Today is a perfect fall day. A chill is in the air and the sun is bright. It is a sweatshirt day, and I’m wearing mine even in the house. The doors are open, for Henry. The front door is Henry’s protection zone. He sees protecting the house his prime responsibility. So far this morning, he has barked at a man walking his dog, my neighbor perusing his estate and a walker with no dog.

When I was a kid, I would have loved today. I’d have pack a lunch, whined for a nickel or a dime from my mother and taken off on my bike for the whole day.

I rode everywhere on my bike. Once my brother and I rode to East Boston to visit my grandfather. That meant walking my bike along Route 1A in the spots with no sidewalks. It was the same route my father always drove when we went to visit my grandparents. We thought ourselves adventurous. My mother was crazed when my grandfather called her.

Nothing is planned for the weekend or even for next week for that matter. I am long settled into my virus routine. The only days I get dressed are when I’m going out, usually for animal and human foods and treats. Just about everything else gets delivered. I admit that even before the virus I often stayed in my cozies, a hold over from school clothes-play clothes days. Given my druthers, I, of course, would stay in play clothes all the time.

Having grown up with changing out of school clothes to play clothes, wearing cozies makes perfect sense a part of the childhood imprints I carry forever. Besides, I believe in comfort for the body and soul.

I am glued to the TV for news about the president.

The weather is a bit Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. It was sunny when I woke up then the clouds took over then the sun came back. It’s gone again. The forecast is for rain maybe. That covers all possibilities. I’m for rain.

I stay home mostly. The few places I go are the dump, Agway and Ring. I always wear a mask. Everyone else I see around town also wears a mask. Not to wear a mask is courting the virus. That is so very apparent today.

Yesterday I listened to Superman on the radio, actually on my Alexa pretending to be a radio. In the introduction all of us know, the faster than a speeding bullet one, the radio voice described Superman as impervious to bullets. I wonder how many people looked up impervious.

I keep a dictionary on my night table and another here with me in the den. I have a Google in the kitchen and an Alexa here in the den and in my bedroom, but I still use the dictionary. Old habits are hard to break even when they’re pushed over the cliff by electronics.

When I was a kid, my school clothes included a pair of tie shoes. My mother taught me to tie a bow. I remember kneeling beside a chair in the living watching where my mother sat as she slowly tied a big ribbon bow over and over around a teddy bear’s neck. When I tried, my bows kept falling out, far too loosely tied. My mother was patient.

I think Henry has turned a corner. It started with the vet visit last week. He was perfect, at least that’s what they told me. When we got home, Henry was himself. He didn’t chose to ignore me, my usual punishment when I do something that doesn’t please him. Since then, his tail hasn’t stopped wagging every time I talk to him. It wags so fast from side to side it is a bit dangerous. He lets me pat him anytime. Henry is now 3. He was 8 months old when he came home. It’s been a struggle, but I knew to be patient with my rescue. Henry is a happy, sweet boy.

My morning started late, nearly in the afternoon. It was close to 11:30 when I woke up. It was close to 3:30 when I went to sleep so 11:30 isn’t untoward. Henry is already upstairs having his first nap. He went out several times last night starting around one so the poor baby is tired.

Today is windy. It is also bright and 72˚. I like the weather we’re having. The days are sunny and warm, and the nights are cool for sleeping, down to the high 50’s.

My house has become my Fortress of Solitude. I only go out if I need a couple of groceries or animal food or I have to go to the dump, an inevitable trip. Everything else is delivered. I keep a set of outdoor clothes down here so I can quickly change to go out and quickly change when I come back again. Yesterday was Agway. Three bags full.

Today I don’t have to go anywhere. I need to fill the bird feeders again, and I want to organize the Christmas gifts piled both in my bedroom and in a giant plastic container in the eaves. I keep putting that task on my list and keep avoiding it. That I don’t have enough Christmas bags is my latest excuse. It is feeble.

When I was a kid, plans for Halloween started in September. Every idea was for something homemade. Back then, bought costumes were usually one piece and tied at the back. The costume fronts were imprinted with an outline of an outfit, like what a princess might wear. The masks were plastic and held on by a single elastic from side to side. They made you sweat. I didn’t wear one. I had a make-up artist, my mother. When she was through, we were painted ladies with exaggerated lipstick and rouge. But when I got older, I didn’t wear the make-up. I went for costumes like cowgirl when I wore a Lone Ranger type mask or ghost with a sheet over me. We carried paper bags, Halloween paper bags, with handles. Sometimes my bag got so heavy I couldn’t carry it by the handles or it would tear. Instead, I carried it like books or a baby. I never had a single bag rip. I knew my priorities.

Some mornings just lend themselves to good humor. This morning is one of them. It started raining yesterday then it stopped then it started again. This intermittent rain continued most of the night, and I fell asleep to the sound of a gentle rain falling on the little eave overhang outside my bedroom window. This morning, when I opened the front door, I could see fog hovering around tree trunks and low branches. Everything is damp. The humidity is so thick you can almost see it in the air. The leaves and branches are still, almost as if weighted by the dampness. I love mornings like this.

Yesterday my friend Bill wrote that in the dampness of his daily walk that morning he could feel and smell Ghana. I knew exactly what he meant. I loved rainy season mornings in Bolga when I’d wake to a cloudy sky, a dark cloudy sky, and chilly air, chilly at least by comparison to the often three digit daily temperatures. I’d sit on the small porch outside my front door and have my morning coffee and relish the warmth of the cup in my hands. I loved those mornings.

This morning I’ve taken my time. I read the papers from front to back. I did the crossword in the Globe and solved the cryptogram in the Cape Times. I drank a cup of coffee with each paper. The best item, the one which made me smile, came from Deveselu, Romania. Ion Aliman was re-elected mayor by a landslide in his village, even though he died two weeks ago from Covid-19 complications, saying he had done a good job and deserved his posthumous victory. Good for them!

I can’t explain my good humor. Some days are good days when I am happy for the rain or the sun (now I’m sounding like I’m intoning some Girl Scout song sung at the end of our troop meetings ), but I think it could be this morning’s rain which accounted for my good humor, this morning’s rain coupled with Bill’s e-mail. I’m happy, that’s more than enough.

The road was wet when I woke up. It had rained. Just a little bit ago the rain started again. I heard it hitting the leaves near the deck. The weather forecast is for on and off rain with a high in the 70’s. We need the rain.

My trash bag, now on the kitchen floor, is deck bound. It has started to smell, the result of my frenzied fridge cleaning the other day. My next dump trip won’t be until Wednesday so the bag can keep outside until then. Today I’m headed to Agway for some pumpkins, fall flowers, cat food and cat treats. Henry has plenty of everything.

I admit to being nervous about riding around and stopping on a whim. I used to do that all the time. I’d get bored, load up Gracie and take a long ride. We’d sometimes stop to get ice cream: mine in a cone and Gracie’s scoop of vanilla in a cup. I’ve explained all this to Henry, especially the part about the ice cream. Maybe I can coax him into taking another ride with no stops.

I am neat, and things in my house have stayed in their places until now. After being inside so long, I wanted my house to have a different look so I’ve bought pillows, rearranged bric-a- brac and re-potted plants. The only room still needing my attention is my bedroom with a pile of Christmas presents and a new spread still in its bag. That spread, even covered, and Henry sprawled on it at night make me nervous. I admit a pre-covid piece still hangs with me, maybe even gotten a bit worse. When I walk down the hall, I use my sleeve to dust the small dresser, and I pick up any dust balls. From the den to the kitchen is the cleanest part of the house.

When I got back from Ghana, I didn’t eat rice for a long time. I had eaten my fill when the rains were late, and rice was all I could buy in the market. We had bell peppers, grown from seeds we’d given the garden boy, so we ate a lot of stuffed peppers. The Ghanaians hated the bell peppers, no heat. Their peppers were all hot peppers of varying degrees. Jollof rice was the only rice dish I would always eat. On our last trip to Bolga, Bill and I ate jollof rice every night. The hotel’s restaurant made great jollof rice and filled our plates. Every night we belonged to the clean plate club.

My morning started early, at 8:30. I don’t remember the last time I woke up at 8:30. I am best at 2 or 3 in the morning, my bedtimes of late, so 8 is alien to me. I suppose I shouldn’t complain as I woke to a beautiful day, a warm and sunny day, but, since then, the sun and the blue sky have gone. Clouds are left and maybe even rain.

I need to stay in the den because every time I move around the house I find something to do. I just tee-shirt dusted the tavern table in the living room. I also brought deck trash to the car. Mind you, that deck trash has been sitting on the deck box for a while, for a few months even, but all of a sudden, this morning, it had to go. I think I am suffering from the need for immediacy. Walk by a plant. Water that plant. Rearrange those pillows. Rearrange them again and again. Check out the expiration dates of stuff in the cabinet. Dust mop the floor covered in puffs of fur. I have to slow this down. I am happiest when I am a sloth.

I’m in my disaster movie mode. I have excluded movies like Outbreak and its ilk so I’ve watched just plain old disasters. I’ve seen our part of the world freeze, burn up, flood, break in half, be attacked by birds and finally disappear, covered in lava. I have seen most of Tubi’s science fiction movies. Some of them were really bad, but I watched anyway. I am easily amused.

Just a thought, why is cabbage so underrated? I like it, but I only eat it at St. Patrick’s Day, seldom any other time. I have had Golumpki, Polish stuffed cabbage, and I like it. I never make it. Maybe I should give it a try.

The afternoons are lovely this time of year. The front of the house is shadowed. The sun has moved to the side of the house, the south, on its way to the backyard where it will set.

Today I had a bit of nostalgia. My background is a photo of the inside of one of the buses taking us to the airport for our flight to Ghana. I don’t know whose picture it is, but I am in the shot. I can tell by the top I’m wearing what the skirt looked like. I wore it a lot. Also in the shot are people I’d get to know well and whose names I still remember and others I don’t remember at all. The back of the bus is filled with luggage. I can’t believe how young I look. I was twenty-one.

The morning went quickly. The sun was here then gone for a long while but it has since returned and brought the blue sky with it. The day is

Henry hasn’t avoided me. That’s a huge step for my boy. Usually if I do something he’s not happy about, he avoids me and won’t let near him or even pat him for a couple of days, but not this time!! He survived the car ride, being in the vet’s without me, getting weighed and examined and having to endure shots and a blood test. They also cut his nails. The second big step for Henry was he did not poop or pee on the back seat.

When I was a kid, a dime was a small fortune. We’re talking penny candy time and sometimes two for a penny. Popsicles were a nickel from the ice cream man. A dollar was in my birthday card. Once in a while there were two. I was rich beyond measure.

I have a five dollar bill in my wallet. It has been there since March. I can’t remember the last time I paid for anything with money.

Today I’ll just hang around. I have a few things to put in the car in preparation for my dump run tomorrow or maybe Monday, but that is my only plan for the day, except for my shower of course.

I find myself getting bored easily. I hunt through all the TV channels, sometimes twice hoping to find a movie which doesn’t need my complete attention. I find one and then watch for a half hour or so before I get bored and look for another movie to ignore. All of this confirms the Einstein didn’t say it quote, “The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.”

Henry and I are back from the vets. Neither one of us, including Mr. Henry, is any worse for wear. A tech came to the car, took Henry and brought him inside while I waited outside. The vet came out later and gave me a run down of Henry’s health. He is wonderfully healthy. He lost 4 pounds which pleased the vet as the last time she saw him he was at his top weight. Henry got a rabies shot, a flu shot, Bordetella oral vaccine, a heartworm test and a complimentary nail trim. On the bill, under breed, Henry is listed as retriever, Labrador mix, good to know. Henry is a handsome boy.

Today is warm, a bit of summer. The sunlight is slanted in the way it always is in fall. It’s sharpness is highlighted through the leaves and branches. My street is so quiet I can hear only the birds. I filled the feeders yesterday, and the birds noticed.

When I was a kid, I remember trips to Boston. I remember sitting in the Public Garden by the pond. I held peanuts my mother had bought for us to feed to the spawns. I was an innocent. The spawns surrounded me in a well-coordinated attack. One even put out his paw, a sort of Oliver Twist I want more moment. I gave him a peanut. I swear the rest looked frenzied and right at me. I stood up. They ran away.

Yesterday a rabbit was munching on the grass out front. I think it was a different rabbit than the one we usually see. It was bigger. Henry didn’t even notice.

Yesterday I roasted a chicken and some carrots. I felt quite accomplished. It has been a while since I’ve last cooked a real meal, one defined by my father as meat and potatoes, veggies optional.

My dance card is quite empty. I even checked two weeks ahead. Nothing is scheduled. My life has come down to this, nothing scheduled!! Sigh!!

The sun was bright when I woke up but has since disappeared. We have clouds but no rain is predicted. It is is warm, back to the mid 70’s. I have declared today a stay at home day, sort of what most days are anyway, but now it’s official, a grand statement of purpose.

Boxes are filling my dining room. Henry has a vet appointment tomorrow so I didn’t put the boxes in the car. The appointment is a little scary. Henry is afraid of the car so every other time we’ve gone to the vet’s I’ve had to wrestle the poor dog to get him into the car and hold him off from running through the open door when we get to the vet’s. Now, they’ll come to get Henry. I’ll wait in the car. I have given the warning to the vets about Henry’s escaping. I do have halter number 4. He chewed through halters 1 to 3 so I’ve been reluctant to use it. I will bring it tomorrow hoping they’ll put it on him.

I talk out loud. In the time before, I yelped and swore out loud if I fell or injured mysel. Now I make observations out loud when I’m out and about, and I chit chat with Henry or Jack when I’m in the house. Henry wags his tail and seems to listen. Jack totally ignores me.

I kept seeing what looked like small, round, black bugs on the floor. I’d grab Kleenex, gently capture the bugs and free them outside. I never looked at the bugs once they were in the Kleenex. This morning I noticed one of the black bugs on a kitchen plant. It seemed to have legs. I looked closer. I’m an idiot. The small black bug is cat fur. What looked like legs were actually hairs. I don’t need a Kleenex anymore.

I have stopped watching politics for a bit. Nothing I’m currently watching is in color. My meals are sporadic. Sometimes I make a sandwich while other times I just grab cheese and crackers or even just cheese. I wear my cozies all the time. I hate staying in all the time, but I also hate going out. I’m betwixt and between.

Today is wonky. It was cloudy when I first woke up a bit after eight. I looked out the window. The day was uninviting so I turned over and went back to sleep. Besides, eight is the crack of dawn for me. I woke up around 10:30 to a bright sun. When I went to get the papers, I was surprised at how warm it felt outside, warmer than I expected given the cold house. Okay, back to wonky day. The sun has now totally disappeared. The sky is filled with white clouds, empty white clouds as no rain is predicted.

I have sworn off the news channels. I am watching disaster movies again, disasters like atomic tornadoes, lava in Los Angelas, earthquakes and the disappearance of the moon. Those I know have weird happy endings. Currently a family is trying to reconnect and avoid the lava consuming everything.

Today is the first day of fall. I think this is my favorite season of all. We have color. We have warm days and perfect nights for sleeping. We have apples and pumpkins and gourds. The garden is alive with fall flowers. The asters are blooming. The clematis is covering the whole front fence in white flowers. The bees love them. It’s time for soup. Nothing tastes better than hot soup on a crisp fall day. Add a loaf of fresh bread, and dinner becomes a feast. Fall is the opening act for the best times of the year, for Thanksgiving and for Christmas.

When I was a kid, piles of leaves would fall on the street and lie against the sidewalk berms. I’d walk all the way to school kicking the leaves into the air. I remember the bottoms leaves were sometimes sodden. They had a weird odor, one of wet and mold.

I have often mentioned how much I miss the aroma of burning leaves. Every Saturday, when I was a kid, small piles of leaves would be burning in front of just about every house. Fire was a man thing so each fire was tendered by a neighbor standing out of the smoke and holding his rake to keep the fire in check. My father too tendered his fire. The men and the smoke up and down the street were worthy of a Norman Rockwell illustration. It would be called Saturday Mornings in Fall.

Usually this is the time of year to start hunkering down, but I don’t have to this year. I have been hunkered for months. I was with my friends the other night, and it was my best night since last summer on my birthday. Sunday was my friend’s birthday. It was dinner and games afterwards, the best nights, like Sunday nights used to be. I made my friend her chocolate cream pie, a standing request.The chocolate was tweaked because I had forgotten to buy milk. How dumb! I told my friend who said I needed to keep the tweak, to add it to the recipe. That was a great endorsement. The evening was fun. I have missed my friends. I suspects most of us can say that. We miss our friends most of all.