Today will be warmer than it has been. We’ll hit 80°, but it will feel cooler as there is a breeze. I can hear the leaves rustling, and the chimes ringing. The sky is mostly blue. It is a pleasant day.

When I was a kid, we sometimes went to the pool. It was just about at the opposite end of town. We used to walk. I carried my towel and my dime, the price of entry. In the changing room were lockers. I’d put my clothes in one and take the key which was on a stretchy plastic bracelet. On hot days, the pool was always full. Towels covered the concrete around the pool, and sometimes there was little room, no open spots for any more towels. On many of the towels were couples, teens. The girls seldom went into the water. I tended to swim at the deeper end. I dove off the board until one dive when I hit the bottom of the pool, cracked a tooth and split my lip. I was bleeding when I got out of the water. The lifeguard came right over and brought me inside for first aid. My lip swelled. They called my mother and drove me home. I never dove off that board again though I did dive off the side of the pool.

I loved to watch my father eat corn. He was a human typewriter. He’d eat across each line of corn then without missing a beat move on to the next line. Sometimes a piece of corn went airborne so sitting beside him could get messy. It was the same when he ate lobster. He managed to get every piece of meat including meat from the knuckles and legs. Sometimes water or a piece of the shell went airborne. Sitting next to my father was risky. I am my father’s daughter so I attack a lobster and leave no meat. It is my talent and worthy of my resume.

If you hate bugs and they frighten you, stop reading. I’m giving you fair warning. Yesterday I had an itchy spot near my arm pit. I scratched it. It felt like a scab. I decided to pull off the scab, and when I looked at it, I only wish it were a scab. It was a tick, a bit engorged. I put it on the table, put my glass over it then put it in the glass. I watched. It started to climb the side of the glass. I took it to the bathroom. It sleeps with the fishes. I felt grossed out all afternoon.

I have a few house chores and one errand. That’s it on my dance card.

ASIDE: The new url for Coffee is keepthecoffeecoming.wordpress.com. It will return to the usual url when I upgrade.

Yesterday Coffee went wonky. It turned itself private, and it wouldn’t let me in to fix it. The problem was I didn’t renew the plan I had. I thought it wouldn’t make all that much difference. I was wrong, totally and completely wrong. I still haven’t corrected the upgraded blog so my plan right now is free. As soon as I have the money, I’ll go back to the other plan. The new URL is keepthecoffeecoming.wordpress.com. I’m happy at least that Coffee is back. I have been writing Coffee since 2004. That was on blogger which closed me down for posting videos so I switched to WordPress. I’m going to stay here on WordPress and Coffee will be back to its self in a short while. Thanks for being patient.

Last night it was 58°. The dogs huddled, and Jack went back into his winter residence, the teepee house, but this morning, I wanted to stand on the deck and sing at the top of my voice Oh! What a Beautiful Morning because the morning is a delight. The sun is brilliant. Its light dapples through the leaves. The slightest breeze is now and then. When it blows, the leaves float up and down on the ends of the branches. The deck and a book are in my future.

When I first moved to the cape, I was so very angry at my parents. They had uprooted me from what had always been my life. I lost everything. They tried to entice me by saying I’d have my own room, a poor trade. It didn’t work.

I remember signing up for classes. Somehow I got stuck with Latin 4. The counselor wouldn’t let me take typing. He gave me a speech/debate class instead. The only good thing was I had completed all my math requirements.

I remember my first day of school. I didn’t wear a uniform, but I did wear a black wrap around skirt with a madras blouse, mostly black and blue. I walked to school and stood in the back waiting for the door to open. There were hugs and lots of hellos. I stood by myself sort of huddled against the brick wall. I sat at a table by myself at lunch. I was miserable. I remember getting home and flinging my books and yelling to anyone within earshot I hated it.

I don’t remember how long it took for me to meet friends, to get comfortable. I joined clubs. One of them was the Latin Club. I think there were 7 or 8 of us. I figure I must have been desperate. Luckily, the word nerd had yet to be coined. I joined theater. I no longer ate alone. In the morning I stood with friends while waiting for the door to open. I had settled.

I go to all the reunions. I see high school friends around town. We always stop, hug and chat a bit. I don’t remember exactly when it happened, but the cape became my home. I am still here.

From somewhere far off I can hear a duck quacking. I like the sound. I also like the sound of roosters crowing to greet the day and the first songs of the birds just before sunrise. I can’t think of a more wonderful way to start the day.

The morning is lovely, cool and bright. The air is clear. Every now and then a small breeze stirs the leaves. The high today will be 75°. Tonight will be in the 60’s. If I could invent a day, it would be a day like today.

When I was a kid, I made promises to myself. I didn’t want to be ordinary. I never thought of it as an ego thing. I just figured I wouldn’t choose the usual. I would travel and see the world. There was never a doubt. I didn’t know anyone who had traveled nor did I know anyone who aspired to travel so I’d be the first. In the eighth grade I decided I’d join the Peace Corps as soon as I was able. I never shared that with anyone. It was my secret hope. Back then, when I was young, I didn’t know about destiny, fate or kismet, but I knew I’d keep my promises.

I remember events in my life which were small in the scheme of things. As to why I tucked these particular events into my memory drawers I have no idea.

I remember being in the principal’s office when I was in the eighth grade and being chosen to crown at the May procession. The only things I remember about the procession are I was at the end and stopped when people wanted pictures, and I had trouble climbing the ladder to the statue as my dress was so long. The priest grabbed my arm so I wouldn’t fall. I remember in late summer my mother and I took the bus to where I would be going to high school. We went to buy my uniform. The room had all sorts of racks of uniform pieces in different sizes. We bought the skirt, the blazer and two blouses. I remember a Sunday in January, 1969 when there was a knocking at the door. I looked down the stairs at the front door and saw the postman and wondered why he was there on a Sunday. He handed me a special delivery letter congratulating me on being accepted into the Peace Corps. I don’t remember the wording of the letter. I just remember the mailman.

My memory drawers are stuffed. They go as far back as I do. Random unbidden memories sometimes jump out and take me by surprise. I’ll close my eyes and see the time, the place and the people who gave me those memories. I love those moments of remembering.

The forecast was for light rain. I’m still waiting, but it is getting darker so maybe I just need to be more patient. The air is thick. It is in the mid-70’s. Everything is Sunday quiet.

When I was a kid, Sunday didn’t have much to redeem it. It was my least favorite day of the week. No matter the weather, I usually had to walk to church. I suffered through mass. The only good thing every Sunday was dinner. It always seemed special. My favorite was roast beef. My mother made the best gravy. I’d make a pile of my mashed potatoes and poured gravy on the top of the pile. As the gravy dripped down, the potato pile always looked like a volcano erupting. When I saw Close Encounters of the Third Kind, I watched Roy Neary sculpt Devil’s Tower with his mashed potatoes. It was more sophisticated than my volcano, but it still made us kin of a sort.

I flew to Philadelphia on a Sunday for what Peace Corps calls staging, the time just before you leave for in country. I checked in, received a packet of information including a time table for the next four days, was given a stipend of money and a hotel room key. I was both nervous and excited. I’ve never forgotten that Sunday. I can close my eyes and see the line in front of and behind me. I remember checking in at the table, at the end of the line. I remember dragging my heavy bags across the small hotel lobby to the elevator. I remember finding my room. On that Sunday, common events became uncommon. My least favorite day of the week bumped every other day of the week to become my favorite.