rain was predicted yesterday. It did rain but while we were in bed and everything was dry when we woke up. I deem today tackle the downstairs day. I can take dust for only so long.

I picked up a few groceries yesterday. I bought a half papaya, the biggest one I’ve ever seen. I bought bananas, Klondike bars, bread, two dog biscuits and a blueberry turnover. I ate the turnover first. It was so good I was sorry I hadn’t bought the other, an apple turnover. I’ll know better next time.

When I was a kid, I don’t remember my mother cleaning the house. I remember her doing dishes and taking down and folding laundry off the lines in the back. She did all the rest while we were in school. I used to watch her make dinner. I’d be doing my homework at the kitchen table. She stood in front of the counter by the sink. It was the longest of short counters in our small kitchen. I remember the chopping sounds and the water running into metal pans. Sometimes we talked but mostly she cooked and I studied. My mother washed the dishes after dinner. She never made us do them. I did the clearing and the dish washing much later when I was an adult. She got to sit at the kitchen table and chat with me.

Today’s late start is because of an early dentist appointment. I chose the cinnamon over the mint for the polishing. My teeth are now clean and bright. Wear sunglasses if you see me.

I have to go back out again today. This is 4 days in a row out of the house, but I’m thinking I should count today as two trips. I have to get dressed again. I even have a possibility for tomorrow which would be a new record for me: 5 days in a row leaving the house. I’m exhausted. Interacting with people is tiring. I hate it when I’m asked, What’s new?” I’m tempted to make up an answer. Bungee jumping? Hand gliding? Demolition derby? (Okay, I suspect this last one might be a bit beyond the pale. Just go with it). But truth will out I suppose. I haven’t been doing much. Notice the much, an indefinite tally.

Today is beautiful. The breeze is curtain blowing strong. The leaves on the pines and the oaks are all swaying. The air is dry. It is 77˚, the high for the day. It will get cloudy later, and rain is predicted for tomorrow, thunder and rain, but I’m skeptical. I’ll believe the weatherman when I get wet.

When I was little, I played with dolls. My favorite was a Ginny Doll. She was small. She had great hair and a superb wardrobe. Her furniture was pink. I had a few pieces of it: her bed, her armoire and a chair. Ginny had matching boots with a raincoat, a summer straw hat, summer dresses and traditional outfits of different countries. My Ginny had clothes from Holland. She also had pajamas so I used to tuck her into bed. She never wanted a story.

I have a couple of dolls from my childhood. One is the aforementioned Ginny Doll, but sadly, her accessories didn’t survive the years, and she does need an appointment at a hairdresser’s, but other than those, Ginny is healthy and probably happy. She is standing on the top of the book case and dressed for an outside jaunt. My other doll didn’t come with a name. She is made of cloth, had long blond hair in braids, red overalls and a white shirt. The overalls have a patch which came with the overalls. She is sitting in the small white chair my father’s uncle made for me when I was three. She is almost a perfect fit except her feet don’t touch the floor. I don’t think mine did either.

Today is already hot. It is 85˚, the high for the day. Tonight will go down to the upper 60’s. The sun is out, mostly. The slight breeze is more for effect. It does little to cool the air. Nala is still panting after her lope around the yard. I think Henry is upstairs having his morning nap. It’s a quiet day.

If I am out of the house at least three days in a week, it is a busy week. Last week was busy, and this week too will be busy. I have my usual stops at the dump to get rid of the trash and at Agway for animal food, but there’s so much more. Tonight I’ll be in Hyannis to play my uke in a group concert. I like to sit in the back to be anonymous. I am only a fair to middling musician. I even think calling me a musician is pushing it a bit. Tomorrow is practice and Wednesday is a lesson. Without my uke, I’d be a hermit, not that I’d mind.

My memory drawers seem to be nailed shut. I start an entry and then delete it. My inspiration, my muse, has left me for a cooler place. She is far smarter than I, but I have an easy solution: write down whatever comes into my head.

My favorite cereal was Rice Krispies. I like the taste, and I like the sound it makes in my bowl. Last week I had Cocoa Krispies for the first time. They have nudged regular Krispies to second place.

I hate panty hose. They were always difficult to get into, being small enough to fit into that egg. What’s worse is sometimes, when I put my hand inside the leg to stretch the hose, I snag a fingernail on the mesh. I was starting out my day with a hosiery flaw.

Last week I bought the small variety boxes of Kellogg’s cereal. They were my lunch and dinner until I ran out of them and milk. I went to the grocery store with only two items on my list. I left the grocery store with three bags full.

I’m watching Alien Siege. I don’t recognize a single face. This movie deserves recognition for the worst acting in a science fiction B-movie though I would rate this lower in the alphabet than a B.

I only like apples when they are cold. I love oranges regardless, the same with pineapples. Mangoes are their juiciest when they are warm, not in the fridge.

I think white or brown rice needs help to taste good. Take umbrage if you must, but they taste bland to me. Jollof rice I could eat every night. Fried rice is good for a couple of nights. Rice Pilaf is another favorite of mine. No brown rice dishes are on my list.

I am a carnivore. Mostly I eat chicken, but I would never turn down a grilled rib-eye. Nor would I ever turn down mashed potatoes. Throw in some baby peas, and I’d be in heaven.

From my travels, but mostly from living in Ghana, I have learned to eat best is to eat local food. I know to be careful of the water. My house had good water. Learn greetings and thanks in local tribal languages to say hello to people. Greetings are the easiest, but how are you also works. Just remember to answer I am fine in whatever language. Watch the peoples’ faces when you know even a little of their language. It makes you want to learn more. Travel locally. I’ve met some interesting people on busses. Take an all night bus to save money and sleep when you can. Embrace everything. Remember everything you can see, smell and taste. Live your highest life.

The AC is on. The house got really hot, 79˚. I was starting to pant.

Today is cloudy and windy. The sky keeps getting darker, and the air feels damp and sticky so maybe we will get that rain though past predictions of rain have proved otherwise. Rain seems to bypass the cape in a wide swath of dry weather. We need the rain.

I have every intention of staying home today. I could do a few chores, but the top chores are the ones I put off the longest: the laundry and the dump. I’ll vacuum and maybe dust a bit just to stave off my conscience, this being day three of sloth-dom though I’m counting brushing my teeth as a task accomplished.

When I was a kid, I brushed my teeth at night, but I never did very well. The dentist always gave me a red liquid to swish in my mouth. After I split it out, the red color stayed on teeth poorly brushed. The brighter the color, the worse the tooth. I had a very bright mouth.

The renters next door sit on the deck at night. I can hear their chatter through my opened window. They are not very loud, but sounds at night other than critters is unusual after such a long time of no renters. Henry doesn’t mind them. He only barks at doors.

Nala is quite proficient at stealing food off the counter even when I hide the food, though obviously it seems not so very well hidden or she is quite good at finding the hidden despite her snub nose. Yesterday she stole a bag of dog treats destined for upstairs. When I feed and care for the cats, I give the dogs small treats. Now I have to figure out what to give them. I am leaning toward a few pieces of cheese. I hope they like provolone.

Only a block away from my elementary school, from St. Pat’s, was Santoro’s Sub Shop. It was small. Half of one side, in the refrigerated display case, was the meat and cheese. The giant menu hung on the wall. There were counters. On one counter they took your order and then wrapped the sub in white paper on a small counter. Another counter took up the whole other other long wall. There were stools there. We didn’t often stay. Getting a sub was a treat usually reserved for Friday’s after payday. Because it was a Friday, my choices were limited. I usually went with the small tuna adding only pickles and hot peppers. On a warmish day, we’d eat outside loving being away from school for only a little while.

Santoro’s is gone now. I loved the way it smelled of onions, tomato sauce and oregano. The front window was frosted in the winter. A lot of us skipped out of school for lunch. It was just about the only rebellion we dared, but it was a start. We were still young.

My view of life has changed a bit in the last year. The immediacy is gone. My life mostly meanders. I do have appointments and some events, but they are either short or far apart in time, on purpose, but this past week has been an anomaly. I was out Tuesday early evening, Wednesday morning and Thursday afternoon. It was (I know this is bad grammar, but I like it) me and my uke. I’m really not very good, but I can play all the songs. I do not play a few chords, ones which use all four fingers, but I know most chords. Playing with the group in public is making me a better player. As for now: I am idle today. I was idle yesterday, and I will be idle tomorrow. I do have one errand today: the dogs need treats. That’s it. I might buy myself some ice cream. I haven’t had any in a long while.

Ice cream and summer naturally occur together. Ice cream and its offshoots, especially popsicles, are cooling to eat or lick under the hot sun. My favorite popsicle has always been root beer. If no root beer, I’ll languish a minute or two and then get wild cherry. I have too many favorite ice creams to list. I go on a kick where for the longest time I get the same flavor. Once it was mint chocolate chip. I also like coffee chip, my recent favorite. It seems all of my favorites have chips. Anyway, I want ice cream.

I have noticed when my frustration at summer traffic changes. When I am in a line of traffic, I wish I weren’t, but I know I’m stuck at the light or construction or whatever, but I am only impatient. When I am behind a car slowly driving and sightseeing, I go crazy. My language changes. Much of it would be bleeped. I go way passed impatient. The only solution is often to change my route. I know my way around the side roads. The tourist car seemingly does not. I feel a sense of triumph when I leave the tourist behind.

The lights in my house sometimes trigger memories for me. That probably sounds a bit odd, but I notice it in summer. The lights in the den, on the table in the living room and over the kitchen sink are lit. There are shadows. Both doors are open. Outside, beyond my front door, everything is dark. Once in a while a car goes by on the street next to mine. I always can hear it at night.

You know my most vivid memories of another home, another place where I lived, are of Ghana. Most of my nights during those two years were spent in my house on the school grounds. It was the last house next to the back gate, a new house. It had four inside rooms. Most nights I stayed in my living room reading, listening to music, maybe writing letters or preparing lessons until bedtime always an early bedtime. I remember the light in my living room. The naked light bulb hung from the center of the ceiling. I made a lamp shade out of a Bolga basket by cutting out the bottom of it and adding pieces of metal hangers to go around the bulb. That worked. The harsh light was diffused. There were shadows.

The morning is a short one. I slept in again. I did wake up around ten when the dogs chased each other on my bed. I brought some really heavy litter bags downstairs, let the dogs out, cleaned up a bit of gross stuff on the dining room floor, fed the cats, combed Jack, let Henry inside then went back to bed for another hour. The dogs joined me. When I woke up, I made coffee, got the newspapers, put the litter bags in the trunk and finally sat down to have a cup of coffee and read the Boston Globe, saving the Cape times for later.

I already feel as If I have had a full day, and I’m not even dressed. I’m not even sure I’ll get dressed. Mostly my chores are inside the house. You know the usual: pick up the huge clumps of hair and vacuum downstairs. I do have a growing basket of laundry. I might have to pay it some attention.

Last night was quite comfortable for sleeping, no need for the AC. Today is hotter than yesterday. Henry is resting on the cool kitchen tiles. It is 77˚ which is the predicted high for the day. There is a now and then breeze from the north, from the window behind me. It is pleasant.

I have a ripe plantain. It will be part of my dinner tonight and will join the rest of my meal, the pork chop and the fresh tomato. I first tasted plantain in Ghana. It looked just like a banana to me, maybe a bit bigger, thicker and green, sort of a banana cousin, but plantain is also called the cooking banana so cook it you must. I’ve mentioned several times that kelewele is my favorite Ghanaian dish. It is street food and is still sold along the sides of the main street in Bolga where I first tasted it. I always have kelewele when I go back to Ghana. I also have jollof rice, my other favorite Ghanaian dish; in fact, I think on my last trip to Bolga I had jollof rice just about every night.

When I was a kid, I don’t think I ate any rice except for Chinese fried rice. My mother made potatoes, mostly mashed but baked for Sunday dinner. On Fridays, we sometimes ate French fries, the frozen sort. They went perfectly with the fish sticks, also the frozen sort. We didn’t eat fresh veggies much. I think beside the ever present potato we only ate summer corn.

My street is so very quiet. The dogs are milling. Henry is hoping for someone or something to bark at incessantly. He’s in luck. I’m expecting groceries, just a few things, mostly produce. The order is actually late, unusual for them, but Henry will let me know when the car has arrived. He is my early warning system.

Today is perfect. The humidity is gone, and it is only 71˚. The window behind me, Nala’s favorite, had to be closed. It felt cold on my back. It seems strange to say that, cold on my back, after all the hot days we’ve had. It rained last night for ten minutes or so. It was quiet, no thunder, no lightning, just a little rain.

Yesterday I went to the dump. I hadn’t intent to go, but I was driving nearby and decided why not. It did feel good to have an empty trunk at least for the meantime.

Nala and I sleep behind a barricade meant to keep Nala inside the room. Henry doesn’t join us until later, after the lights are out. I let him inside when Nala wakes me up with her crying because Henry is in the hall also crying. This morning both of them had breached the barrier. I could hear them barking from the hall at some perceived trespass. I figured I’d best get downstairs and check the dining room for Nala’s mark. The room was dry. Maybe I can get rid of the barricade.

When I was growing up, I wasn’t much afraid of anything. Bugs and snakes were no never mind, and I couldn’t fathom why some girl were silly screamers when they saw bugs or snakes. Why scream? I couldn’t guess. Had they been bitten by a snake? Hardly. The only ones I ever saw were garter snakes, innocent garter snakes who hung around the grass and flowers. As for spiders, other then The Fly of movie fame, I knew we were safe from being caught in their beautifully woven webs. I did ask why the screams. Fear was always the answer.

When I got older, I understood being afraid of things we could see like bugs and snakes. I am part of the duck and cover generation. I was learning to protect myself from the big B Bomb by making myself as small a target as I could under my desk. I really wished for a spider’s web I could marvel at or a garter snake slithering across my hands and arms, things I could touch and see, not some threat from the sky I really didn’t understand, a threat which made me afraid, made me crouch under my desk.

The AC went on first thing this morning. Despite the open windows, the house felt stuffy. Both dogs came inside with their tongues hanging then decided to chase each other back and forth in the hall with a stop on the couch to chew on each other’s muzzles. They drove me crazy. Henry is now barking at something he heard outside. I’m ignoring him. I know his bark language. He probably heard a car.

Today will be in the 80’s and cloudy and hot the whole day. Thunderstorms are predicted for tomorrow, but I’m skeptical. Rain seems always to make an end run around us. Everything is dry.

I enjoy being home in the cool air and don’t push myself to go out despite a car already filled with trash and two bags of cat litter still needing to be loaded into the stuffed trunk. It reminds me of a clown car at the circus which miraculously unloads clown after clown after clown. I’ll remove the bags with a flourish.

I keep thinking I can go to the dump early tomorrow after coffee and the papers instead of today. It just seems too hot today to be hauling trash. I could stay home and vacuum a bit and maybe even dust. I do have to put on a new toilet seat. The other one broke this morning, and I just happened to have a spare toilet seat in the cellar.

When I went to Morocco, I had lunch in a village near the mountains. I needed to use the bathroom so I was directed to the small building outside. It was a bathroom with a hole. In Ghana, many bathrooms were just holes. They were easy to use as I wore dresses all the time because women didn’t wear pants back then. The best technique was just the simple squat. This time though I was wearing long pants. I had to figure a new technique on the fly. I decided to rely on my experiences and squat. It was a little complicated in long pants, but I successfully managed all three: the hole, the pants, and the pee. Later, on one of my trips to Ghana, at a gas station stop, the bathrooms were outside. I went to the ladies and found a hole. I was wearing long pants, now culturally acceptable, and I had experience with long pants and a hole so I was unperturbed. I just squatted.

The morning is cloudy, foggy and humid. It is already 78˚, the predicted high for the day. My AC is blasting. We all find it comfortable. I do have to go out today but late in the afternoon. Until then I’ll loll. I’ve already done far too much this morning. Let me tell you about this morning.

I am alive and well. The dogs are to blame. First up, Henry, who, when excited, twirls and jumps in the air. This morning he landed on a totally topped off filled with water dog bowl. The water went everywhere into two rooms, dining and kitchen. The dining room took the most water. At first I thought of rags, but then I remembered I have no rags. Paper towels were not even considered. Cleaning up would take a whole roll, and it was then I got my inspiration. I covered the water with newspaper for blotting purposes. I got my coffee and sat down.

I got the mail this morning, Saturday’s mail, from my box. I put it on the stairs. When I almost finished my coffee, saving a bit for Henry, I went to get more and looked on the deck. My mail was there. I found the four envelopes and the catalog then I remembered the large plastic envelope. I looked over the fence rail, and there it was torn apart with the invoice also in pieces. I went to do yard pick-up. I think I need one of those sticks with a nail of sorts so I can collect the paper without bending given how often I pick up what was trash and what has become trash. Anyway, the envelope had a plastic bottle prescription renewal. I looked all over the yard for the container. I didn’t find it. The grass in the back is too big and the pill bottle is too small. I checked for symptoms in case she ate the pills but then I wondered where she’d stash the bottle. No luck again. Right now she is sleeping, and I keep poking her. She seems fine. I called my pharmacy. They’re sending out another prescription overnight at no extra cost. Now I just keep Nala watch.

All of my adult life I have kept Saturday as a bit of a play day the same as it was when I was a kid. When I was in Ghana, unless I was the tutor on duty, I could do whatever I wanted on a Saturday. That maybe meant a trip to town on my motorcycle. I loved riding my moto, as the Ghanaians call it, and the town always seemed almost magical but not in the sense of eating fire or making your assistant disappear. It was the magic of being so far from home in a place so unfamiliar yet loving every minute of it. Each experience made me want to clap my hands with glee. I never tired of living in Ghana. It was always magical.