Today is cloudy, but it is warm, 71°. The usual morning routine has started. Henry is upstairs asleep while Nala is asleep on the couch. I am still in my cozies. I’ll get dressed a bit later because I have a dental appointment, my usual cleaning. I’m not thrilled. I do hate to have my afternoons scheduled.

When I think back to when I was a kid, I ate foods I’d never touch now. Sardines top the list. I remember having trouble opening the top using the key attached to the bottom of the can. First, I threaded the end of the metal top into the key and then turned it. Inevitably, the top twisted in the wrong direction off the key. I’d have to use a fork to pull out the sardines. I remember they were crammed into the can. I ate them on Saltines. My mother often made oatmeal on cold winter mornings. It was always a bit lumpy but milk and lots of sugar made it palatable. I used to eat those colored candy buttons stuck on paper. They never came off easily, and I ate the paper attached to the bottoms. I ate wax bottles and wax lips. I even ate candy corn which I believe has a shelf life counted in decades.

I don’t know when my aversion for most beans started. I think it was probably because of baked beans. I find them disgusting looking. Kidney beans, black beans and Lima beans will never pass these lips. I used to eat French green beans. They didn’t look like beans so I was tricked. When I was a kid, most vegetables came in cans. My mother served us canned yellow beans and greens beans. They were always a bit soft. My father ate canned asparagus. The spears were so soft they sort of tilted in the middle. I don’t remember the last time I ate any of those beans.

My sisters make fun of me because I will eat hot dogs night after night. I usually fry them and toast the rolls. If I am especially ambitious, I’ll chop onions and add them to the dogs. I like to cook other dinners which give me leftovers for another meal or two. I always have little potatoes on hand. As for tonight, it will be soup and crackers.

The weather is still a delight. It is 73° and partly sunny. Nothing is moving in the still air. The dogs are enjoying the day and have been in and out a couple of times. Henry was on the couch enjoying his morning nap when we heard Nala bark. Henry right away ran outside, and I was quick to follow. Nala never barks. I expected her either to have a critter of some sort in her mouth or a poor critter treed with no escape. She had neither and was just standing in the yard. A disappointed Henry and I came back inside. Nala followed.

This morning I was buttering some toast when I thought of my mother. I know that seems a bit odd, but a memory from a way back memory drawer connected with the butter and jumped into my head. My mother told us a bit about rationing and the war. She was in high school during the war. She was the third born of six during and before the war and third born of eight after. She told us how with rationing they couldn’t often get butter so they used lard. In order to make it more palatable, they colored the lard orange so it looked a bit like butter. She said it really tasted awful. When I was growing up, we always had butter, never margarine. The other story she told was how nylons were used to aid the national defense in the war effort. They were used mostly in the manufacturing of parachutes so my mother had to improvise. She painted a line straight line up the backs of her legs so it looked as if she was wearing stockings. That was as close to fashionable as she could get.

I am not Pollyanna today. I am a bit grouchy. I can walk okay, but if I move my leg too quickly in a side direction, it hurts. I yell. Last night I yelped, and poor Nala didn’t know what to do. She looked at me with the most sympathetic eyes until I comforted her. That made her feel better. It made me feel better too.

My dance card has a few items. I have a dentist appointment tomorrow, just a regular check up, and uke practice. I also have a lesson and a concert. That’s a full enough week.

Today is the prettiest day. It is warm and sunny at 73°. Days like today are the best of fall. Last night it rained. I didn’t know at first as the rain was quiet. It was Henry’s wet coat which had me check outside the back door. I turned on the light. The drops were so small I could barely see them. Later, though, the rain got heavy enough to be heard. That’s when I went to bed.

My reunion was great fun. I wandered and mingled. The years have been kind. I recognized so many of my classmates. We caught up a bit, 60 years of history. We ordered off the menu. I went with the iconic fish and chips. My meal was delicious. I even had a drink or two. It has been a long while since my last social event, since I last had to choose what to wear. I even polished my earrings. I was sort of dressed to the nines. It was quite the event.

When I was a kid, I had to wear a uniform to school and a dress or skirt to church. I didn’t complain. That was just the way it was. Even in college, I had to wear a skirt or dress. Mostly I wore skirts. In my second year, the rule was changed. It was the weather. The winter was especially cold. We never went back to the earlier dress code. In Ghana, I had to wear dresses. I brought skirts and dresses with me but mostly I had dresses made. My next door neighbor was my seamstress. All the dresses were made using Ghanaian cloth. When I went back to Ghana so many years later, I could wear pants, but I did bring a summer dress just in case. In Bolga, I bought cloth in the market and went to a seamstress to have a few blouses made. My students gave me a dress. All my new clothes were made with Ghanaian cloth. I even had a tablecloth and napkins sewn. I love using them to dress my table.

My dance card for the week is uke: practice, a lesson and one concert. A few chores are on my to do list. I need to clean upstairs. It has been neglected. That is on the top of the list. I have stuff needing to go down the cellar. They are leaning against the cellar door waiting. I haven’t taken them downstairs as I was afraid to tackle those stairs, but I think I can now. Famous last words!

The rain has given way to a delightful day. The sun is bright and warm at 77°. It is summer again. Nala was out for a long while and came back inside panting. Either it was zoomies or she was hunting a creature. She refuses to tell me. As for Henry, I have no idea where he is.

This is not the best of days. It is one of those one step forward and two steps back days. I feel discouraged. I know this will all disappear, but it gets difficult sometimes to remember that. I’ll be hanging around all day. I still have a couple of Hershey bars. Chocolate is my panacea.

When I was a kid, I survived all the kid diseases. I remember the bedroom was kept dark when I had the measles because it was thought light might make me lose my vision. I think I was in the dark for four or five days. Most families didn’t isolate one kid with measles or chicken pox or mumps. It was hoped that all the kids would catch whatever the one kid had. Chicken pox was the worst. First came a rash then itchy pimples. You didn’t scratch or you’d leave scars. My mother slathered us with Calamine lotion. She’d even put mittens on our hands so we couldn’t scratch. We all survived unscathed.

When I was a kid, phone booths were common. I’d never pass one without checking the coin return slot. Sometimes I’d even find a dime. When it rained, phone booths were a refuge. I’d close the folding door and wait. I remember in train stations and bus stations there were phone booths all in a line. You sat down in those booths. I remember the booths were brown.

I miss seeing my foot in the x-ray machine. I could see all the bones. The salesman always checked my feet before we bought shoes. He also used that slide measurer to see what size my feet were. We used to go to Thom Mcan’s. I always got new school shoes and new shoes for Easter. In the summer I wore sneakers.

My house could be the setting for a B movie. It is filled with cobwebs. The spiders are both huge and tiny. The webs go across book spines and kitchen utensils. They are on window frames and furniture and even on the stairs. I break up the webs when I see them, but I let the spiders go free.

Henry is now on the couch napping. He lives the good life.

The rain started yesterday. It poured. I was glad for that. We really need the rain. This morning the rain continues. It is a heavy rain. I can hear it on the windows and the roof. It is coming from the south. I had to close the back door as the kitchen floor was getting wet.

Henry’s eye sockets look great. The swelling is gone, and the red has faded. He has stopped scratching them. I’m still putting the salve on, but he no longer minds. Speaking of better, my leg is almost there. It still hurts when I lift it in certain directions like when getting into the car, but I just wince and don’t moan as loudly.

When I was a kid, I loved rainy days. Sitting in my room, I always felt comforted by the rain as if it had arms spread around me, holding me tight. The lamp lit against the darkness felt cozy. Most times I read but sometimes I napped falling sleep to the sounds of the rain.

My father once said I was the most aggressive of his children. I think what he saw as aggression was just me following my dreams, me, letting nothing deter me. I always think I was born exactly the right time. The world was changing. Choices were widening. I knew I could be anything I wanted. I was only eleven when I knew I would travel the world. I was thirteen when I knew I would be a Peace Corps volunteer. Lots happened in between, but I never lost sight of what I wanted and where I’d be.

My 60th class reunion is this weekend. I am having trouble wrapping my head around it. I don’t think of myself as old though sometimes a look in the mirror takes me aback, but I blame it on the lightning.

The morning is cloudy but quite warm, 75°. The breeze is a leaf ruffler. We are at the napping part of the day. Each dog is on one side of me, Henry to my left, Nala to my right. Henry only sleeps on that side of the couch. Nala doesn’t care which side. I’m always in the middle.

When I was a kid, our dog Duke wasn’t allowed on furniture, but he knew the ways around that. He’d lie cross the bed with only the tips of his back feet on the floor. In the mornings we could hear him get off the couch before we got downstairs, but he was sly. He never got caught. When he was really old, he used to sleep on the rug in my room. He’d lick for so long it would drive me crazy, but I would never exiled him. He was my dog.

Yesterday I missed the significance of the day. It was the first day of fall. The first day of my favorite season. To me, it is the best time to be on the cape. Mostly the tourists are gone though the weekends are still busy. The weather is lovely. Pieces of summer hang around. The days are warm while the nights are a bit cooler, crisp, perfect for sleeping. The turning leaves are mostly red and orange, especially the oak leaves. The beaches are free of crowds, and the dogs are welcome back. The roads are clear. I love to take rides. I take my time. I don’t want to miss anything.

Yesterday was the birthday of the Peace Corps. On September 22, 1961, President Kennedy signed into law the original Peace Corps Act. In the 64 years since, nearly 250,000 American citizens have proudly served our country in more than 140 nations. I am one. Ghana was the first country. I remember the almost overwhelming joy of being accepted into the Peace Corps. I had three weeks after college graduation to get ready, and the time went quickly. I left home on a Sunday. We started training in Ghana in June of 1969. We were among the first to train completely in country. I remember those first days, the amazement of waking up every day in Africa, trying new foods, learning a language and getting to know everyone. We traveled during training from one site to another up and down the country. It really didn’t take long to find my way. It really didn’t take long for me to fall in love with Ghana.

My dance card is a little fuller than it has been. I’ll be busy today, tomorrow and Saturday, but I feel good enough to take on the week.

The sun was around earlier but disappeared for a bit then came back. It is supposed to hang around all day. I was surprised by how warm it is when I let the dogs out. It is 67°. My house, as is usual this time of year, is colder. Good news for both Henry and me. His eye sockets are so much better. The anti-itch spray has worked. The bright red round his eyes is pale, nearly gone, as is the swelling. He doesn’t scratch any more. As for my leg, it too is much better. The pain is usually in the late afternoon and evening after my walking on it during the day, but it is bearable.

When I was ten, I joined the St. Patrick’s Shamrocks’ junior drill team. I had practice on Saturday mornings just learning how to march and maneuver. We didn’t compete or march in parades. Our sole purpose was to get ready for the senior drill team. I remember my first year in that drill team. I was really young. Many of the members were much older, in their teens, late teens for some. I had practice on Tuesdays and parades and competitions all summer. I remember Pleasure Island in Wakefield. It opened in 1959, and we marched through the park on opening day. Everything was free. I remember the donkey ride and the boat ride where Moby Dick rose from the depths. I remember the crooked house where everything inside was slanted. I had trouble walking. I also remember meeting the actor who played Michael Anthony on The Millionaire. He gave out fake million dollar checks. We were there the whole day.

I remember marching in the Halloween parade. We got eggs thrown at us. One egg hit my leg and the shell cracked. Egg oozed down into my boot. It was disgusting. We marched on Bunker Hill Day and St. Patrick’s Day. Sometimes we were joined by a few guys in their cups. They usually offered us a beer. We just kept marching. All these years later, I still have wonderful friends from those marching days.

My dance card is empty today. I’m still taking it easy. I have uke practice, a lesson and one concert during the rest of the week. I expect to go to all of them.

I almost slept through the whole morning. When I finally stirred, it was after eleven. I talk to my sister every Sunday at 11, but she figured rightly that I was still sleeping so she didn’t call. We did chat eventually.

My house was so cold when I woke up that outside was warmer. The dogs were stretched across the bed so I had just a corner of the covers. I could see my breath, okay a slight exaggeration here for descriptive purposes, but when I checked the temperature, the house was only 63°. Mark the day as the first time I turned on the heat this season. It is blasting now.

I have been home lately. I haven’t seen anyone. My leg hurt which didn’t help. Only the dogs heard me moan and watched me limp. I talked to people but minimized my leg. The leg conversation was getting tiresome. Today, finally, my leg is so much better. It only hurts a bit when I stand up and sit down. This is week five. The doctor did say 3 to 5 weeks.

I am not a beer drinker. I liken it to cow urine. No, I haven’t tasted cow urine so I’m guessing. I do have a beer story. When I was in training in Ghana, we got a couple of cedis, Ghanaian paper money, a day. We were housed and fed so the money was for snacks or travel or recreation. One night a bunch us met at a spot which was on the corner of the main road between our two training sites. A spot is basically a Ghanaian bar. We sat outside. There were 5 or 6 of us. We ordered beer as that was all we could afford. I would take a sip of beer then puff on my cigarette hoping to disguise the taste of the beer. We decided to play a few drinking games. We stayed drinking until we ran out of money. By then we were all a bit in our cups. We left to go back to our schools. I few of us had to walk on a path through palm trees and greenery with family compounds set among the trees. We started to sing as we walked. I don’t know why but we sang church, mass, songs. We sang all the way. I can’t imagine what the Ghanaians thought. I slept well that night.

This week I have uke practice and a lesson and one concert. On Saturday is my 60th high school reunion. It is in the afternoon. That always makes my sisters laugh.

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.